Another Dawn (17 page)

That night, I tossed restlessly without finding sleep for the longest time. Eventually my thoughts turned to Roger. I thought about his mother, Lisa, a member of Jasmine’s support group—a group that called themselves parents of vaccine-injured children.

Roger was seven. He was referred to as “high functioning.” In fact, most people who came in contact with him would not even consider that he might be autistic. Odd, yes; spoiled, likely; autistic, not really.

He was into major league baseball. And I don’t mean into baseball in the way that your average sports fan is into baseball. The Dodgers were his favorite team, and he knew the stats in detail for every single player on the team, from the biggest stars to the player that had just been called up from the minor leagues. He knew stats from their college careers, which high school they played for, and all sorts of otherwise mind-numbing information.

One time Jasmine had asked me to drop something off at their house on my way home from work. Roger had shown me his room—the walls covered with charts he’d made. Intricate to the point where he knew more about the players than most of their coaches did.

Roger’s father, Jeff, was a top performer at his financial firm, and in appreciation, his boss offered him Dodgers tickets. Not just any tickets. He held season passes in the prime seats not far behind the third-base dugout.

Roger was beside himself with excitement at the thought of seeing his favorite team in person. On the day of the big game, though, as they pulled into the parking lot, Roger began to twitch, a sign of growing agitation. There were lots of people walking through the parking lot, and crowds often bothered him.

The stadium was loud with the hum of so many people—people bumping into each other, people shouting across the way to each other. By the time they started down the stairs to their seat, Roger had gone into tantrum mode. A screaming, kicking, biting tantrum.

Since he was seven at the time, well past the age when most children have outgrown tantrums, I guess no one would be surprised that people weren’t overly sympathetic. As Lisa tried to contain him, to keep him from hurting himself, she could hear the comments around her— “spoiled brat,” “needs a good spanking,” “needs to teach that kid some manners.”

Thirty minutes later she finally got him out of the stadium and back into the car. The two-hour drive home was mostly filled with him kicking and screaming. They never again attempted another Dodgers game.

The phone rang at my father’s house in the middle of the night. I scrambled from my bed and ran into the kitchen, bumping into the countertop as I reached the phone. “Hello.”

“Hannah’s being admitted to the hospital. I thought Dad would want to know.”

The panic over my niece’s well-being superseded the sting of the intentional omission. “Dehydration?”

“Her temp is almost 103 and she just wouldn’t quit crying. We finally brought her to the emergency room about an hour ago. They’re trying to get an IV in her now, but so far no luck.”

“I’ll be right there.” I was already heading toward my bedroom, preparing to change into clothes.

“No.”

“Jana, I know you’re mad at me, but—”

“No. They only allow one person in the patient’s room overnight. Even Rob has to stay in the waiting room.”

“Then I’ll sit out there with him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, either. The waiting room is full of Kelsey’s family.”

“Oh.” Not exactly a crowd that would be happy to see me. “Rob needs someone to sit with him. I’m coming anyway.” I knew that Rob’s parents were on a month-long trip to Europe, and I didn’t want him to face this alone.

“No. I mean it. You go ahead and get on your airplane. We’ll be fine.”

“Jana, I am going to come. I want to be there.”

She remained silent for just a moment. When she spoke again it was in a much softer voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, okay?”

“But I want to be there, to help, something.”

“I think the way you can best help right now is by giving us a little space.” I felt the frustration in her voice.

“Okay, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” I hung up the phone and laid my head on the counter.
This is awful. Awful.

“What’s going on?” My father shuffled into the kitchen in his boxers and T-shirt. “I heard the phone ring.”

“Hannah is being admitted to the hospital for high fever and dehydration.”

He nodded. “You heading out there tonight?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“She . . .” The truth was so painful, so completely awful, that I could hardly bring myself to finish the sentence. Somehow I managed to choke out the words. “ . . . doesn’t want me to.”

“I see.” He scrubbed both hands across his face, leaving his gray bangs standing straight out in the aftermath. “I guess that’s to be expected, all things considered. What a mess.”

“Yes it is.” I stumbled into my room but didn’t lie on the bed. Instead, I knelt beside it. “God, help them. Help me. Help us all.” I buried my face in the sheets and wept.

My father was already in the kitchen when I walked in. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled. “You sleep any?”

I shook my head. “Every time I closed my eyes I thought of Hannah and what she’s going through. And Jana . . . ” I choked on her name. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there for her.”

Dad leaned his forehead into his left hand and nodded. “One of us needs to at least go out to the hospital and check on things.”

“I agree.” During the course of the night I’d come to the same conclusion, and I knew that one had to be me. “I’ll go.”

“You sure that’s the best thing?”

