Have you ever wanted to run away from a fearful situation but you know you can’t? That was pretty much what happened to me when I was forced to restrain my two-year-old daughter while the anaesthetist put her to sleep.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do since becoming a mum, and the hurt I felt at seeing her suffer was more than just emotional; it was physical as well.
My hand, which was pressing her little forehead down on the operating table, shook, while my other hand, which was clutching her struggling wrists, was so sweaty that she almost slipped from my grip. There was a hot, sharp pain in my throat and my tongue seemed to stick to my teeth as I told her that I loved her and that everything would be okay. Guilt and worry squeezed my heart: Why is this taking so long? If only I’d acted sooner. What if the scalpel slips? Sounds of metal and electronic beeping and the gas mask hissing filled the theatre but my ears only managed to hear her screams. Then, finally, my vision blurred, as the sedative flowed into her tiny veins and I witnessed the moment her struggling stopped, but I could still see the terror in her eyes.
To be a parent is to expect the unexpected, you hear that all the time. But no one tells you that raising children is like living on a fault line. You can stock an emergency survival kit and write out a plan for when the earthquake hits. But the moment the ground actually shakes will still catch you off guard. And it wasn’t until I was in the paediatric intensive care unit, cradling my critically ill toddler, that I realised I should have seen the signs.
It began as a cold like any other ordinary cold: first the tell-tale sneezing, then the runny nose. It was something I’d become well and truly used to ever since she started attending day care and I did what I always did to try and ease her symptoms. I fed her buttered toast soldiers with the crusts cut off along with warm apple sauce and spoonfuls of lactose-free yoghurt. I kept her warm with extra layers and vigilantly gave her carefully measured doses of Children’s Panadol whenever her temperature went above 37.5 °C.
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I have many memories of my children but the one I never forget is being with my son and watching him being put to sleep and the terror in his eyes he's had five open heart surgeries and another one coming up this year and this is one of the worst parts that I dread every time;(
Suvi reading this brought back vivid memories of my own daughter's illness when she was 3. Thankfully she is now happy and healthy and I'm so glad that your daughter is too. She had a sore hip and kept wanting to be carried or ride in her brother's pram and I thought it was because she was being lazy but when she started screaming when I lifted and lowered her leg I knew something else was wrong - I took her to two different hospitals 4 times and after xrays, blood tests, etc they kept telling me nothing was wrong but I could just see her fading away before my eyes. Trust your maternal instinct - get a second, third and fourth opinion, don't stop questioning - I'm thankful I did and when I finally got in to see a ortho surgeon she was barely eating and walking and deadly pale - I said straight away I wanted her admitted and thankfully he stopped and listened to me. The MRI showed she had discitis in her spine (an infection) - she spent two weeks in hospital with IV antibiotics and 3 months of oral antibiotics after - it was a long road. Drs are wonderful but they're only human and don't always pick up the rare cases.