I Can’t Stand You, Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease! Seriously, Enough Already.

home insemination Kit

On Christmas morning, my toddler suddenly broke out in a bubbly rash on her backside and came down with a fever. My partner, Sarah, rushed her to the doctor. I received a text from her that said, “She’s got hand, foot, and mouth disease.”

With three kids under nine, this was our first encounter with HFMD. For those lucky enough to be unfamiliar with it (and I sincerely hope you stay that way), HFMD is an absolute nightmare. It can last up to two weeks, is incredibly contagious, and causes a lot of pain. The rashes eventually morph into blisters, which can even get under the fingernails—yes, you heard that right—leading to potential fingernail loss.

Just the thought of all three of my kids running around with rashes, blisters, and missing nails sent shivers down my spine.

When Sarah returned from the doctor’s office, I was already busy shampooing the carpet and washing sheets, doing my best to contain the virus.

She walked in with little Ava on her hip. By this point, the poor girl’s mouth was dotted with red bumps, her blue eyes were watery, and she kept flexing her hands as if they were numb. She looked like she’d been crying, and my instinct was to comfort her—but I hesitated, fearing I might catch whatever she had.

I had recently been binge-watching a show about an alternate history where the Nazis won World War II, and one of their interrogation techniques involved torturing prisoners by pulling off their fingernails. Just thinking about it was enough to keep me up at night.

This is one of the cruelest realities of parenting. If Sarah had been the one to get HFMD, I would have kept my distance. Sure, I’d have been sympathetic, caring for the kids and making her soup, but I wouldn’t have touched her. No doubt she would have done the same for me. But when it comes to your kids, even if they’re covered in the bubonic plague, you have to scoop them up.

Ava hobbled over to me, her rash-covered feet clearly causing her pain, and tugged at my pant leg. I hesitated for a moment before bending down to pick her up.

This is the reality of caring for a sick child. When they’re messy or gross, you clean them up. If your little one has HFMD, you give them comfort and pray you can ride out the storm without losing any of your own fingernails.

Sarah handed me a list of over-the-counter remedies the doctor had suggested. “What is this nonsense?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a virus, and she’s not yet two. They can’t prescribe anything.”

Before your child turns two, parents are left with just two placebos: Tylenol and Motrin. Neither really does much except give you the illusion of control.

The rest of the day was spent making endless trips to the only pharmacy open on Christmas day in our small town, Walgreens. I grabbed everything from ointments to new toothbrushes and bath toys—basically anything Ava might have touched in the last few days. I felt guilty for shopping on a holiday, but I was also grateful that a store was open.

The following nights felt like an eternity. Sarah and I took turns caring for Ava as her rashes turned into blisters. About three days in, I got her ready for a bath and noticed a blister on her bottom was peeling. When I pulled on a loose flap of skin, a patch the size of a dollar bill came off.

Sarah walked in and stared at the piece of skin in my hand, her expression a mix of confusion and horror. “What happened?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It just came off?”

Ava stood there, naked and innocent, her blonde hair tousled. She looked at me with watery eyes, as if I’d committed a crime by peeling off her skin. I held a stuffed orange cat she’d received in her Christmas stocking, but she snatched it from me and waddled off to the tub, crying all the way, her raw bottom on full display.

That night, she lost a bit more skin, some from her hands and feet. But by the next day, she began to improve—not in some dramatic fashion, but rather through a gradual shift.

About two weeks after it all began, I was tidying up the living room when I heard Ava laughing. I was exhausted from sleepless nights and had just returned to work. Sarah was in the kitchen, the older kids were in their rooms, and miraculously, we’d all managed to stay healthy.

Ava was wandering around the living room, and when I caught her eye, she held her tummy and leaned her head back dramatically, bursting into laughter. Suddenly, I realized she hadn’t laughed in days. Sure, she’d experienced a range of emotions—anger, sadness, fatigue—but joy had been missing.

There’s something profoundly satisfying about witnessing your children happy. I never understood why their smiles brought me such joy, but they do. And when that joy fades, it leaves an emptiness that’s hard to ignore.

I scooped Ava up and said, “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

She babbled and laughed again, and I felt a warmth spread through me. I hugged her tightly.

That night, she finally slept soundly. The next day, she started losing her fingernails, but to my relief, it didn’t seem to bother her. After that joyful laugh, she appeared pain-free. I hadn’t done much aside from holding her and applying ointment, yet there was a profound sense of satisfaction in watching her recover.

In the end, navigating the challenges of a sick child isn’t just about the physical discomfort; it’s about the emotional rollercoaster we all ride along with them.

For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out our other blog posts. And if you’re interested in exploring more about pregnancy, this Wikipedia page is an excellent resource.

Summary

This article recounts a harrowing experience with hand, foot, and mouth disease in a young child during the Christmas season. It highlights the challenges and fears of parenting a sick child, the emotional toll it takes, and the ultimate relief that comes with recovery. The narrative is filled with humor and relatable moments of a parent’s struggle, showing that even amidst chaos, there are moments of joy to cherish.