“You’re not supposed to drive yet. I could drop you off, but I really need to talk to Jana face-to-face.”

He looked at me long and hard for a minute. Finally, he shook his head, something almost like approval on his face. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Good for you.”

“I’ll just go get ready.” I hurried from the room, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

On my way out the door, I heard Dylan say, “You want to go sit out on the porch, Grandpa? I’ll eat some raisins while you smoke your cigarette.”

It was all I could do not to turn around, pick up Dylan, and take him with me. But I was going to face Jana. I wasn’t going to run from this. So I walked out the door and got into the car, trying not to think about the poor example my father was setting for my son. Trying not to think about what toxins my son might breathe just by sitting near him on the porch.

I made the short drive to the hospital, praying that Hannah was better by now. That a little bit of IV fluid had made her well enough to go back home. Hoping that maybe my sister didn’t hate me.

How was she going to respond to my unexpected visit? I still ached from her words yesterday, and showing up like this was only asking for more of the same. I supposed those words would be mild compared to what I might expect from Kelsey’s family—I’d seen a good sample of that already, too.

I turned off the car in the hospital parking lot and didn’t move. I could drive away from here right now, get on the plane this afternoon, and wait until all this blew over. There was no reason to put myself through this.

Yes there was. There were two good reasons. Hannah. And Jana.

When I walked through the main lobby, there were a couple of volunteers in their pink jackets at a desk near the front. “Can we help you find the right place, dear?”

“Pediatrics,” I said, looking toward the signage, thinking I really didn’t need their help.

“Pediatrics is a locked wing and only allows two visitors per patient at a time. We need your name and the name of the patient that you are going to see.”

“My name is Grace Graham, and I am going to see Hannah Morgan.”

The two women exchanged a glance. The one who had not yet spoken said, “Both her parents are back there with her, so you won’t be able to go onto the floor unless one of them comes out. There is a waiting area outside the door where you can sit, but I think it is likely packed right now.”

“All right. Which way to the waiting room?”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” It was less a question and more a warning.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, which way do I go?” At the end of this day I would be leaving here. I had already braced myself to take whatever it was I might encounter in the next few hours.

“Turn right, go to the end of the hall, and turn left. About halfway down that hall you’ll see an overhead sign pointing you to the pediatric waiting room.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t look back as I hurried away from them. I pulled the cell phone out of my pocket and called Jana’s. It went immediately to voice mail. I knew there were areas of the hospital where cell phones were not allowed, likely this very hallway where I was walking, as well as Hannah’s room. I called 4-1-1. “Shoal Creek Hospital, please.”

A few minutes later I was connected to the operator. “May I have Hannah Morgan’s room, please?”

“One moment.”

I heard the phone ringing on the other end. “Hello.” Jana’s voice sounded cracked and tired.

“Hey, it’s me. How’s she doing?”

“They finally got an IV going, so she’s got some fluid in her, but her fever is 104 right now. They’re giving her some medications in her IV, but I can’t tell that anything’s doing her a lot of good at this point.”

“Well, I’m here. In the waiting room, or about to be. If you need to take a break and go get some coffee or something, I’m here for you.”

I could hear Hannah crying in the background. I could hear Rob’s voice as he tried to speak some sort of comfort to her. Finally, Jana said, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve got to go now.” And she hung up.

I tried to tell myself that I understood my sister’s anger—she was tired, she had a sick kid, she was worried and exhausted. Still, my whole chest felt as though it had been pounded with a sledgehammer. This was not my fault, and yet I felt as though my whole family—the entire town—was blaming me.

Why should I take the fall for something that was so obviously out of my control? Even as I had the thought, an image flashed through my mind of the standing stones in my dad’s backyard. I supposed this was the beginning of my all-night march.
Please, God, let there be some hailstones up ahead. I don’t think I can take an uphill battle without your help.
It surprised me how quickly I’d returned to praying in the last twenty-four hours, when it had been so long before that. I don’t know what that said about my faith, and even as they came to me, I still didn’t put a lot of hope in the results.

I wanted to curl into a ball right here in the hallway and cry and kick and scream. I wanted to force my way into my niece’s hospital room and make them understand that I had made the right choices. I wanted to make them spend the day with Collin, to watch the old home videos so they could see what he had been like before the medical establishment loaded him down with all those neurotoxins. Then they would understand.

By the time I finished my little internal tirade, I saw the overhead sign and turned toward the pediatric waiting room. It was a medium-sized waiting area, with perhaps twenty chairs. More than half of these were filled by middle-aged adults, most of them overweight, and a half dozen children were playing with toys on the floor. The carpet was old and stained and I suspected that those kids on that floor were currently being invaded by all sorts of new and strange bacteria.

