Children and Illness

Dunno anything more heartrending than seeing your children ill. Suddenly that bubbly, full-of-beans child who used to drive you nuts by climbing up the furniture and running around the house like a loon has as much animation as a snuffed-out candle. Watching that small little body cough, and exert the whole body to get that cough out is enough to make a grown man or woman cry. And all of a sudden you feel so helpless. When your child gets hurt, falls down maybe or bangs himself or feels jealous of a sibling, there's always some small piece of magic you can pull off to get the smiles back on his or her face. But when he or she is ill, you can't do much besides run to the nearest doc and hope for a miracle cure.

I've been on the other side of this very often in my childhood. I had asthma. I remember, as soon as I started getting the first inkling that an attack was on the way, I'd feel a shiver of fear and then do my best to live in denial and hope it'd get the hint and go away. Except it never did. Then the dreaded spectre would come back to haunt us – I and my parents. What bliss it was to the tired body to just lie down and rest the back. But then the lungs would close up and I'd have to sleep sitting up, if at all. I'd wheeze through the nights, back and chest hurting with just the effort to take in a breath and feel starved for a lungful of oxygen. I never wanted to wake up my parents and see that worried look on their faces so I'd try and wheeze quietly, even while one corner of my mind would wish they were up and with me, helping me in the struggle. They would always get up, with that sixth sense that parents of asthmatics have. Dad would get hot water bottles or move the pedestal fan so it would blow directly into my face, giving me the illusion of breathing fresh oxygen. Mom would rub my back and chest with Vicks and they'd get two and three pillows so I could sit leaning on them, which was easier on the lungs. I remember once in Singapore I was so badly off we needed to go to the emergency room. But the hospital was too close to our house and no cab would agree to take us there even though dad offered to pay whatever the guy wanted. Dad's face was drawn and grey as he raced up and down the road trying to flag down cabs or even passing motorists at some 5 in the morning.

Thankfully, at least so far none of my kids seem to have inherited the horrible disease. But it's been a tough week watching Puddi and Bojjandi go through a chest infection, with daily nebulization sessions and half a dozen medications. Made me realize how much harder it must be for those parents whose kids do have asthma and go through this on a regular basis. My heartfelt sympathies!