Life Of A Single Mom

chapter 17

At that point, I felt like life just wouldn’t let up on me.

Every time I thought I could finally breathe, something else came crashing down.

Then one day, my baby boy got extremely sick.

And when I say sick…

baby, I’m talking about every mother’s worst nightmare.

He stopped eating. Started running a fever. Then the seizures started.

I panicked instantly.

Nothing prepares you for seeing your child’s body react in ways you can’t control. I grabbed him and rushed straight to the hospital praying the whole drive there.

But instead of comfort and urgency, I was met with judgment.

See, where I’m from, people don’t ask questions first.

They assume.

Before I even had time to fully process what was happening, security was standing outside the hospital room telling me they had been instructed to make sure I didn’t leave because DFACS had been contacted.

My entire body went cold.

All I could think was:

Why are y’all calling DFACS instead of helping my baby?

I was already terrified watching my child fight for his health, and now suddenly I’m being treated like a criminal too?

The emotions that hit me in that moment were overwhelming.

Fear. Anger. Confusion. Hurt.

I wanted to snap. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cuss everybody in that hospital out.

But I couldn’t afford to lose control because my son needed me more than my emotions did.

Thankfully, my mom showed up because baby, I was hanging on by a thread mentally. Just her presence alone helped calm me down enough to focus.

Eventually, things got serious enough that we had to be airlifted to another hospital.

That entire helicopter ride felt unreal.

Once we arrived at the new hospital, the atmosphere immediately felt different. Instead of accusations, they started actually doing their jobs. Asking questions. Running tests. Trying to figure out what was really wrong with my baby.

Finally, somebody got an IV started, and from there the testing began.

At one point, I had to step out briefly so the staff could speak with me privately. They explained that because the first hospital contacted DFACS, I would still be monitored during our stay, but they reassured me they’d keep me informed and wouldn’t treat me like a suspect unless they had reason to.

Even though I appreciated their honesty, it still hurts.

Because as a mother, nothing cuts deeper than people believing you could intentionally harm your child.

Especially when all you’ve ever done was sacrifice yourself for them.

Surprisingly, during all of this, Keith actually started acting concerned for once. By then we were already broken up because, of course, he had gone back to the other baby mama. So our conversations stayed short and awkward, but he constantly texted and called checking on the baby throughout everything.

And honestly?

Even though the bar was low, it still shocked me.

Meanwhile, rumors started spreading back home.

Everybody suddenly had a story. Everybody suddenly knew “what happened.” Everybody suddenly had opinions on my life.

And I was too emotionally drained to defend myself to each individual person.

But eventually I snapped.

Even the elders got it.

Because one thing a family will do is judge your pain while hiding their own baggage behind closed doors. Folks love sweeping around somebody else’s front porch while theirs got dirt piled to the ceiling.

So finally, I made a post telling everybody who actually knew details of the situation to shut the hell up. If I wanted my business shared publicly, I would’ve shared it myself. Otherwise, keep sending prayers and mind your business.

Eventually, after days of tests and monitoring, doctors finally figured out what was wrong with my baby.

He had developed a bacterial infection that caused severe stomach pain, vomiting, dehydration, and seizures from his body being under so much stress.

And hearing that diagnosis brought me relief and heartbreak at the same time.

Relief because my baby was finally getting treated properly.

Heartbreak because the entire time, I had been carrying the weight of accusations on top of fear for my child’s life.

Because honestly…

why would I hurt one child while fighting every day for the other four?

It never made sense to me.

Yes, there are evil people in this world.

But I wasn’t one of them.

After a few days of treatment, my baby slowly started improving. His appetite returned little by little, he gained weight back, and eventually I started seeing my happy baby boy again instead of the weak little version laying in that hospital bed.

After almost a week, we were finally discharged and allowed to go home.

But mentally?

I didn’t feel free at all.

I felt watched. Judged. Exhausted.

Like a prisoner who just happened to not be behind actual bars.