To The Mom Spending Mother’s Day in the Hospital With A Sick Kid

To The Mom Spending Mother’s Day in the Hospital With A Sick Kid

To The Mom Spending Mother’s Day in the Hospital With A Sick Kid

Every Mothers Day, I think about the mothers in the hospital doing the hard work, too focused on their child’s health to celebrate. If that’s you, I want to wish you a Happy Mothers Day! I know it’s not easy, you’re not stressed about the fact that you got roses instead of peonies, but you miss your bed and your other children, but right now, this is the child that needs you the most. Know that you’re in my thoughts and my prayers, and I think about moms spending Mother’s Day in the hospital every Mother’s Day. Actually, this makes me really emotional when because I’ve been there.

I never imagined that I would be in the hospital on Mother’s Day but who does? We do our best to care for our children, and that’s always our priority as mothers. Here’s my story! 

My Story

Back in 2014, the Thursday night before Mothers Day, my husband and I noticed that my daughter was breathing weirdly. We watched in horror as her chest heaved, and she breathed loudly, her tummy expanding, and she started to cry in pain. We were both lost as to what to do and when I called her pediatrician we were told to take her to the emergency room immediately. 

We expected to be in the emergency room for only a few hours, but when the doctor came in and saw my daughter gasping for her breath, he explained that she had a horrible asthma attack. Asthma what? My daughter hadn’t been diagnosed with asthma or shown any symptoms before this moment, so we were shocked. The doctor explained the severity of this attack and how grateful he was that we brought her in when we did; within about an hour of treatment, she was improving, her breathing was better. I felt relieved, and the doctors brought a new Barbie doll, and she was chatting all the nurses up. I was happy she was okay, but the doctors told us that she would have to be admitted to the hospital. My son was only ten months old, and I was worried about him wondering where his mommy was, but my daughter needed me more at this point.

She was 3 1/2 years old and full of energy; she didn’t understand much of what was going on. The medical staff made her so comfortable that she was more excited about the playroom with toys than the medicine she had to take in increments; she even made friends with other little patients. I, on the other hand, was exhausted. I hadn’t slept since Wednesday, and I was constantly making sure she’s okay. When you have a child in the hospital, you become their everything, and you become the nurses’ and doctors’ assistant; it’s not in any way easy. I found the energy because I just wanted my daughter to recover more than I cared about myself at the time.
As Friday rolled into Saturday, plans to release my daughter changed as the doctors didn’t think she was well enough. I was disappointed, but my husband reminded me that a day didn’t make a big difference, and it was better than having to bring her back if she wasn’t fully recovered. He was right.

On Saturday afternoon, I left my husband in the hospital to go home, take a shower, relax for a bit and hug my baby boy. I needed to see him, know that he was okay and he was happy with my mom, and I knew he was in safe hands.

I got back to the hospital with goodies and balloons for my daughter. My husband had to head off to work, so it was just us. This third night was the most difficult, I was exhausted at this point, and with the nurses in and out of the room all night, I couldn’t stay asleep. I held my daughter in my arms the way that I did when she was a baby and soothed her to sleep. I knew that if she were in my arms, no sounds would wake her up, and she needed the rest more than I did. I used a magazine to cover her face whenever the doctors or nurses put the lights on in the room and play ocean noises from YouTube on my phone to distort the noises that made her fidgety. I couldn’t use the bathroom for hours because I didn’t want to put her down and wake her up. I laid there and held her and was happy because I saw that my sweet girl was recovering. She had lost weight from the few days at the hospital, but nothing like when she had food allergy issues (that’s another post). I knew I could nurture her back.

As the morning light rolled in, I wished the other mom in the room a Happy Mother’s Day and the nurses who came working long shifts caring for our children, away from their own. I signed onto social media and watched everyone posting their photos heading to brunch and in their pretty floral dresses, and I thought about how only a year before, I was one of those moms. As I read everyone’s greetings, I responded with gratitude, not letting on that I was actually in the hospital with my child except close relatives and friends.

As I walked through the halls, I saw moms who were so focused on their kids that all of the pomp and splendor of Mother’s Day going on in the world outside of this children’s hospital didn’t seem to appeal to them. I understood as I wanted more than anything that Mother’s Day, the gift of good health for my daughter. My daughter was released a little after noon that day, and driving away with her and then seeing her and her brother reunited was the best Mother’s Day gift ever.

Since then, we’ve been blessed that my daughter’s never been admitted to the hospital again or even had an asthma attack in over a year. I am thankful, thankful, thankful. I try my best to stay on top of preventative care, and I pray over her a great deal.

I know many moms are in situations where their child is in and out of the hospitals; I’m not trying to equate my experience with yours, but I want you to know that you’re on my mind, and I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day!

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