I always believed that family members accompanied patients in ambulances, just like they portray on TV. But when my 14-month-old daughter was loaded into the back of an ambulance, I was told I couldn’t join her and was directed to the front seat. I have no clear recollection of how long that ride lasted. All I remember is watching the ground rush by beneath us, anxiously waiting for any sign that my daughter was getting worse. I thought, “If she dies, I can just jump out. It would be quick.”
The week that followed felt like the slowest in my life. My daughter was transferred from the emergency room to the pediatric unit and then to the pediatric intensive care unit as her airways became so constricted that she struggled to breathe. Holding her down while they inserted an IV was one of the most traumatic experiences I’ve ever faced. Watching them connect her to oxygen, helium (to push the oxygen through her nearly closed airways), a heart rate monitor, and the tiniest blood pressure cuff I’d ever seen plunged me into a dark abyss.
All of this was caused by a common illness called parainfluenza, which I had unknowingly passed to her after feeling poorly for a week. As a teacher nearing the end of the school year, I felt I couldn’t take a sick day, so I pushed through, attributing my symptoms to allergies and hoping I wasn’t contagious. My daughter, however, wasn’t as fortunate.
When I first heard about the coronavirus spreading across the globe, I was reminded of that dreadful time nearly two years ago. I found some comfort in reports indicating that children were less affected. I thought, “Thank goodness,” relieved that if I got sick, at least my kids would be okay. As cases began to appear in the U.S., I still doubted it would have the same catastrophic impact as it did in Italy. Even during school closures, I contemplated playdates because I believed children were somehow immune!
But then children began to fall ill, and tragically, some died.
My family has adopted a strict stay-at-home policy. I make a grocery run every two weeks, which is quite a challenge with two toddlers who devour fresh fruit and chicken nuggets. When I return home, I transform into a frantic person, wiping down every surface with bleach wipes and changing out of my “outside clothes” into “inside clothes.” I’m not typically a germaphobe; in fact, with my toddlers being thumb-suckers, I usually take a relaxed approach to hygiene. My kid’s thumb is often in his mouth while he’s still swinging at the park—forget about washing hands when we get home! But this situation has altered my perspective. We now sing “Happy Birthday” to the soap as we scrub vigorously.
As I grasp the seriousness of the pandemic, it seems that those around me are reacting differently. With boredom at home, I’ve watched friends resume playdates and visit family members. I cringed at photos of children hugging grandparents. You could call me Scrooge, but I’ve been through this before.
I’ve been casual about germs, the mom who said, “It’s just building his immune system!” as my child shared a popsicle or picked something off the floor. I’ve done all of that even after our stay in the pediatric ICU. I don’t think we should hide from illness, nor do I believe our fears should run our lives. However, I do believe in recognizing when those fears are valid, as they can keep us safe.
We all yearn for normalcy and safety. We’re exhausted from staying indoors with our kids; still, it remains the safest option. We cannot let our craving for normalcy obscure reality. We cannot let political debates skew our understanding of the situation. We must observe our hospitals and recognize that we want our children at home, not in a medical facility.
Sure, the worst-case scenario may be that I’m overreacting, and my kids miss out on summer fun. They miss hugs from Nana, pool outings with Auntie, and trips to fairs and parks. I am grieving the loss of a summer filled with experiences I’d planned for them.
But we all know the true worst-case scenario: not being cautious. I’ve witnessed firsthand the devastating effects of a respiratory illness on a young child. I’ve held my daughter as she struggled for breath, and I’ve sobbed in the hallway while doctors delivered reports that chilled me to the bone. I watched my vibrant toddler decline into a sweaty, glassy-eyed state in mere hours. Those horrifying moments replay in my mind whenever I find myself in silence.
There will be more summers, more playdates, and more trips to the zoo, park, and pool. But there is only one of her.
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Summary
In light of the ongoing pandemic, I choose to stay home to protect my children and myself. The traumatic experience of my daughter’s previous illness reinforces the necessity of caution. While others may be eager to return to normalcy, the potential dangers are far too significant to ignore. There will always be more opportunities for fun in the future, but right now, safety is my utmost priority.