My mother-in-law nearly killed my son with her so-called “caring” methods. And my husband just shrugged…
I don’t know how to explain this to Evelyn Margaret, my mother-in-law, but she seems utterly blind to the fact that her reckless “affection” and homemade remedies could cost our child his life. Yes, we both want the same thing—a healthy, happy grandchild. But her methods keep turning my life into a nightmare and my son into some kind of lab rat.
It all started when Theodore began nursery. He’d just turned three, and as often happens, he caught every bug going—two days in, and he’d be feverish, sniffling, coughing, or covered in chickenpox spots. I’d gone back to work at an insurance firm after maternity leave, and no one there cut me any slack. Sick days were my problem. So I asked Evelyn for help. She lives nearby, retired, and agreed eagerly.
But I quickly learned Evelyn knows nothing about medicine yet thinks she’s an expert. She started “treating” Teddy herself—syrups, drops, pills, whatever the neighbour or some TV quack recommended. I left clear instructions: what, when, how much. She ignored them. I stayed quiet because I had no one else to watch him.
Then one day, Teddy started choking. I came home early—instinct, fate, who knows. His face was swelling, his eyes bulging, lips turning blue. I knew—allergic reaction. I grabbed the emergency epinephrine shot I kept in the fridge, jabbed him. Half an hour later, he could breathe again.
I nearly lost my mind. Then I checked Evelyn’s medicine cabinet—and it all made sense. She’d dosed him with cough syrup, “immune-boosting” tinctures, and some rainbow-coloured lozenges her “friend from flat six” swore by. Those “immune drops” nearly finished him.
I couldn’t stay silent anymore.
“Evelyn, please don’t give Teddy anything I haven’t approved. I leave labelled medicines for a reason. He could have died!”
“Oh, come now, Charlotte. I just wanted him better faster. It’s just a cough and sniffles. A bit of syrup, some drops—”
“Those drops could’ve killed him! Why didn’t you call an ambulance?!”
“An ambulance? Overreaction, surely? You came in time, didn’t you? Since when does love hurt anyone?”
Then my husband walked in.
“What’s all this shouting?”
Evelyn put on a wounded act.
“Your wife says I’m unfit to watch Teddy. Suppose she’ll have to do it herself now.”
“Charlie, really?” James cut in. “Mum’s helping us—cooking, watching him. Why’re you tearing into her?”
“Do you know your mother nearly killed him with her ‘help’? She fed him a cocktail that triggered anaphylaxis! Five minutes later, and he’d have been gone.”
“Well, it all worked out, didn’t it? Mum won’t do it again, right, Mum?”
“Of course not. I only meant well…”
Then he shut it down.
“Enough. Let’s have dinner. I’m starving.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I bit my tongue. When Evelyn left, I tried talking to James.
“Do you even grasp what happened? Did you see your son’s face?”
“I saw. But Mum promised she won’t repeat it.”
“Promised. And tomorrow? What if she gives him something else?”
“You know she loves Teddy. What d’you want me to do? Hire a nanny?”
“Yes!”
“So you don’t trust my mother but some stranger?”
“After today—yes. Because a stranger won’t play chemist with my son. I’ll start looking. If you’d seen him gasping for air, you’d understand.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Kept seeing Teddy’s lips blue again, me too late. Trapped in the lift while he’s alone with “loving” Granny and her fistful of pills.
In the morning, I opened my laptop and searched for nannies. Maybe she’ll be a stranger, but at least I can train her to follow rules. And she won’t lie about what she’s feeding my child.
Evelyn may have meant well. But the road to A&E is paved with good intentions.
