Chapter 3 - THE HOSPITALOwen was admitted overnight.
The repeat urine test still showed infection.
Bloodwork suggested significant inflammation but no overwhelming sepsis.
His kidneys were functioning.
He was dehydrated.
The pediatric hospitalist started antibiotics under monitored medical care.
No dramatic resuscitation.
No organ failure.
We had gotten there before the situation became catastrophic.
That did not make it safe.
Dr. Karen Liu, the hospitalist, sat beside me.
“If a bacterial urinary infection in an infant is inadequately treated, we worry about progression to kidney infection and, in some cases, bloodstream infection.”
“Could he have died?”
She did not sensationalize.
“Severe untreated bacterial infections can become dangerous. Owen is stable now.”
Now.
That word became my handrail.
“Can you tell whether he got any cefdinir?”
“Not reliably from a routine blood test at this point.”
“So we don’t know.”
“We know the bottle brought in appears inconsistent with a full five days of prescribed dosing. Pharmacy records and medication history may help. But medicine alone won’t tell us who did what.”
No magical lab.
Again, facts had limits.
Child protective services was notified because medication for an infant may have been deliberately withheld or replaced.
Police were also contacted because of the reported concealment and possible endangerment.
Daniel became furious when he learned that.
At the hospital hallway, he said:
“You’re letting this become a criminal investigation.”
I stared at him.
“I am letting?”
“You know Mom wasn’t trying to hurt him.”
“I don’t know what your mother did.”
“She hates antibiotics.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She thought he was reacting badly.”
“What did she give him?”
Daniel said nothing.
There it was.
“You know.”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
He rubbed his face.
“Not here.”
I stepped backward.
Our ten-month-old son was receiving hospital antibiotics fifty feet away.
My seven-year-old daughter was sitting with a social worker because she had hidden a prescription bottle inside a teddy bear.
“Where exactly would you prefer this conversation happen?”
He whispered:
“Rebecca.”
May you like
I said:
“Don’t use my name like it’s the thing making this difficult.”
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