Free Children of the Street by Kwei Quartey

up apprehensively at his parents. Dawson instinctively put a reassuring hand on his head.
    “Daddy, I don’t want to stay here,” he said.
    Dawson leaned forward, speaking softly to him. “I know you don’t, Hosiah, but it’s so we can get you better. Both Mammy and I will be right here with you.” He wiped away his son’s tears. “And tomorrow we’ll go back home, okay?”
    Hosiah nodded, trying not to cry.
    Asem dashed off admission orders in completely illegible handwriting and put the note in Hosiah’s chart. “Take this with you to the Emergency Department to get the IV started, and then he’ll go up to the general medical ward on the second floor. Okay?” He smiled at Hosiah. “You’ll be okay. You’re not afraid, are you?”
    “No,” Hosiah said defiantly. “Not even of needles. My daddy is, though.”
    Dr. Asem laughed. “Is that true?” he asked Dawson.
    “I’m afraid so,” he said sheepishly.
    As they stood to leave, Dawson softly told Christine, “Go on ahead with Hosiah, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
    Once his wife and son had left, Dawson turned to Dr. Asem. “In your honest opinion, is Hosiah’s condition getting worse?”
    Asem inclined his head left to right as he considered the question. “Might be a little bit. On the other hand, maybe his sodium balance is just off. You have to be really careful with that salt.”
    “We will,” Dawson promised.
    “Is surgery on the horizon?” Asem asked.
    “As soon as we find a way to pay for it.”
    “I pray that it will be soon. Remember that if Hosiah ever develops the complication of pulmonary hypertension, it’s too late for surgery.”
    Dawson bit his bottom lip. The warning was harsh but true.
    “Thank you for your help, Dr. Asem.”
    T here were twenty-eight beds in total on the general medical ward, infants on one side of the floor, children on the other. Dawson, Christine, and Hosiah were all too familiar with the large, common room shared by all the patients. That was the way it had been for a long time at Korle Bu, and with the exception of a new private wing for people with a lot of money, that was the way it would be for some time to come.
    As the diuretic began to take effect, Christine and Dawson helped Hosiah with the urinal just as other parents did their own children.
    Night came. By 2:00 A.M. , Hosiah had settled down, sleeping without much trouble. His pulse oximetry reading was up to 95 percent. Christine had been dozing off and on with her head resting on the edge of the bed. Dawson allowed his eyes to drift closed for short periods, but he was still on constant watch over his son.
    “Christine,” he whispered. “Why not go home and get a few hours? He seems to be doing fine.”
    She rubbed her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”
    “Yes, we’ll be fine. Are you going to work tomorrow?”
    “I’ll go in for half a day. Hopefully he can come home in the afternoon.”
    “He should be able to.”
    She nodded and stood up. “Okay. But call me if … you know, if anything comes up.”
    “Of course.”
    She kissed him on the cheek and softly kissed Hosiah as well, and then she was gone.



12
    Friday morning, Detective Sergeant Chikata was enjoying being “in charge” while Dawson was temporarily away. He went up to his uncle’s air-conditioned office to spend some time with him. Chief Supol Theophilus Lartey was a small man with large aspirations and good connections. He was undoubtedly on his way up to deputy commissioner of police, and ultimately commissioner.
    In turn, Chikata was eyeing inspector rank, where Dawson was now. As he chatted with his uncle, Chikata asked him about the prospects for promotion.
    “I also want to see you move up, Philip,” Lartey reassured him. “Very much so. One thing you have to remember, however, is that, although I have influence, I’m not the only one who has a say in your promotion. You understand me?”
    “Yes, Uncle.”
    Lartey put his fingertips together,