When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

The walls were painted a nauseating shade of institutional beige, and the overhead fluorescent tubes hummed with an aggressive, insectoid frequency. I sat rigidly in a molded plastic chair, cocooned in a scratchy, thermal hospital blanket. My scrubs were still damp, radiating the sickening cocktail of rainwater and the phantom stench of poisoned almonds.continue reading …