Three Days and Two Nights in the Hospital with My Child

From a Cold to a Hospital Stay

My 13-month-old caught a cold. Their nose ran constantly, and every cough sounded uncomfortable, as though their chest were full of phlegm. We had struggled through a cold and gastroenteritis at the same time before, so this time, too, we visited a nearby clinic and gave our child the prescribed medicine.

But over the weekend, our child began refusing to eat anything at all. Was the stuffy nose making it hard to breathe? Or did their throat hurt? We tried everything we could, but tears rolled down their cheeks as they refused formula and every other food we brought toward their mouth.

We were told that if our child kept refusing food, dehydration could become a concern and IV fluids might be necessary. We hurriedly got them dressed and headed to a larger pediatric clinic that was open on weekends.

There were so many sick children. After a long wait, we finally saw a doctor. By then, even the sight of a stethoscope was enough to make our child cry. When we were told they needed a blood test and IV fluids, I felt miserable before the needle had even touched them. We had already been through blood draws and IVs before, and those had been incredibly difficult experiences.

Sure enough, finding a vein was a struggle again. They rubbed and squeezed our child's arm, searching for a vein. Even after inserting the needle, they kept moving it in and out to find the right position. Our child writhed and sobbed. Holding them in my arms and watching it happen was agonizing.

They finally got an IV line in, but as we were moving to another room, a nurse told us it seemed to have come out and they would have to try again. Irritation and anger surged through me. I didn't show it, but inside I was furious.

This time, they tried the top of our child's foot, repeatedly adjusting the needle, but eventually gave up. We went home with only a prescription. By the next day, our child still wouldn't take anything except water.

The blood test had shown very low blood sugar, so we eventually went to the emergency department of a larger hospital. Getting an IV line in wasn't easy there either, but thankfully they succeeded, and we began preparing for admission.

My wife had previously stayed in a five-bed room and described it as a nightmare. This time she arranged a two-bed room. Only one caregiver was allowed to stay, so I decided to be the one to stay with our child.

Dragging the IV pole behind me, I entered the room with our child, full of worry and fear.

Our First Night in the Hospital

Another baby was already staying in the two-bed room. A curtain was drawn around one bed. We went to the other side and piled our belongings onto our bed.

Perhaps because of all the needles and tests since the day before, our child started crying the moment I put them down, stretching both arms toward me to be picked up. I hurriedly sorted out our things, then leaned back against the bed with our child in my arms, trying again and again to soothe them.

I couldn't stop thinking about the baby and mother on the other side of that thin curtain. Even with the door closed, I could hear babies crying in the five-bed room next door. If we'd ended up there, I thought, it might have been every bit the nightmare my wife had described.

My wife had bought me a sandwich and a drink, but I couldn't even begin to think about eating. Eventually, our child cried themselves out, and we both collapsed into sleep on the narrow bed.

A sudden cry woke me. I quickly picked our child up to soothe them and checked the time: 2 a.m. Then I smelled a dirty diaper, and my mind went blank.

'What am I supposed to do at this hour?'

I checked the diaper and found a little diarrhea. I remembered being told to call a nurse whenever I needed help. When I pressed the call button above the bed, a voice asked what was wrong. I called out that our child had a dirty diaper and I needed help.

Thankfully, a nurse came, and together we went to the bathroom to wash our child and change the diaper. Of course, our child screamed loud enough to shake the room throughout the whole thing. By the time the diaper was changed and I was holding and soothing them again, it felt as though we'd been through an entire ordeal.

I kept holding and comforting our child until, at some point I couldn't remember, we fell asleep together again on the narrow bed.

When I woke in the morning, our child was asleep beside me, connected to a long IV tube. Seeing them like that hurt. All I could think about was getting out of the hospital that very day.

Soon our child woke with another loud cry. They clung to me like a koala, refusing to be put down. The one reassuring thing was that they were drinking water well. In my arms, they gripped their cup with both hands and drank as though their life depended on it.

As it approached 10 a.m., the doctor came into the room on rounds, accompanied by several people in gowns. Our child seemed to have already learned to fear doctors. The moment the doctor approached with a stethoscope, the crying began.

After examining our child, the doctor said we couldn't go home unless they ate something.

Hearing that, I felt a wave of fear, as though my child and I had been trapped in the hospital.

The Battle to Go Home

We had to get our child to eat something. I told my wife what was happening and asked her to bring anything our child might eat.

She arrived with my mother-in-law, carrying formula, yogurt, rice crackers, bananas, and more. Since only patients and their designated caregivers could enter the room, we sat on chairs in the hallway and began trying to feed our child.

It really was a battle to go home.

Did lying down bring back memories of blood draws and IV needles? Even getting into position to offer formula made our child squirm and cry. Thankfully, they began accepting a little yogurt and some rice crackers.

While my wife kept trying with the formula, I went back to the room for a moment. I hadn't eaten anything since the previous day, so I hurriedly wolfed down the sandwich we'd bought.