I walked to a chair on the end, thinking I would sit here for a while and try to finally make up my mind. Should I continue to stay here and wait, knowing there was little chance that Jana would even see me? Should I just go back to Dad’s, pick up Dylan, and head home? I dropped into the chair and picked up a
People
magazine. On the cover was a full-body picture of a bikini-clad Rachel Wilson, a buxom blonde who had, until a month ago, been the Hollywood sweetheart. The recent scandals involving drugs and married men were currently making headlines and tarnishing her image, at least temporarily. I opened the magazine and started thumbing through the pages, not really caring what I read, just needing something to look at.

“That Rachel Wilson, she’s something else, ain’t she?” The woman sitting a couple of chairs to the right of me wore a sleeveless shirt that showed just how large the arms could be of a woman who was at least one hundred pounds overweight. Her bleached blond hair was piled on her head; she wore lots of makeup and big hoop earrings.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, having no intention of having a conversation with this woman, about Rachel Wilson, or otherwise.

“Of course, it don’t surprise me none. That’s what happens to people when they move out there to Los Angeles. They forget about their upbringing and get all caught up in themselves and what is best for them. Don’t care who it hurts in the process. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The man sitting beside her leaned forward, elbows on knees, and waited for my response.

I gave none.

He began to stroke the stubble on his chin. “I don’t see how you couldn’t agree. I mean, look at this whole waiting room full of people. Why are they here? Because one person who didn’t even have a college degree, much less a medical education of any sort, decided she knew more than all the doctors in this whole country—and refused to vaccinate her son. Now all of us are missing out on our regular lives to be sitting here in this waiting room, because a member of our family is in the hospital with a disease that she would never had been exposed to in the first place if everyone around her have done the right thing. Sweet little innocent baby. She’s been so sick, got these little sores all over her tongue. You’d think that the person responsible for that would be in there begging her parents for forgiveness, wouldn’t you?”

Angry heat crept up my shoulders, my neck, and all the way into my scalp. I was not going to let a couple of uneducated rednecks make me feel like less than the parent I was.

“No one is more sorry than I am about those babies getting sick. My son was sick, and my niece is sick now. But there was nothing uninformed about my choice. The question should be—which do you choose to believe? The eyewitness accounts of hundreds and thousands of families who have watched their children slip into oblivion within hours or days of receiving their vaccines, or to a scientific community who listens to all these stories and claims it is coincidence? That same scientific community would stand to lose millions and millions of dollars if vaccines were shown to be a cause of autism, so I think we can all agree that a conflict of interest exists at the very least.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong”—the man seemed downright arrogant—“but aren’t a good many of those parents with . . . what did you call it . . . eyewitness stories? Aren’t a bunch of them in that group that is suing the government for millions and millions in that vaccine court I’ve been reading about? Say what you will about money being the motivation; it seems to me that point could be applied to both sides.”

A woman from farther across the room said, “I don’t care what all you tree-hugging yahoos do that affect your own kids, but what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be allowed to live among the rest of us. You were counting on the fact that most of us immunize our own children and do the right thing. That should keep your own son from getting sick from the disease, and you can just ride on the safety of our shoulders.”

“You’re selfish, that’s what you are,” a fourth woman chimed in. “I hope that Kelsey’s parents sue you for everything you’ve got. You are the lowest form of society, as far as I’m concerned.”

The entire waiting room had fallen into silence, every single person focusing full attention on me. Seemed that most, if not all, of the people in this room were here on account of Kelsey. I figured this was a group with whom there was no reasoning. I certainly didn’t want to continue to fight for the next five hours while I sat out here just hoping that my sister would eventually come out and tell me what was going on with my niece. I looked back down at my magazine and pretended to be extremely interested in the pictures of Angelina Jolie at the ice-cream shop with a tableful of her adopted children.

“Yep, that’s about right, isn’t it?” one of the women said. “Ignore the problem and it will go away. Stick your head in the sand and don’t even notice when it’s your fault that a couple of innocent babies are in the hospital because of your selfish decisions.”

I didn’t look up. I tried as hard as I could to shut out the murmur of agreement and the subsequent mumbled slanders aimed in my direction.

“Your own family’s mad at you, ain’t they?” The first woman was speaking again. “That’s why you’re sitting out here all alone. They don’t want no part of you because you done this to your own niece.”

I wasn’t certain what hurt most. The venom of the words, or the fact that they were true. I tried to focus on the picture in the magazine, but it was starting to blur around the edges. I blinked hard and tried harder.

“Her own family is right here.” I jumped at the sound of Rob’s voice right over me. I’d had my focus so turned down, I hadn’t even seen him enter the room. I stood up and hugged him. “How’s she doing?”