Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 293

Ch. 63

Cassandra

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Believe it or not, this is not my first rodeo when it comes to spending the night in a medical ward with Liam. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t totally make it up, he’s had episodes of unexplained illness since he was a few weeks old. Unfortunately, before coming to Ironwood the first time, I was too busy moving from place to place before Liam’s father could find us to seek reliable healthcare, let alone a diagnosis.

Yes, I admit I coached my son through some feigned episodes in the past, praying on Jaxon’s sympathies. But there’s a reason I got away with it. Because I had enough experience with them to know what one looked like, I knew how to make it seem real enough.

This time was nothing like episodes of the past. It was so much more sudden. And so much worse.

So when the morning light gradually begins to peek through the window and I start to hear sounds of the building waking up around a room where I’ve lain awake stewing in my fear, I’m already pacing anxiously, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

Liam is better. I can see that for myself, even before Dr. Lukas confirms it. His color is different–the alarming flush of last night replaced by something closer to normal. His breathing is different, back to its normal cadence rather than sounding like he just ran a fifty–yard dash while sucking air through a straw, which is a distinction I understand now in a way I hope never to have to understand again.

Dr. Lukas comes in early, thank the Goddess. She’s been so nice to us, I’d hate to have to drag her kicking and screaming by her hair to check on Liam. But my nerves are so fried, I cannot guarantee with any certainty I wouldn’t resort to that.

I saw her twice through the night, checking readings, making notes, careful not to wake Liam but also not abandoning him in favor of her own bed. She does the full assessment now. Temperature, responsiveness, the additional test results from the overnight monitoring.

“Better,” she confirms. “Fever is completely resolved.” She pulls the chair around and sits, which means she has things to say thatI’m not sure how to prepare myself for. “The overnight tests gave me what I needed. I have a full picture now.”

“You know what’s wrong with him? Nobody has ever been able to tell me before, just writing it off as a childhood bug. But I’ve always known it was more than that. Can you treat it?” I rattle off question after question, barely pausing for breath.

She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze, waiting patiently for my attention. Once she has it, she launches into her explanation. 1

“Liam has a chronic inflammatory condition–the kind that can move through childhood relatively quietly until a trigger event produces an acute episode. Usually, when a child gets a relatively minor illness, they fight it off easily. Maybe they require some antibiotics or in some cases, they eradicate the bug without developing any symptoms at all. For Liam, however, any type of infection, even a minor one, stresses his body and causes an inflammatory response.”

“What does that mean? Inflammatory response?” I feel like that’s something I should know but my mind is racing a hundred miles an hour and I can’t make sense of her words.

“It could be anything from a headache and just feeling more tired than usual to what happened last night, a dangerously high fever, disorientation, even seizures if not treated promptly. Illness is the most common trigger but there could be others. The good news is, with proper monitoring and a protocol we’ll build together, he can

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live completely normally.”

You-, you’ll help me?” I have to ask because that seems too good to be true. “No one’s offered to help us before. Most of the doctors we’ve seen just treated me like I was overreacting.”

Dr. Lukas squeezes my hand again and offers me a small smile. “He should have been assessed for this earlier, she says. Not accusatory. Not a judgment aimed at me specifically. Just a fact, delivered with the directness I’ve come to appreciate about her.

“I didn’t know,” I try not to sound offended but it must come out that way anyway because she rushes to reassure

1. me.

“I know you didn’t,” she says. “He was misread before–what presented at his previous medical visits looked different because he was presenting differently. But we know now. And, of course, I’ll help you.”

She doesn’t say, “because he was exaggerating. Because you pushed him to.”

She doesn’t have to. I hear it anyway. It’s what I’d be thinking about myself, even if she hadn’t alluded to it.

I lock those thoughts away to revisit later–the previous visits, the ones where I made him seem sicker than he was, where I used his health as a prop in my one–woman production–Liam needs me to focus on how to help him now. There will be plenty of time for more self–flagellation when we get him through this.

“Thank you,” I infuse my tone with all the gratitude I feel. “For staying through the night.”

“That’s my job,” The way she says it is not brushing me off. It’s a reflection of pride in her work and I know we’re in good hands

She goes back to her work and I crawl back into bed with Liam, watching him sleep. He finally wakes up properly around nine.

When he does open his eyes, they’re the bright, inquisitive eyes of my happy little boy, not the glazed over look of last night. He looks around, taking in the room with a curiosity he didn’t have the alertness for when I brought him here. He looks at the monitor on his finger. He looks at me.

“What happened?” He looks so genuinely perplexed, I almost laugh out loud at the adorable frown on his face.

“Your body had a hard night,” I tell him. “Dr. Lukas fixed it. But you need to rest today.”

He considers this. “Was I scary?” I jolt at the question, at the sudden realization that I must have told him he scared me before.

“A little,” I answer as honestly as I can without making him feel worse. Because I can already tell he’s going to blame himself for upsetting me and that’s the last thing I want.

“Sorry,” he pouts, his little chin drooping to his chest.

“Uh–uh. Enough of that.” I gently lift his chin until he’s looking at me again. “Don’t apologize. Bodies do what they do. It’s not your fault.”

He thinks about this–I can see him turning it over, deciding whether he accepts it as a satisfactory framework. He apparently does.

“Noah stayed!” The sudden subject change gives me whiplash. “He was there when I woke up in the night. I saw him.” His smile is so bright, it crushes a little piece of me to know I’ve robbed him of any chance of having him in his life permanently.

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