Shingles (and ready to mingle)

 As a parent of a little one who’s immunocompromised, you spend your days being extra cautious, keeping germs at bay, and wondering just where those sneaky viruses are lurking. So when my son, who barely leaves the house, came down with shingles, you can imagine my confusion and frustration. I mean, how on earth did we end up here? We don’t exactly host wild playdates or take trips to crowded theme parks!

It turns out, despite our best efforts, viruses have their own sneaky ways of finding their targets — and this one was on a mission.

For those unfamiliar, shingles is caused by the same virus that causes chickenpox, the varicella-zoster virus. After you’ve had chickenpox, the virus can stay dormant in your system for years and reactivate later as shingles, especially if your immune system is weakened. Now, considering my son’s immunocompromised state, I shouldn’t have been too surprised. But that didn’t make it any easier when the rash appeared

We don’t go out much, so where could he have possibly caught it? Perhaps the virus was lurking in the air, like a sneaky ninja, waiting for the right moment to strike.  But honestly, I felt like I was chasing a ghost, trying to figure out how it got in. It’s like the virus had a vendetta and decided, “Let’s target the kid who’s least prepared for this battle!”

Once the diagnosis was confirmed, it was off to the hospital for five long days. Trust me, it felt like we were living in a never-ending episode of a medical drama. The hospital room, the constant beeping, the round-the-clock care.

For anyone who’s never stayed in a hospital with a child, it’s like being stuck in a pressure cooker. There’s no room for downtime. There’s the stress of watching your child endure treatments, the worry about how they’ll handle being away from their family , and the exhaustion that creeps in when you haven’t slept more than two hours straight in days. To make things even more dramatic, we had to deal with one particular thing that will forever stay with me: the social services conversation.

In the midst of all the chaos, the hospital staff informed us that my son had to be put on IV antiviral medication rather than the oral medication I had been hoping for. The reason? They claimed that oral antivirals just weren’t strong enough for an immunocompromised child with shingles.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when someone tells you they’re about to intervene in your child’s care, it’s hard not to feel like you’re being cornered. They told me in no uncertain terms that if we didn’t follow through with the IV treatment, social services would get involved. Social services. My heart did a double take. Was this really happening? Was I suddenly being painted as the negligent mother who couldn’t make the “right” medical decision?

I stood my ground — I really wanted to go the oral route. I mean, why give us the option of oral antivirals if they weren’t “strong enough”?

In hindsight, I realize that the hospital staff was just doing their job, but at that moment, it felt like a whole new level of stress and pressure. They weren’t making me feel like I was making the “best” decision as a parent. Instead, it felt like I had to prove myself, like they were questioning my capability to make decisions about my own child’s health.

The hospital staff was understanding enough to let us step out of the hospital a few times between doses. The best part? They let us leave on Mother’s Day, so I could go home and spend some time with my other kids. That was like a lifeline. If you’re going to endure a hospital stay with a child, there’s nothing more important than those small moments of normalcy — like having a shower or  getting to see your other kids and just being a mum again, even if only for a little while. The fact that they let me go home to see my children felt like a tiny victory in a sea of difficult decisions.

After five days, we finally left the hospital. My son was exhausted, and frankly, so was I. But as we walked out those hospital doors, there was a small victory in the fact that we made it through. The whole ordeal had been emotionally draining.

In moments like these, you have to find something to laugh about, even if it’s just the absurdity of the situation. I mean, if you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be fighting a battle over antiviral medication and potentially getting social services involved, I’d have thought you were speaking a different language.

But the highlight? The truly bizarre, yet somehow memorable moment? It had to be the conversation with the hospital staff about the IV. There was something surreal about being told how strong enough the treatment needed to be, while I was clinging to the hope that we could take the more “relaxed” route of oral meds.  I didn’t win that round, but I did get an extra dose of gratitude for my little boy’s resilience — and for the doctors who were trying to keep him as healthy as possible.

So, to anyone out there who’s navigating something similar: Hang in there. The days are long, the stress is real, and the fights — whether about antiviral medication or not — can feel never-ending. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that we’ve got this. And one day, we’ll look back and laugh at how dramatic it all seemed in the moment. Until then, I’ll just be here, raising my little resilient man with a smile — maybe I should take up drinking - a glass or two of wine might help.