Being a Mother During a Pandemic

December 18, 2021
Please don’t be positive, please don’t be positive were the words that saturated my mind, discharged my
anxiety, and unchained my fear. I knew something was wrong. It was 1:00 a.m. and my three-year-old
son’s fever wouldn’t go down. I gave him Children’s Tylenol, along with a lukewarm bath. I placed a cold
washcloth on his head and behind his neck, but his temperature continued to ascend—102 then 103.
Apprehension began to flood my cognizance. I decided to test him using an antigen self-test for Covid-19.
Please don’t be positive, please don’t be positive I murmured while holding my son in my arms--dazed with
exhaustion, overwhelmed with uncertainty.
Immediately, within seconds, two lines appeared on the strip indicating a positive result. My body
suddenly felt heavy. Panic ensued. I wanted to cry. I wanted to press ‘rewind’ and pick apart every step
of my child’s previous day in a futile attempt to discover how the virus had slinked its way into our home.
But I stopped myself. Adrenalin forced me to move. I needed to be proactive as my four-month-old baby
slept a couple feet away. Had he been exposed? Had the inevitable already imprisoned us all?
At 2:00 a.m. I rushed my baby to my parents’ house with immense hope that he had not been infected. I
implored my parents to check his temperature periodically and to please alert me if any symptoms
appeared. As much as I trusted my parents, it was difficult to leave him. Just four months ago I carried
him in my womb with the same maternal instinct to protect him and myself from Covid-19. I was
determined to continue to keep my second child safe; however, an overpowering feeling of failure for my
first consumed me.
I returned home around 2:45 a.m. not sure what to do. Do I take my firstborn to the hospital? Should I
rush him to an Urgent Care? My husband asked me to stay calm, but I needed to do something. My heart
was racing as I was preparing myself to eventually succumb to the possible realization that we were all
going to get sick. I ended up calling the 24-hr. emergency medical hotline. I was relieved to hear someone
answer my call. I expected to hear the worst from the nurse with a hint of judgment and a dose of outsider
disappointment. “You need to treat this as a cold and ride it out,” she flatly said. A cold? Was there
absolutely nothing more I could do? Nevertheless, the simplicity in her response did bring me some level
of comfort.

December 22, 2021

On day 5, his fever finally started to dissipate. He still had slight congestion and a cough, but the
uneasiness began to settle. The pediatrician felt that he had hit the peak and was on his way to getting
better. However, he insisted on 5 more days of quarantine which was also 5 more days away from my
baby, but also 5 necessary days to ensure the infectivity had been contained. Before the video call with
his doctor ended, he asked, “So, who’s the culprit?” as if my husband or I had intentionally placed our
child in this unfortunate situation. And there, in that moment, was the disrepute I had been trying to avoid
but knew was inescapable. I explained that my husband and I had continuously tested negative making it
likely that he contracted it from preschool, but his overriding skepticism superseded.

December 25, 2021
It was Christmas, but the Merry, the cheerful part, felt somewhat hollow and abstract. I was thankful that
my three-year-old was doing better. His jolly smile and high-spirited laughter had made a triumphant
return. The four Christmas stockings hanging above the fireplace was a gentle reminder that our feet were
still grounded. The illuminating, multicolored Christmas lights on the tree symbolized the light at the end
of the tunnel. Almost there. Nonetheless, my heart was still only partially full.

December 27, 2021
On day 10, I tested my son again. The same, familiar words echoed in my mind: Please don’t be positive,
please don’t be positive. I fumbled my fingers. I bit my nails. Oh, how I craved normality. In 15 minutes,
one line appeared—a negative result. I felt relief. Peace manifested. I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted to
hold both my babies in my arms. I could no longer wait to return to our family of four. Both of my children
were okay. My heart was full again. The outside chaos of the pandemic still lingered, but we were healthy
and happy again in our home.
I decided to take a photo of myself and my son. A picture to document our journey these few days. A
picture to showcase our shared fatigued as well as our collective strength. A picture to signify that love
amidst obstacles still carries on