As I cradled my infant daughter, wires protruding from her tiny frame, we found ourselves on what felt more like a gurney than a bed in the emergency room. Her skin displayed a troubling blue-gray hue, and her eyes were filled with tears, swollen and pleading. I kept reminding myself that she was stable now, trying to push down the trauma of having lost a child before. If I repeated it often enough, surely it would become true. Her gaze met mine, and she weakly grasped my finger, reassuring me that she was here to stay.
I don’t recall the exact words the doctor spoke when she pulled back the curtain, resting her hand on my shoulder. I recognized that gesture from years earlier when I learned my first child wouldn’t be coming home. This time, she mentioned diabetes and a diabetic coma, interspersed with references to Nick Jonas, as if his fame could somehow ease my fears. I spiraled into panic, grappling with the possibility of my daughter facing a future devoid of normalcy.
Fortunately, my daughter was not diabetic as initially suspected; a positive influenza test later revealed that the illness had been the culprit. Over the course of a week, we consulted various specialists—cardiologists, endocrinologists, neurologists. We transitioned from the emergency room to the PICU, where a dear nurse friend stayed with me during the long nights, comforting me as I replayed the terrifying moments leading up to her hospitalization. After much worry and testing, we eventually returned home, but the flu had stolen months of normalcy from her life.
Two years later, the flu struck again, this time affecting her ability to walk. I vividly recall her in her princess pajamas, coming out of her room only to collapse in the hallway, her legs unable to support her. We spent yet another week in the hospital as doctors battled to restore her vitality—she’s the strongest little warrior I know.
Since the pandemic began, I’ve struggled to contain my frustration each time someone diminishes COVID-19 by comparing it to the flu. I’ve heard parents boast about avoiding flu vaccinations, perpetuating misinformation that only adds to the problem. My daughter is particularly vulnerable to severe complications from the flu, and I cannot help but worry that one day she could become just another statistic.
Every flu season, my family ensures we receive our vaccinations. We believe in doing our part to protect ourselves and, most importantly, my daughter. It’s a community effort to create a protective barrier around her, ensuring she has the best chance at staying healthy. Ideally, everyone would commit to getting vaccinated, fostering a culture of care that protects all children.
However, the pandemic has shown me that many people seem indifferent to the well-being of others. The prevailing attitude appears to be one of self-interest, leaving too many children at risk. Just two days ago, Florida recorded over 21,000 new COVID-19 cases, and pediatric hospitalizations are at an all-time high. A local pediatric practice has urgently called for vaccinations, reporting a troubling positivity rate among their young patients.
The Broward County Public Schools recently mandated masks, but this was swiftly overturned by our state governor, who seems to prioritize politics over safety. As students prepare to return to classrooms without adequate protections, I made the difficult decision to withdraw my own two children—ages 10 and 5—from public school and enroll them in our state’s virtual public school. My husband works from home, allowing us this privilege while we wait for vaccines to become available for them.
Each day, my heart aches as I think of families at risk and the children whose lives could be forever altered. With every news report of children hospitalized, I feel the weight of impending grief. How are our healthcare workers enduring this crisis? The burden they carry is unimaginable.
As protests against masks erupt outside school board meetings, I find myself questioning what it will take for people to prioritize the safety of others. When my children are eligible for vaccination, will enough parents step up to create a meaningful impact? Will we continue to suffer the consequences of negligence from those who refuse to protect not only themselves but the entire community? I dread the thought of once again sitting in an emergency room, watching my child fight for her life against an illness that could have been prevented through vaccination.
Our society seems unwilling to acknowledge how our choices affect one another, resulting in too many lives lost to a misinterpretation of freedom that resembles selfishness and cruelty. I struggle to accept that this is our new reality.
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Summary:
In light of the ongoing pandemic and personal health concerns, I’ve decided to keep my children home from school this year. The trauma of past health crises with my daughter has made me acutely aware of the risks posed by both influenza and COVID-19. Despite having the privilege to choose virtual schooling, I find it heartbreaking to witness the indifference of many towards community health and safety. The weight of uncertainty looms large as I reflect on the fragility of life amidst the current health crisis.