Page 13 of Sinner's Storm
“And that’s when the symptoms started?”
“Yes. Her pediatrician said it was normal. That some babies took longer to adjust to formula. That I shouldn’t worry.”
“And her pediatrician never suggested donor breast milk?”
“That’s a real thing?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Jackson said, placing Harlow’s chart on the side table. “August, I’d run the standard panel. Then I suggest getting an MRI of her stomach to rule out anything else. Is Marco working tonight?”
“Already here, Tessa.” A big black man walked in smiling happily. “I hear I have a date with a princess. I hope she likes me. I even dressed up.”
Harlow smiled at the handsome man dressed in Disney scrubs, carrying a pink plastic bucket in his hands, with empty blood vials and other ominous things.
Looking at the doctors, August spoke first, “Ms. Campbell...”
“Please, call me Delany.”
“All right.” August smiled. “Delany, I want to admit Harlow for the night. With all the tests I’d like to do, it’s easier just to keep her here. I’m going to run several blood panels on Harlow. To rule out the general ailments, like the flu and such, but I’m also going to test for bigger causes. I would also like to schedule Harlow for a complete allergy panel. Marco can easily administer that once she’s settled in Peds. I also want to get an MRI of Harlow’s stomach.”
“She doesn’t have the flu, does she?”
“No, Delany,” Tessa said, lightly shaking her head. “In fact, I’m betting Harlow is deficient in one or more vitamins, which is aggravating whatever is going on in her little body. When the body is deficient in anything, it will rebel, and in Harlow’s case, it’s making her sick. When you were breastfeeding her, she got everything she needed. She was perfect. But when your milk dried up, the formula you gave her wasn’t sufficient. It filled her stomach, but it lacked a mineral or vitamin that Harlow was getting from you.”
“Oh my God. I did this to her.”
“No, Delany. You did everything right. You are a good mom. You can’t blame yourself for what you didn’t know. In fact, Harlow’s pediatrician should have recommended donor breast milk the first time Harlow got sick.”
“Let’s get Harlow admitted and up to Peds,” Dr. Lansing ordered, getting to his feet. “Marco, I want the blood work, STAT.”
“Got it,” the big man said. “Well, my beautiful Princess, ready for an adventure?”
As Marco wheeled Harlow out of the room, I followed closely, not knowing that this place was about to become my home away from home.
“Delany, think,” I heard my best friend Finley say, but all I could think about was Harlow. What was supposed to be a one-night stay had turned into a week, with test after test and scan after scan, until the doctors confirmed my worst fear.
My baby girl was sick.
Like really sick and had been since the day she was born. The second Dr. Lansing told me the truth, I didn’t think twice. I called my friends and, like we had always done for each other, they rushed to the hospital and had been with me since. The only one missing was Robin, but she was working on a case that consumed her attention, but still she stopped by whenever she could.
Holding her hand, I noticed how truly small Harlow was. She had always registered as having below-average growth, but her pediatrician told me she would shoot up soon enough.
Fucking bitch lied.
She lied about so many things.
Thalassemia, or Mediterranean Anemia, they called it. An inherited blood disorder that caused abnormal hemoglobin, a protein that carries oxygen in red blood cells. Apparently, there were two types of Thalassemia—alpha and beta, and until the doctors knew which type my daughter had, they couldn’t treat her. The second, Dr. Lansing and Dr. Tessa Jackson, told me what was wrong, I learned everything I could about the disease. But what I mainly learned... it was genetic; passed down from mother to child at birth.
I caused this.
My daughter was sick because of me and, depending on what type she had, only her father could save her. The problem with that was, I didn’t know who the hell he was or where to find him.
“Del,” Bella whispered, getting my attention. “I know it was a while ago, but can you remember anything about that night? Where you met him?”
“At the Bar & Grill,” I muttered. “It was the day I lost my job at Calloway Investments because I refused to sleep with my boss. Peter Dowell said it was because of poor investment performance, but I knew the truth. Asshole had been trying to get down my pants since I started working there.”
“I remember that fucknut,” Ares sneered. “Should have let me kick his ass, or at least tell Mrs. Calloway. Her son Jason owns the company. After 9/11, he walked away from a life of being a firefighter and took up his father’s mantel. Last I heard, he still runs the place today.”
“It doesn’t matter.”