З життя
Свекровь чуть не навредила сыну своими “заботами”, а муж остался равнодушным…
Свекровь чуть не погубила моего сына своей «заботой». А муж только развёл руками…
Я не знаю, как достучаться до Людмилы Степановны, моей свекрови. Она, кажется, искренне уверена, что её домашние методы лечения — это проявление любви. Но её «забота» может стоить жизни нашему ребёнку. Да, мы оба хотим, чтобы Ваня рос здоровым. Только её способы превращают мои будни в ад, а сына — в полигон для экспериментов.
Всё началось, когда Ваня пошёл в детский сад. Ему только исполнилось три, и, как это часто бывает, он стал болеть чуть ли не каждую неделю. Два дня в группе — и снова сопли, кашель, температура, а однажды даже скарлатина… Я только вышла из декрета в бухгалтерию, и никто там не собирался закрывать глаза на мои бесконечные больничные. Пришлось просить помощи у свекрови. Она живёт в соседнем доме, на пенсии, согласилась без проблем.
Но быстро выяснилось, что Людмила Степановна в медицине ничего не смыслит, зато свято верит в свои методы. Она начала «лечить» Ваню сама: травки, микстуры, таблетки — всё по совету подруги или из какой-то народной газеты. Я оставляла ей чёткие инструкции: что, когда и сколько давать. Но свекровь их упорно игнорировала. А я терпела. Потому что помощи ждать было неоткуда.
Терпела до тех пор, пока однажды Ваню не начало душить. Я вернулась с работы раньше — то ли интуиция, то ли случай. Его лицо опухло, глаза покраснели, губы посинели. Я сразу поняла — аллергический отёк. В холодильнике нашла ампулу преднизолона, которую держала на экстренный случай, сделала укол. Через полчаса сын смог снова дышать.
У меня была истерика. А потом я заглянула в аптечку свекрови — и всё встало на свои места. Она запихала в Ваню одновременно сироп от кашля, какие-то «витаминки для иммунитета» и ещё какие-то пилюли, которые ей «посоветовала бабка у подъезда». Именно эти «витаминки» и вызвали жуткую аллергию.
Я больше не могла молчать.
— Людмила Степановна, умоляю, не давайте Ване ничего без моего согласия! Все лекарства я подписываю, объясняю. Он мог умереть!
— Наташенька, ну что ты… Я же хотела, чтобы быстрее выздоровел. Какие-то травки, ну что в них страшного?
— В них смерть! Почему вы не вызвали скорую?!
— Да ну, скорую… Мало ли, обойдётся. Ты же пришла, всё нормально. Разве от заботы дети умирают?..
Тут в комнату вошёл муж.
— В чём дело?
Свекровь с фальшивой обиженностью:
— Твоя жена на меня кричит. Говорит, я плохо с Ваней справляюсь. Может, сама теперь будет сидеть?
— Наташа, ну что за сцены? — вмешался Игорь. — Мама нам помогает: и еду варит, и за ребёнком следит. Чего ты её распекаешь?
— А ты в курсе, что твой сын чуть не задохнулся из-за её «помощи»? Она его накачала таким коктейлем, что у него начался отёк Квинке! Опоздай я на полчаса — он бы умер.
— Ну ладно, всё же обошлось! Мама больше не будет самодеятельностью заниматься, правда?
— Конечно, сынок. Я же добра желала…
А потом он отрезал:
— Всё, хватит. Давайте ужинать, я есть хочу.
Мне хотелось заорать. Но я сжала зубы. А когда Людмила Степановна ушла, попыталась поговорить с Игорем.
— Ты вообще осознаёшь, что произошло? Ты видел, как Ваня синел?
— Видел. Но мама же пообещала.
— Пообещала… А кто даст гарантию, что завтра она не сунет ему какую-нибудь новую гадость?
— Ты что, хочешь, чтобы я маму выгнал? Няню искать?
— Да!
— То есть ты моей матери не веришь, а первой попавшейся тётке — да?
— После сегодняшнего — да. Потому что няня, по крайней мере, не будет испытывать на моём ребёнке народные рецепты. Я уже ищу. И если бы ты сам видел, как он хрипел, ты бы меня поддержал.
Ночью я не спала. Мне всё казалось, что Ваня снова задыхается, а я не могу до него добраться. Что он там, один, а рядом — «любящая» бабушка с её смертельными микстурами.
Утром я открыла ноутбук и начала искать няню. Пусть она будет чужой, но хотя бы будет слушать мои указания. И главное — не станет скрывать, чем кормит моего ребёнка.
Может, свекровь и вправду хотела как лучше. Но, как говорится, благими намерениями вымощена дорога в реанимацию…
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“We Sold You the House—But We Have the Right to Stay for a Week,” the Owners Claimed. In 1975, We Moved from the Countryside to the Edge of Town, Bought a House, and Got Quite a Shock… Back in the village, neighbours always lent a helping hand—my parents were no different. So, when the previous owners of our new home asked if they could stay a couple more weeks while sorting out paperwork, my parents agreed. But these folks owned an enormous, vicious dog—one they didn’t want to take with them, as he never listened to us. To this day, I remember that dog. A week went by, then two, then three—yet the former owners still lived in OUR house! They slept through to dinnertime, rarely left, and showed no intention of moving. Worst of all was their attitude—they acted as though they still owned the place, especially the mother. Time and again, my parents reminded them of the deal, but their “move-out” date kept shifting. Meanwhile, they let their dog roam, never minding where he did his business—right in our garden. We were afraid to go outside; the dog attacked everyone. Over and over, my parents pleaded: keep the dog on a lead! But as soon as my father left for work and my brother and sister went to school, the dog was immediately back in the garden. In the end, it was the dog who helped my father get rid of these cheeky squatters. One day, my sister came home from school, opening the garden gate unthinkingly. The big black brute knocked her down—miraculously, she wasn’t badly hurt, just her coat ripped. They chained up the dog, then blamed my little sister for coming home too early. And that evening, all hell broke loose! Dad came back from work, and—without even taking off his coat—dragged the old lady right out into the street, still in her house dress, with her daughter and husband running behind. Every belonging of these bold squatters flew over the fence into the mud and puddles. They tried to set their dog on my dad, but the dog, seeing the chaos, tucked his tail and hid in his kennel. He wasn’t about to leave. An hour later, every last thing they owned was on the pavement, the gate was locked, and their dog sat outside with them, shut out for good.
Weve sold you the house. Were entitled to stay for a week, declared the former owners. It was 1975, and...
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So, listen, for about a year now my sons been living with this girl, Emily, but wed never met her...
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Needless to say, this is all my fault! my mates sister sobbed. I could never have imagined things would turn...
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