Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
With every step I take anxiety swarms through me. Usually, I couldn’t care less about most things, but this is about my child. His fate was left in his mother’s hands which was a grave mistake. I should’ve never trusted Aisling.
The elevator doors open, and I step forth onto the fifth floor. There’s a whole bunch of women in scrubs ahead of me, behind a desk area. This must be the nurse’s station. A woman comes to the front of the station and clears her throat before speaking, “Mr. Bernardi, I assume?”
“You’d be correct.”
“Dr. McGonigal has asked me to take you to your son to spend some time with him before he debriefs you.”
“Okay.” From the outside, I probably look fine, but on the inside, I’m an absolute mess. All I can wonder is if he’s okay. If he’s going to make it.
I follow the nurse, and she makes me put on some yellow protective gear. It’s like a gown that covers my arms completely and goes down past my knees. I look ridiculous. On the women, the gown stops around their shoes, or at least the women on this floor.
She walks me into the NICU and leads me over to a dark corner. The child, who I believe is my son, is hooked up to machines. He has oxygen going into his nose, and he wails. Out of all my children, I’ve never witnessed a cry such as this. It’s consistent, and a woman in a gown like the two this nurse and I are wearing sticks her hand in the chamber he’s in. She’s trying to console him, but nothing she does is helping.
“How long has he been like this?” I question the nurse beside me.
Her eyes find mine, and I witness her take a heavy breath. “Since he was born, Mr. Bernardi.”
“Why is he crying so much?” I fear I already know the answer.
“What has the doctor told you?” she asks.
Mr. Bernardi, I fear you need to come as soon as possible. Your son is going through withdrawal of street drugs that his mother took while pregnant. I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but he’s not doing well. It would be in your best interests to get here as soon as you can.
“The drugs. It’s the withdrawal?”
“Yes, it is,” the nurse confirms, and she frowns.
“I see,” I murmur to myself, staring at my son, who thrashes against the blanket he’s swaddled in.
“Mr. Bernardi, I heard you arrived and thought I’d come see you right away,” a deep man’s voice says from behind me, who I can only assume is Dr. McGonigal.
“I appreciate it. Now, can you tell me what the hell is going on with my boy?” I turn to face him, needing my answers now.
His expression falters, and he gives me a curt nod. “Your son is going through drug withdrawals. This generally happens when the mother’s using recreational drugs during the pregnancy. Now, his mother hasn’t been entirely honest with us. She hasn’t even told us what drug she was taking, and she’s been rather insistent that she hasn’t done drugs. She keeps asking to see your son, but that isn’t possible at the moment.”
“We know he’s been exposed to drugs, correct?” I need clarification.
“Yes, he’s showing all of the typical symptoms to a child of a user, and she does have marks on her arms . . . but we can’t pinpoint what she’s been using. At the moment, we’re still waiting on the lab to process her blood.”
“Okay, so what do you need from me? Is there something that can make him more comfortable?”
“There is something we can try, something that the Irish haven’t jumped on board with quite yet. I’ve read studies in American medical journals, and they’re showing promise. Would you like to know more?”
“Please.” The urgency in my voice isn’t missed, and the doctor picks right back up.
“There’s a treatment for opioid withdrawal, called Methadone. If his mother was using an opioid, I can use Methadone to give him every day and slowly wean him off the drugs, so it isn’t as harsh on his body like it is at the moment.”
“And we have to wait for confirmation from the lab, correct?”
The doctor nods. “Yes, which is a few more hours of waiting since they’re backed up. Or . . .”
“Or what?” I hiss. If there’s something I can do to make my son’s life easier, I will.
“I can’t say this, but if you were hypothetically able to find out what drug his mother was using, we could begin treatment much sooner.”
I see what he’s saying. I can read between the lines. “Any way you can tell me where she is?”
“Unfortunately, I’m not able to give away that information, but I can tell you the maternity ward is on the sixth floor. Good luck,” Dr. McGonigal tells me and walks off.