The day my world stopped: A mother’s experience with her child’s hospital admission

It started like any other busy weekday school bags packed, lunch boxes checked, and my seven-year-old whirlwind of energy racing out the door like he was late for a marathon only he knew about. Anyone who has been following this column knows my eldest is not a child who does anything halfway. He runs fast, plays hard, laughs loudly and, occasionally, crashes just as dramatically.

So when his teacher messaged me to say he had fallen after a boy pushed him and bumped his head against a chair, hurting his ear, my first instinct wasn’t panic. It was a concern, yes, but mostly that familiar mom thought: Is his head okay? Boys will be boys. Boys bump into things. Especially this boy.

When he got home, though, something felt off. My normally energetic child was quiet, withdrawn and just wanted to sleep. He kept saying he wanted “the feeling to go away.” That sentence alone sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Within minutes, we had him at the doctor.

The doctor took one look at him and noticed how his eyes kept wanting to close. That was enough to send us straight to trauma at the hospital. What followed was a CT scan and neck X-ray, but not before he half screamed his way through injections. Sitting there watching your child in pain is a helplessness no parent can truly prepare for.

Thankfully, after medication, within about ten minutes he was back to his chatty self. When the scans came back clear, relief washed over us. We were given the green light to go home, along with a page of strict instructions about monitoring a child with a head injury what to watch for, what he could eat, and when to rush back.

Everything seemed fine through the night… until the next morning.

He threw up. The page said if he vomits twice, we must go back to emergency immediately. Then his fever spiked to 38.7°C. And then the nosebleeds started. Guys, I cannot explain that feeling. I genuinely felt like I was losing my sanity in panic. Thank God for my husband, who stepped in with his calm spirit. He reassured me, grounded me and, honestly, reminded me to breathe.

We rushed back to hospital after dropping our baby at Ma and Pa. Because of the type of injury, we were helped almost immediately. My big boy was in and out of sleep, which only fuelled my anxiety. Then came the injections to get him onto a drip. “He’s got good veins,” the nurse commented. I don’t know if the doctor saw my face, but she gently asked me to step outside. I knew what was coming.

His dad stayed behind. One nurse secured an arm, another held the other, while his dad held his legs. As I walked out, the screaming started. When I say screaming, I am not exaggerating. I could hear him from outside the hospital ward. They had to try again… and again. I couldn’t take it. I went back in and tried to calm him, crying right alongside him.

“Jesus, help me please,” he screamed. “Jesus, why are these people hurting me more?” “Is this the end of my life, Lord?”

In between my tears, I remember thinking, Wow, this child really is dramatic like his mother. Eventually, we explained that the more he moved, the more times they would have to try. With help from my sister who he absolutely adores and an incredibly patient paediatric nurse, the needle was finally inserted.

We were admitted, and in what I can only describe as divine timing, doctors discovered his white blood cell count was extremely low, meaning his body couldn’t properly fight off a viral infection he had been battling for some time. We stayed in hospital until Saturday. By then, my child was complaining that he was “so bored he’s sweating from boredom.” He even made a little friend in the next bed. The two of them watched the same videos late into the evening, giggling like they had known each other forever.

Today, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. For my husband’s calm strength. For my parents who dropped everything to help with the baby. For my sister who helped soothe him during one of the hardest moments. My editor for being understanding when I needed to breathe. His teacher for constantly checking in. For the doctors and nurses whose patience and care carried us through. And for every prayer sent our way.

This past week shook me to my core, but it also reminded me of something powerful sometimes motherhood feels like standing on the edge of losing your mind, only to realise you are surrounded by people and grace that help hold you together.

It really does take a village...and for the village, I am deeply thankful.

[email protected]

Weekend Argus