It’s 3:37 a.m., and I find myself cradling my five-year-old in the dimly lit living room. His small, shirtless frame trembles as he nestles against me. He signs “more” to my off-key rendition of Paul Simon’s “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes,” a melody I sing in a sleepy haze. His smile is the only comfort I need to resist calling our pediatrician’s emergency line.
His bare feet rhythmically tap against my shins, an endearing gesture that belies the tremors coursing through him. “Please, God, don’t let it be the flu,” I plead silently as he coughs with a raspy, old-man sound. Just last week, a 33-year-old in our community succumbed to the flu, and the thought of that tragedy weighs heavily on my mind. If it can affect an adult, what might it do to my vulnerable child, who has cerebral palsy and a tendency to put everything in his mouth?
I pause my singing. He settles against my chest, the corner of his blanket securely in his mouth, just as my husband enters from the kitchen with Motrin. Together, we prop him up like adjusting a wobbly chair. Thankfully, he takes the medication and some water, and we move to our bedroom. Leaving him alone in his bed, even with the baby monitor, feels unbearable.
So far, there’s been no vomiting or diarrhea—symptoms I’ve read are common in pediatric flu cases. My research had begun the moment I noticed his shaking and heightened startle reflex while dressing him for bed. I was already aware of the recent flu death, and I couldn’t help but wonder about the young son left behind.
Facebook has only added to my anxiety. Comments from fellow mothers flash through my mind like an anxiety-inducing ticker tape:
- “Get him to the doctor now for Tamiflu! It only works if you start within 24 hours!”
- “Don’t give Tamiflu! It caused my daughter to vomit and become dehydrated!”
- “My son had type A, and we were sent home with antibiotics and a nebulizer!”
- “All three of ours got flu shots and still tested positive!”
- “Don’t let it progress; you’re just waiting for pneumonia!”
- “Don’t go to the doctor! They’ll just send you home with symptom management advice!”
- “All the clinics around are out of flu tests!”
- “If your child struggles to breathe, head to urgent care immediately!”
This flood of information only leaves me paralyzed with indecision. Now, at 4:40 a.m., with the pediatric office still closed, I am at a loss for what to do.
Yet, I’ve faced these situations before. We’ve endured ambulance rides, intubations, spinal taps, EKGs, EEGs, and countless other medical procedures. It’s been three years since his last seizure, but even a fever keeps me from breathing easily. This is my new normal.
Reflecting on the barrage of comments and the conversations I’ve overheard in the school pickup line, I recognize that other parents are experiencing the same level of anxiety. Their urgent Facebook posts, the mini hand sanitizers at the ready, and the incessant Googling mirror my own feelings of low-grade panic at the prospect of a sick child.
Watching your child endure an illness you can only hope to alleviate is a harrowing experience. The waiting is torturous, and the uncertainty even worse. As I check the clock for what feels like the fortieth time and press my lips to his forehead to test his temperature, I realize I am not alone in this. I am merely one of many concerned parents yearning for our children to return to their vibrant selves.
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Summary:
This piece captures the anxieties and fears that arise during the flu season, particularly for parents of vulnerable children. The narrative delves into the panic that accompanies the potential for illness, portraying the emotional weight of waiting and uncertainty. In a time when many parents share these concerns, it’s a reminder that we are not alone in our worries.