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 Valerie Anne, my mother-in-law, but she seems utterly clueless that her blind “love” and home remedies could cost our child his life. Yes, we share the same goal—to raise a healthy, happy grandson. But her methods keep turning my life into a nightmare and my son into a lab rat.
It all started when little Oliver began nursery. He’d just turned three, and as often happens, he caught every bug going—two days in, and he’d be back home with a fever, sniffles, or chickenpox. I’d returned to my job at an insurance firm after maternity leave, and there were no allowances. Sick days were my problem. So I asked Valerie for help. She’s retired, lives nearby, and jumped at the chance.
But I quickly learned she knows nothing about medicine yet insists she knows best. She’d “treat” Oliver herself—syrups, drops, pills, whatever the neighbour or some daytime telly show recommended. I left clear instructions: what to give, when, and how much. She ignored them. And I stayed quiet because I couldn’t leave Oliver alone, and there was no one else to ask.
I kept quiet until the day Oliver started choking. I’d left work early—call it instinct or luck. His face was swelling, his eyes bulging, lips turning blue. I knew instantly—allergic reaction. I grabbed the emergency EpiPen I kept in the fridge, jabbed him, and within half an hour, he could breathe again.
I nearly lost my mind. Then I opened Valerie’s medicine cabinet—and it all made sense. She’d given him cough syrup, “immune-boosting” drops, and some rainbow-coloured pills “recommended by the woman from flat six.” Those drops were what nearly killed him.
I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“Valerie, please don’t give Oliver anything I haven’t approved. I leave labelled medicines with clear instructions. He could have died!”
“Oh, come now, love. I just wanted him better faster. It’s only a cough and sniffles. A bit of syrup, some drops…”
“Those drops could have killed him! Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“Well, what if it was nothing? Besides, you came just in time. No harm done. Since when does love hurt anyone?”
Just then, my husband walked in.
“What’s all this then?”
Valerie put on her best wounded act.
“Your wife says I’m neglecting Oliver. Suppose she’ll have to look after him herself now.”
“Emma, why are you making a fuss?” James cut in. “Mum helps us—cooks, watches him. Why are you having a go at her?”
“Do you realise your mum’s ‘help’ almost killed him? She gave him a cocktail of rubbish that triggered a severe allergy! If I’d been later, he wouldn’t have made it.”
“Relax, it all turned out fine! Mum won’t do it again, right, Mum?”
“Of course not. I only meant well…”
Then James shut it down.
“Enough. Let’s have dinner—I’m starving.”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I stayed quiet. Later, after Valerie left, I tried talking to James.
“Do you even understand what happened? Did you see your son gasping for air?”
“I saw. But Mum promised it won’t happen again.”
“Promised? What’s stopping her from trying some other quack remedy tomorrow?”
“You know she adores Oliver. What do you want me to do, hire a nanny?”
“Yes!”
“So you don’t trust my mother, but you’d trust some stranger?”
“After today? Absolutely. Because a stranger won’t experiment on him. I’ll start looking. And if you’d seen him turning blue, you’d get it.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Oliver choking, me trapped in the lift while his “loving” grandmother fed him another handful of pills.
By morning, I was online searching for a nanny. A stranger would follow my rules. Better yet—she wouldn’t lie about what she’d given my child.
Maybe Valerie meant well. But the road to A&E is often paved with good intentions. And some bridges just aren’t worth crossing twice.