We tried feeding our child several more times, but they wouldn't eat any more. We decided to try again that evening, and my wife went home. I took our child back to the room.

Maybe seeing Mom had helped. Our child seemed a little calmer. They no longer cried when I sat them on the bed, and when I brought out the toys and stuffed animals we'd packed, they played quite happily.

Encouraged, I tried offering formula now and then, but they still firmly refused. At least they were starting to drink water and eat a few snacks.

Watching our child play and eat even a little, I began hoping we could leave that evening. Then, while changing a diaper, I noticed a small amount of blood in their stool.

Alarmed, I told a nurse, who took the stool for testing. Thankfully, our child seemed to be feeling well. The doctor would review the results during evening rounds.

A little after 6 p.m., the doctor returned. The results hadn't shown any particular problem, but the doctor said we should stay until the next morning to see how things went before being discharged.

I asked whether we could leave that evening instead, but the answer was firm.

No.

We would have to spend another night in the hospital. Once again, I felt overwhelmed.

Our Second Night in the Hospital

My wife came back that evening. I left our child with her for a little while and headed to the shower room.

I'd expected to go home soon and had been getting by without properly washing. But if we were staying another night, I needed to pull myself together. I showered as though I were preparing for the next battle.

Meanwhile, the mother and baby in the next bed were discharged. Having the two-bed room to ourselves made me feel a little more at ease.

After my shower, my wife and I sat in the hallway again, doing our best to feed our child baby food, yogurt, and snacks. I hoped that tomorrow, at least, we would finally get to go home.

Once my wife left, I took our child back to the room, tidied our belongings, and brought out the toys and stuffed animals to play.

Seemingly in better spirits, our child pulled themselves up on the bed rail, shook it, and explored their surroundings. I kept offering water and snacks, wishing they would start drinking formula again soon.

Around 10 p.m., we got ready for bed. I fell asleep praying we could go home the next day.

I don't know how long it had been when a commotion woke me. A new baby and mother were moving into the next bed. Our child wasn't crying as much anymore, so I thought we'd be fine and went back to sleep.

But at 2 a.m., just like the night before, our child's crying woke me.

Another middle-of-the-night dirty diaper.

It felt like déjà vu, but this time I was a little calmer. I called a nurse, washed our child, and changed the diaper.

The problem was that our child's crying set off the baby in the next bed, as though the two were resonating with each other.

Was it the other baby's crying? Or had our child slept too much during the day? Even after the diaper change, they showed no sign of wanting to sleep.

In the end, I kept alternating between holding our child and playing with them until well past 4 a.m. Then we collapsed into sleep together once again.

Finally Home

"Dad?"

Someone calling to me woke me up. I checked the time: 6:30 a.m.

Because our child had passed bloody stool the day before, they wanted to take an X-ray. Still half asleep, I carried our child to the X-ray room. Holding onto my sobbing child, I fought another battle first thing in the morning.

Back in the room, I calmed our child down. I felt an urgent need to get them to eat something before the doctor came on rounds.

My wife arrived early, and we sat in the hallway again, trying formula. We also offered yogurt and baby food, and plenty of the rice crackers our child was at least willing to eat.

Then came morning rounds.

The doctor finally told us we could go home. I felt as happy as someone being told they could leave prison.

I immediately told my wife and hurried to pack. We received the medicine and paperwork we needed, and the IV needle and pole that had kept our child tethered were finally removed.

What a relief.

When we got home, it felt as though we'd been away much longer than just three days.

At home, we kept focusing on how our child was feeling and getting them to eat. Thankfully, perhaps reassured by familiar surroundings, they began drinking the formula they'd so stubbornly refused. Little by little, smiles returned to a face that hadn't smiled in days.

We let both sets of grandparents know we were home and showed them our child over video calls to reassure them.

But during those calls, our parents worried about my wife's health and mine, too. It suddenly reminded me that we, too, had once been our parents' little children.

Our parents must have stayed beside us and supported us whenever we were sick or struggling, just as we were doing now. The thought made me unexpectedly emotional.

This experience reminded me of something.

Having a home where we can rest comfortably. Having a family who look after one another and give each other strength.

Those ordinary things, I realized, are an enormous source of happiness.

"There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort." - Jane Austen -

On Writing

The essay above was revised with AI's help from the original draft shown below.

As part of a writing study group, I've been using AI to check spelling and make my sentences read more naturally. Then it occurred to me that instead of simply reading the revised version and feeling satisfied, I should examine what changed and how, and work on my weaknesses one by one.

Going forward, I want to compare my drafts with the AI-assisted revisions, mark expressions and sentences that need improvement, and use those observations to reflect on and improve my writing habits.

The comparison below keeps the original Korean draft and revision intact, so the actual spelling, spacing, and sentence changes remain visible. The section titles and revision notes are provided in English.

Original and Revised Text