My mother-in-law nearly killed my son with her so-called “loving” methods. And my husband just shrugged…
I don’t know how to explain this to Valerie Anne, my mother-in-law, but it seems she has no clue that her blind “affection” and home remedies could cost our child his life. Yes, we both share the same goal—to raise a healthy, happy grandson. But her methods keep turning my life into a waking nightmare and my son into some kind of lab rat.
It all started when little Alfie began nursery. He’d just turned three, and like clockwork, he caught every bug going—two days in, then back home with a fever, sniffles, coughs, even chickenpox. I’d just returned to work at an insurance firm after maternity leave, and no one there gave a toss about my sick days. If the kid was ill, it was my problem. So I asked Valerie Anne for help. She lives nearby, retired, and jumped at the chance.
But it quickly became clear that she knew sod-all about medicine yet was utterly convinced she knew best. She’d “treat” Alfie herself—syrups, drops, tablets, whatever the neighbour or some telly doctor had sworn by. I left instructions—what to give, when, how much. She ignored them. And I kept quiet. Because I couldn’t leave him alone, and there was no one else to ask.
I stayed quiet… until the day Alfie started choking. I’d come home early—instinct, fate, who knows. His face was swelling, eyes bulging, lips turning blue. I knew—allergy. Rifled through the fridge for the emergency EpiPen I kept, jabbed him. Half an hour later, he could breathe again.
I nearly lost my mind. Then I checked Valerie Anne’s medicine stash—and it all made sense. She’d dosed him with cough syrup, “immune-boosting” drops, and some rainbow-coloured lozenges her “friend from flat six” had recommended. Those “immune drops” had nearly done him in.
I couldn’t stay silent anymore.
“Valerie Anne, please—don’t give Alfie anything unless I’ve approved it. I leave the right meds, labelled, explained. He could’ve died!”
“Oh, come now, love. I just wanted him better fast. Bit of a cough and sniffles—what’s the harm in a spoonful of syrup?”
“That ‘spoonful’ could’ve killed him. Why didn’t you call an ambulance?!”
“Well, what if it was nothing? Besides, you got here in time, didn’t you? No harm done. Since when does love kill anyone?”
That’s when my husband walked in.
“What’s all this shouting about?”
Valerie Anne, suddenly the wounded saint:
“Your wife says I’m no good with Alfie. Suppose she’ll have to look after him herself now.”
“Lily, don’t be like that,” Oliver cut in. “Mum helps—cooks, watches him. Why’re you having a go?”
“Do you know your ‘helpful’ mum nearly killed him? She pumped him full of stuff that triggered a massive allergic reaction. If I’d been later, he’d be dead.”
“Oh, come off it—it all worked out! She won’t do it again, right, Mum?”
“Course not. I only wanted what’s best…”
Then he dropped the final blow:
“Right, enough. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I bit my tongue. Later, once Valerie Anne was gone, I tried talking to Oliver.
“Do you even get what happened? Did you see your son’s face?”
“I saw. But Mum promised—it won’t happen again.”
“Promised. And what’s stopping her tomorrow?”
“You know she adores Alfie. What d’you want me to do? Hire some stranger?”
“Yes!”
“So you don’t trust my mum, but some random woman gets a free pass?”
“After today—hell yes. A stranger wouldn’t play chemist with my kid’s life. I’ll start looking. And if you’d seen him gasping for air, you’d understand.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Kept seeing Alfie’s blue lips, me stuck in the lift while his “loving” nan force-fed him another handful of mystery pills.
Next morning, I opened my laptop and began searching for a nanny. Maybe she’d be a stranger—but at least she’d follow instructions. At least she wouldn’t lie about what she’d fed my child.
Maybe Valerie Anne meant well. But too often, the road to A&E is paved with good intentions.
