I always believed that family members accompanied patients in ambulances. That’s the portrayal we see on television. Yet, when my 14-month-old daughter was loaded into the back of the ambulance, I was stopped from joining her and instructed to take a seat in the front. The duration of that ride remains a blur. All I recall is watching the road zip by beneath us, anxiously awaiting any sign that my child was in distress, and thinking, “If she doesn’t make it, I could just jump out. It would be quick.”
The week that followed was the most agonizing time of my life as my daughter was moved from the emergency room to various units, her airways constricted to the point where she struggled to breathe. Holding her down as they inserted an IV was heart-wrenching, but witnessing the medical team connect her to oxygen and monitoring devices sent me spiraling into despair. This ordeal stemmed from a common virus known as parainfluenza, which I had contracted and unknowingly passed to her. I felt miserable for a week, battling a sore throat and a pounding headache. As a teacher nearing the end of the school year, taking a day off wasn’t an option. I soldiered on, convinced I wasn’t contagious, while my daughter faced dire consequences.
When I first heard about the coronavirus spreading globally, I had flashbacks to that harrowing experience almost two years prior. I found some comfort in early reports indicating that children were largely unaffected. Thank goodness, I thought, echoing the relief of countless mothers. If I fell ill, that was one thing, but I was determined to protect my children. However, as cases began to emerge in the U.S., my optimism waned. Even as schools closed, I contemplated organizing quarantine playdates, still clinging to the notion that kids were immune.
Then, I began to see reports of children falling ill. Some tragically lost their lives.
My family has since adopted a strict policy of staying home. I venture out to the grocery store every two weeks, a daunting task with two toddlers who consume fresh fruit and chicken nuggets at an alarming rate. Upon returning, I become a whirlwind of disinfecting, wiping down everything with bleach wipes, changing out of my “outside clothes,” and sanitizing anything I’ve touched. I had never been overly concerned about germs; after all, with two children who are thumb-suckers, a more relaxed approach seemed necessary. But the current situation has completely altered my perspective. We now sing “Happy Birthday” or the slowest rendition of the ABCs while scrubbing our hands.
As I grasp the gravity of the situation, it seems society is moving in the opposite direction. With boredom setting in, I watch friends resume playdates and family visits. I cringed upon seeing a friend’s Instagram story featuring her daughter playing in the backyard with a neighbor. The Mother’s Day photos of children hugging their grandmothers were equally distressing. Call me cautious, but I know the implications of being careless.
I have been that parent who shrugged off illness, believing it merely strengthens the immune system. I’ve allowed my children to eat food off the floor, share popsicles, and swap pacifiers despite our past hospitalization. I don’t advocate staying indoors out of fear; rather, I believe in recognizing when our concerns are justified. We all yearn for normalcy and security, but right now, home is the safest place for us. We must not let our desire to return to normal blind us to the risks at hand, nor should we allow political debates to skew our perception of reality. Our priority must be the health of our children, keeping them out of hospitals.
The worst-case scenario here is that I am overreacting, and my kids miss out on a summer full of memories. They might miss hugs from Grandma and trips to the pool, fairs, and parks. I mourn the loss of those experiences.
But the true worst-case scenario is if we disregard caution. I have witnessed firsthand the devastation that a respiratory illness can inflict on a previously healthy child. I have cradled my daughter as her breathing became labored, and I have wept in the hallways while doctors delivered terrifying updates. I have seen a vibrant toddler transform into a lethargic, feverish child within hours. Those memories haunt me, reminding me of how swiftly circumstances can shift.
There will always be other summers, playdates, and adventures waiting for us. However, there is only one of her.
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In summary, my experiences have shaped my commitment to staying home during these unprecedented times, and I urge others to consider the gravity of the situation. While the desire for normalcy is strong, we must prioritize our children’s health and safety above all else.