Chapter 2 - The Emergency Ward
The sterile lights of Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s pediatric emergency ward felt blinding after the dim, tense atmosphere of the driveway.
Frederick was immediately whisked away by a team of triage nurses. His temperature had spiked to 103.4 degrees Fahrenheit, and the resident physician didn't hide his concern as he slapped a pulse oximeter onto my son's tiny toe.
"He has a severe respiratory infection, likely complicated by dehydration," Dr. Vance said, shining a light into Frederick's swollen throat. "How long has he had this high fever?"
Amy sat beside me on the plastic waiting room chairs, her head bowed, her hands trembling in her lap. "Since... since yesterday afternoon," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I tried to call Teresa to ask her to pick up his prescription from the pharmacy down the street, but she said I was being dramatic. She told me I had to finish setting up the party tables before I could leave the nursery."
A heavy, suffocating silence descended on the cubicle. I reached over, wrapping my large, calloused hand around Amy’s cold fingers.
"You should have called me, Amy," I said softly, my voice tight with self-loathing. "I was only twenty minutes away at the site."
"Your mother told me you were working on a massive commercial contract, that you couldn't be disturbed by 'domestic nonsense,'" Amy replied, a tear finally cutting a clean path down her dust-stained cheek. "She said if I bothered you, you would lose your promotion, and it would be all my fault."
The manipulation was so calculated, so deeply woven over months of isolation, that it made my stomach churn. For a year, Teresa had systematically chipped away at Amy’s confidence, convincing her that she was a burden, that my three thousand dollars a month sent to my mother for "family expenses" was actually charity being given to keep Amy afloat.
Dr. Vance returned a few moments later with an IV bag and a chart. "We've started him on intravenous antibiotics and fluid replacement. He's going to stay overnight for observation, but he's stable. You caught it just in time, Mr. Bradley. A few more hours of high fever without intervention could have led to febrile seizures."
As the doctor stepped out, Amy leaned her head against my shoulder and finally broke down, her body shaking with muffled sobs.
May you like
I held her tight, but my mind wasn't in the hospital room anymore. It was back at my house. It was looking at the deed in Mason's hands. And it was realizing that my mother was currently sitting in a holding cell at the precinct, probably already calling her high-priced defense attorney—an attorney funded by the very construction checks I had sent her month after month.
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