He blinks, confused, and then his eyes drift closed again.
My heart is pounding.
I press the call button.
Nothing happens.
I press it again, holding it down, watching the little light blink.
One minute. Two minutes.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Come on, someone please come.”
Three minutes. Four.
I’m about to leave Leon and run into the hallway screaming when a nurse finally appears. She looks harried, impatient.
“What’s the problem?”
“Something’s wrong with my son. He’s confused. He didn’t recognize me, and he’s hard to wake up.”
She glances at Leon, who’s drifted off again. “Kids get sleepy when they’re sick. It’s normal.”
“It’s not normal. He was better yesterday. He wastalkingyesterday. Now he’s— Look at him!”
The nurse sighs, like I’m being hysterical, but she checks his vitals anyway. Her expression doesn’t change.
“I’ll let the doctor know,” she says. “Someone will be by to do blood work soon.”
“Soon? How soon?”
“Ma’am, we have a lot of patients. Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”
And she leaves.
I sink into the plastic chair, shaking, and I hold Leon’s limp hand. And I wait.
A nurse comes to collect more blood to test, but she can’t get a good sample from his IV this time. Leon barely responds to the needle when she has to stick it in him again. He cries, but weakly, like he doesn’t have the energy for real tears. He doesn’t fight. He just lies there, letting them hurt him, and that’s somehow more terrifying than the screaming.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, stroking his hair. “It’s almost over. You’re being so brave.”
He doesn’t answer.
When the nurse leaves, I curl around my son and press my face into his hair and try not to fall apart.
I text Mom and Rosa:I don’t know what’s happening. Leon seems to be getting worse.
Mom:I’ll come as soon as I’ve finished work. Stay strong, sweetheart. Everything will be all right.
Gratitude washes through me. Right now, I need Mom more than I’m afraid of Cristiano turning up here.
Dr. Raynor appears just after noon. She doesn’t sit or pull the curtain closed. She just stands at the foot of Leon’s bed with her clipboard, glancing between her notes and my son like he’s a problem to be solved.
“Ms. Santoro. As I’m sure Dr. Hardy explained this morning, your son’s liver function has deteriorated significantly overnight.”
I stare at her. “No one’s explained anything to me.”
A flicker of irritation crosses her face. “The night team should have spoken with you.” She sighs, like I’m the one wasting her time. “The steroids aren’t working. His liver is failing. He needs a transplant.”
