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While I was away on a recent business trip with both of my children, I found myself in a position that I would wish upon no one. My six-year-old daughter and fourteen-month-old son both ended up in the hospital with a stomach bug. And to make matters worse, I got sick too. It was far from the trip I had imagined for us, but we got through it and it taught me — and my kids — that we can handle the hard stuff.
I needed to be in Florence, Italy, for a month of work. I have my own public relations agency specializing in female-run businesses and I was booked back to back with meetings, networking, and on-site visits with clients. I told my husband I wanted our two kids to come along. My daughter is homeschooled, so being away and exploring a new place for a month would be a great educational experience for her. He agreed, but stayed home to oversee our renovations. Luckily, my mom was able to join to give me a hand with the kids.
On the eve of Halloween, my daughter woke up in the middle of the night vomiting. It lasted several hours, but by the next afternoon I thought we had turned a corner. The next morning, when my daughter finally seemed to have settled down, my son threw up. Seeing my little baby boy throw up, so tiny and frail, really startled me. And then he threw up again. And again. And again.
Since we were out of town and away from our pediatrician, I did what any concerned parent would do and took my kids to the emergency room at the nearest children's hospital. While in the waiting room, it was clear that a virus was making the rounds.
My daughter was still doing well, so she stayed with my mom in the waiting room while I took my son to be seen. He looked week and pale and a blood test showed that he had very low blood sugar. The doctors attached him to an IV for fluids, but he continued to throw up.
As soon as we had arrived at the hospital, I called my husband and told him to meet us. He drove five hours from our town further south in Italy and made it in time for me to tell him that I would need to stay the night with our son while he stayed with our daughter and my mom.
That night, things took a turn for the worse when I ended up getting sick. Early that evening, I started feeling nauseous. In the middle of the night, I woke up and threw up — right there in the hospital bed with my son sleeping next to me. A few hours later, I threw up again.
The next morning, I woke up in the hospital bed with my sweet little boy who, while he still seemed pale, seemed more like his usual smiley and giggly self. I was feeling better too. I called to check in on our daughter and it seemed she was getting worse again. My husband said she was very weak, lying on the sofa and wasn't her usual energetic self. I insisted he bring her back to the emergency room.
When she was admitted, she too had very low blood sugar. It didn't improve in a few hours, so she was going to stay for a night too.
There I found myself, lying in a hospital bed with my then-fourteen-month-old son attached to an IV holding him in bed, and my daughter in the next hospital bed, attached to an IV, as well.
Spending two nights in the hospital with both of my children was one of the most challenging and frightening experiences of my life. I felt helpless. I felt scared. I felt overwhelmed. I was so nervous, but trying to keep it together and put on a brave face for my children.
The next day, their blood sugars were in a better range and we were told we could go home. I started crying with relief.
As someone who struggles with severe anxiety, this very stressful situation taught me that I'm a lot stronger than I had realized. It also showed me that in difficult situations, I can hold it together and do what needs to be done, especially when it comes to my children.
While this was clearly not the trip I imagined, all that matters to me is that my children are okay.
