Hospitalized Before Christmas: Parenting Through Fear, Guilt, and Uncertainty

Three days before Christmas, our house sounded like winter.

Coughing. Congestion. Sniffling. All nine of us sick with some version of the same cold.

On the night of December 21st, our daughter (2.5 year old) started coughing. By the morning of the 22nd, she woke up with a low grade fever and a diaper that was barely wet. I had to work that morning, and when I left, she felt cool to the touch. I tried to convince myself it was nothing and was just a fluke.

Three hours later, my case in the OR was canceled, and when I walked back through the door of my house, she was feverish again.

She spent the entire day wanting to cuddle. Something that is so unlike her. She’s usually our wild, jumping, nonstop-moving kid. We kept up with Motrin, did some last-minute Christmas shopping, and she slept through all of it.

But when she woke up on the drive home, everything changed.

She cried. Screamed. Inconsolably.

Twenty… twenty-five minutes of nonstop distress.

That was the moment I knew we weren’t waiting.

Earlier that morning, I had scheduled an appointment for the 23rd to test her for Flu, COVID, and RSV. We were supposed to see family, and we have an immunocompromised child in our household (my sister’s middle daughter). I thought we could hold out.

But something told me nope, just go now.

When we arrived at the hospital, she still hadn’t peed since around 9 a.m. I told myself we’d get fluids, reassurance, and go home.

But I should have known better.

The respiratory panel came back as Rhino/Enterovirus (for those that don’t know - it’s two separate virus’ but the genetic make up is so close they group them and don’t specify which one it is), and the chest X-ray showed viral or reactive lower airway disease (the lower airways of her lungs were inflamed and irritated - most likely from something viral). We’ve been through this before. Multiple times.

Most notably, two years ago. Her first Christmas.

That year, we woke up on Christmas morning and never opened presents. We went straight to the hospital and stayed admitted until January 2nd. Our ten-year-old stayed home with family, and Christmas unraveled for everyone. Tears from all of us, countless apologies, and even more “Get Well Soons”.

I didn’t want that again.

I was grateful we came in early, but scared of where this was heading.

As the night went on, she wouldn’t drink. She still wasn’t peeing. We switched doctors because we didn’t feel taken seriously, and that decision mattered.

Tip: Don’t ever feel intimidated by a doctor or feel like you’re not allowed to be heard. Advocate for your babies (and yourself too), you know your children the best!

The new doctor listened. She told us it was worth staying overnight and seeing how things went.

I am so glad we stayed.

Late night/early morning got worse.

Her breathing became labored.

She had retractions in her belly, ribs, and neck, the kind that makes your mom gut throw up the flags that say your kiddo needs help!

Her fever wouldn’t come down.

And while she slept, her oxygen dropped to 79.

We watched the monitor, holding our breath, wondering if oxygen was next.

My husband and I took shifts. One sleeping on a cot, the other sitting on what might be the most uncomfortable bench chair ever designed. We rotated Tylenol and Advil through the night, willing her body to settle.

In the morning, a new doctor started albuterol, and for the first time since her breathing issues started, we saw relief. The retractions eased. Her breathing softened.

Sometimes the smallest interventions feel like miracles.

Another tip: How fast your child breathes, their work of breathing and heart rate all increase when they have fevers. However, when it crosses a certain threshold, is when it can be a problem.

We stayed overnight in the ER because there were no inpatient beds available. But by early afternoon (on the 23rd), we were told we were finally going upstairs.

She had received IV fluids downstairs, and the plan was to give steroids, but she can’t tolerate the oral kind without projectile vomiting. If you’ve never had them, oral steroids are gross, and coupled with the already dehydrated child - we made the decision to not even attempt it. They decided giving them by IV would be better since she already had one it, but when they went to give it by IV, the IV had gone bad. Something that’s never happened to us in all her admissions.

So they pulled it.

Since being upstairs, her oxygen hasn’t dropped nearly as badly as it did the previous night. We’re doing everything we can to get her to drink enough, albuterol inhalers every 4 hours if needed, and a shot of steroids in the leg - hoping we make it home by Christmas.

Because we don’t want to miss it again.

Two years ago, we left our then ten-year-old at home on Christmas while we sat in a hospital room and it broke something in all of us.

This year, we’re holding hope carefully, quietly, afraid to jinx it.

If we’ve learned anything, it’s this:

Sometimes being a parent means choosing the hard thing early so it doesn’t become the impossible thing later.

Sometimes it means sitting on a bench chair at 3 a.m., staring at oxygen numbers, praying your child keeps them up.

And sometimes it means redefining what Christmas looks like, again.

We’re hoping to go home tomorrow.

And if we do, Christmas will feel like a miracle.

We hope everyone has a great Christmas, whether it’s from your living room or a hospital room!

The Vital Pair