Updated: May 29, 2020
Originally Published: May 27, 2020
I always imagined that family members could accompany their loved ones in an ambulance, just like they do in movies. But when my 14-month-old daughter was rushed to the hospital, paramedics prevented me from climbing in beside her, directing me to the front seat instead. I have no recollection of how long that ride was; all I can remember is staring at the pavement beneath us, anxiously awaiting any signs of my child’s worsening condition. In that moment, I thought, “If anything happens to her, I could just jump out the door. It would be quick.”
The following week felt like an eternity as my daughter transitioned from the emergency room to the pediatric ward and then to the pediatric intensive care unit. Her airways became so constricted that she struggled to breathe. Holding her down while they inserted an IV was a heart-wrenching experience, but the sight of her being hooked up to oxygen, helium (to help push the oxygen through her nearly closed airways), a heart rate monitor, and a tiny blood pressure cuff plunged me into despair. All of this stemmed from a common illness called parainfluenza, which I had unknowingly transmitted to her. I had felt unwell for a week, struggling through the last days of school as a teacher, believing it was just allergies and hoping I wasn’t contagious. I powered through, but my daughter did not have that luxury.
When I first heard about the coronavirus spreading globally, I was reminded of that harrowing experience from nearly two years ago. However, initial reports suggested that children were largely unaffected, which brought me some relief. I thought, “If I get sick, fine, but as long as my kids are safe.” But as cases began to emerge in the U.S., my confidence waned, even considering playdates during lockdown since I was convinced kids were immune.
Then came the news of children falling ill—and some tragically dying.
Now, my family remains isolated. We avoid social interactions and I only venture out for groceries every two weeks, a challenging task with two toddlers who devour fresh fruit and chicken nuggets. Upon returning home, I turn into a cleaning frenzy, disinfecting everything with bleach wipes and changing out of my “outside clothes.” Normally, I wouldn’t consider myself a germaphobe; with thumb-sucking toddlers, you have to adopt a relaxed attitude toward hygiene. But the pandemic has altered my perspective drastically. We now sing “Happy Birthday” or a slow version of the ABCs while scrubbing our hands thoroughly.
As I grasp the gravity of the situation, I watch as those around me seem to be taking a different approach. With boredom setting in, friends are resuming playdates and family visits. I felt horrified seeing a friend’s social media post of her daughter playing with a neighbor, and I cringed at pictures of kids hugging their grandparents on Mother’s Day. I may come off as overly cautious, but my past experiences have shaped my view.
I’ve been nonchalant about germs before, believing they help build immunity. I’ve been the mom who said, “It’s just a little dirt,” while my child shared popsicles or picked something off the floor. I even did this after our time in the PICU. However, I firmly believe in acknowledging when our fears are warranted, when they serve to protect us. We all crave normalcy and safety, but we cannot let our longing for the familiar blind us to the current reality. We must look at our hospitals and recognize that we want our children safe at home, not admitted as patients.
The worst-case scenario is that I’m overreacting, and my kids miss a summer filled with fun—miss hugs from Nana and time at Auntie’s pool. They miss out on fairs, zoo trips, and playground adventures. I am grieving the loss of these experiences, but we all know that the real worst case is if we don’t take precautions. I’ve seen firsthand what a respiratory illness can do to a seemingly healthy child. I held my daughter as she struggled to breathe, and I listened in anguish as doctors delivered reports that terrified me. I witnessed her transformation from a vibrant toddler to a lethargic, sickly child in mere hours. Those memories haunt me when silence descends, reminding me of how quickly things can change.
There will be more summers, more playdates, and more opportunities for fun. But there’s only one of her.
For more insights on managing health and staying informed during these times, you can check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination from the CDC. If you’re interested in boosting fertility, consider looking at this guide by Make A Mom, which offers valuable supplements. Additionally, explore this related blog post for further perspectives on staying safe during re-opening.
Summary
The author reflects on her experience with a respiratory illness that affected her young child, emphasizing the importance of taking health guidelines seriously during the pandemic. As she navigates her family’s isolation, she expresses concerns over others resuming social activities too soon. Ultimately, she prioritizes safety over normalcy, acknowledging the emotional toll of missing out on summer activities while stressing the necessity of caution in the face of health risks.