On Christmas morning, my toddler suddenly developed a fever and a bubbly rash on her backside, prompting my wife to rush her to the doctor. Shortly after, I received a text: “She has hand, foot, and mouth disease.”
As a parent of three kids under nine, this was our first encounter with HFMD, and let me tell you, it was absolutely brutal. This illness can linger for up to two weeks, is highly contagious, and causes a great deal of pain. The rashes morph into blisters, and those blisters can even get underneath the nails, potentially causing them to fall off. Yes, fall off.
The very thought of all three of my children wandering around with rashes, blisters, and missing nails was a nightmare. When my wife returned from the doctor, I was already shampooing the carpet and washing sheets, trying to contain the virus before it spread further.
Mel walked in, carrying our little one, Lily, on her hip. By now, Lily’s once-cherubic face was dotted with red bumps, her blue eyes glistening with tears. As she opened and closed her hands, it was clear she was in discomfort. I felt an urge to hold her, to comfort her, but fear gripped me. I had recently been watching The Man in the High Castle, a series that explores an alternate history where the Nazis won WWII, and one of their torturous interrogation methods involved ripping off fingernails. Just the thought made my stomach churn.
That’s the harsh reality of parenting. Had Mel been the one suffering from HFMD, I would have maintained my distance, showing empathy from afar, but when it comes to the kids, it’s a whole different ballgame. Even if they were afflicted with something as severe as the bubonic plague, I would still be obligated to hold them close.
Lily approached me with a tentative gait owing to her sore feet, tugging at my pant leg. I hesitated before picking her up, battling the inner conflict of wanting to comfort her while fearing the virus. This is the challenge of caring for a sick child. When they’re messy or sick, you typically clean them up. However, when your toddler has hand, foot, and mouth disease, you hold them tight, soothe their pain, and cross your fingers that you can make it through without falling victim yourself.
Mel handed me a list of over-the-counter remedies the doctor had suggested, but none were prescriptions. “What is this nonsense?” I exclaimed. Mel sighed. “It’s a virus, and she’s not even two yet. They can’t prescribe anything.” Before a child turns two, parents are left with only two options: Tylenol and Motrin—neither of which does much more than offer a false sense of control.
The rest of the day was a blur of trips to Walgreens, the lone pharmacy open on Christmas Day in our town, where I gathered everything from creams to replacement toothbrushes and bath toys—anything Lily might have used in the days leading up to her illness. I felt guilty shopping on a holiday, yet incredibly relieved that a store was open.
The subsequent nights were some of the longest of my parenting journey. Mel and I took turns caring for Lily, whose rashes ultimately transformed into blisters. About three days in, while preparing her for a bath, I noticed one of the blisters on her bottom had begun to peel. I touched it lightly and a sizable flap of skin came off in my hand.
Mel entered the room, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “What happened?” she asked. I shrugged, “It just came off?”
Lily stood there, naked and vulnerable, her hair tousled. She gave me a heart-wrenching look as if I had betrayed her trust by peeling off her skin. Holding a stuffed orange cat she’d received in her Christmas stocking, she snatched it from me, clung tightly, and wailed as she waddled to the tub, her raw bottom on display.
That night, she lost a bit more skin, from her hands and feet, but the next day marked the beginning of her recovery. It wasn’t a sudden change but rather a gradual improvement.
Roughly two weeks after her illness commenced, I was tidying up the living room when I heard her laughter for the first time since she got sick. I was exhausted, having spent countless nights awake, but in that moment, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Mel was in the kitchen, our older kids were occupied in their rooms, and somehow we had all managed to stay healthy.
Lily was walking about the living room, and when our eyes met, she grabbed her tummy, leaned back dramatically, and erupted into laughter. It hit me then—she hadn’t laughed in days. The absence of her joy had been palpable; it felt as though something crucial was missing in our home.
Watching my children smile brings me an indescribable joy, and when that light dims, it leaves a void that aches deeply. This is perhaps the hardest part of having a very sick child: the absence of their laughter and playfulness. They often sit in silence, whether sad or irritable, and all you want is to see them happy again.
I scooped Lily into my arms, pulling her close. “Looks like you’re feeling better.” She babbled happily and laughed once more, filling my heart with warmth. That night, her sleep was more peaceful than it had been in days. The next day, she began losing her fingernails, but thankfully, she didn’t seem to be in any pain. After that sweet laugh, she appeared to be free from discomfort, and though I had mostly just held her and applied ointment, there was a profound sense of fulfillment in watching her recover.
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In summary, navigating the challenges of childhood illnesses like hand, foot, and mouth disease is a true test for parents. The emotional rollercoaster of caring for a sick child can be exhausting, but the moments of relief and joy when they begin to heal are worth every sleepless night.
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