Darling Rose Gold(83)

Tom leans in toward Adam, his medical training kicking in. “Sick how?” he says.

I know this is going to sound suspicious. I’m going to look bad, but I don’t see a way around him. I meet Tom’s stare. “He won’t stop vomiting.”

Tom’s eyes fill with fear, then with anger. He takes a step toward me, giving me just enough room to inch around him. He grabs my wrist, but I bat him away.

“I didn’t do anything,” I hiss. I pick up my pace and run after the nurse. Right before I turn the corner, I glance over my shoulder at Tom. He stands there, watching me go.

I nearly collide with the nurse. “I was wondering where you went,” she says, leading me into room sixteen. Rose Gold used to call this the lucky room because sixteen was her favorite number.

The nurse introduces herself as Janet and closes the door behind us. She asks me routine questions about Adam’s symptoms while checking his eyes, ears, and mouth. She pulls out her stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs. She checks his skin and genitals for rashes. When she presses Adam’s belly, he starts to cry again.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Janet says. She sounds like she means it. She plays with Adam’s foot and tries to calm him. I sit back, exhausted, glad to be with someone else who knows how to care for children.

“Is Adam breastfeeding?” Janet asks.

I nod.

“And you’re Adam’s grandmother, correct?” Janet keeps trying to quiet Adam.

I nod.

“What are his mother’s and father’s names?” she asks, handing him back to me.

“Rose Gold Watts and Phil . . . I don’t know the father’s last name.”

Janet stops typing.

“My daughter isn’t in touch with him anymore,” I say.

Adam’s cries get louder, so Janet has to yell to be heard over him. “And where is Rose Gold today?”

To my relief, Adam vomits on me. Saved by the smell.

“See! This is what I’m talking about,” I say, vindicated. “He’s been doing this since nine o’clock this morning.”

Janet jumps up from her chair and grabs a handful of paper towels. She helps me clean the baby and myself.

When all the soiled paper towels have been thrown away, Janet heads for the door. “Dr. Soukup will be right in.” I beam. I love meeting new doctors.

Rocking the sobbing baby, I say, “We’re going to get you some medicine, sweet pea. It’ll make your tummy all better.” Adam continues to cry, but his face is dry. He’s dehydrated. I hug him tighter.

A while later, Dr. Soukup knocks and enters. She’s a put-together woman with streaks of gray hair and a warm-but-no-nonsense bedside manner—my favorite breed of doctor. Maybe we’ll become friends. I can meet her at the hospital on her lunch break, and she can show me the newest pharmaceuticals. Then I remember Adam and I won’t be staying in Deadwick long. Too bad. I’ll have to find a Dr. Soukup in our new town.

Reading from her computer screen, Dr. Soukup summarizes the symptoms I explained to Janet. I nod, eager to get to a treatment.

Dr. Soukup studies me over her stylish tortoiseshell glasses. “And where is Adam’s mother?”

I can’t very well say, You know, I haven’t seen or heard from her in thirty-two hours, so I’m not quite sure. Wherever my daughter is, she deserves what she got.

“At a work conference,” I say. “I’m watching Adam for the week.”

Dr. Soukup shakes her head. “A work conference the week before Christmas? Companies these days have no heart.”

I nod in agreement. “She works such long hours, it’s like I’ve become his primary caretaker. I try to do the best I can. I mean, I’m a certified nursing assistant, so I like to think I know what I’m doing. But on days like today, I feel so inadequate.”

Dr. Soukup pats me on the shoulder. “Not to worry, Patty. You’re doing a terrific job.”

The old familiar warmth starts in my chest and spreads across my body like an electric blanket. Her approval, her encouragement—I try to remember her words verbatim so I can store and use them in the months to come.

“I’d like to start with small doses of an oral electrolyte solution to rehydrate Adam,” Dr. Soukup says. “See how there are no tears when he cries? That’s a sign of dehydration.”

“But, Doctor,” I say, “based on how much he’s vomiting and for how long, this is more serious than your average stomach bug, wouldn’t you say? What about all the diarrhea?”

“It’s only been eight hours,” Dr. Soukup says. “Generally we don’t start to worry unless it’s been more than twelve. Do you have Pedialyte at home? You should wait to give it to him thirty to sixty minutes after he vomits.”

I came all this way for some stinking Pedialyte? I don’t think so.

“I think it might be pyloric stenosis,” I say, fretting.

Dr. Soukup looks surprised. “Is he vomiting after feeding?”

“Yes,” I say. “He’s vomiting all the time.” Which would include after feeding.

Dr. Soukup presses Adam’s stomach. “Usually with pyloric stenosis, we feel an olive-shaped lump in the abdomen—the enlarged pyloric muscle. I’m not feeling that here.”