Saitaomei has been down with a bad stomach virus for the past week. She’s been having a running fever and diarrhoea and the end does not seem near at all. To say that I’m utterly miserable is an understatement. In the height of the Coronavirus pandemic, every illness feels more serious and scary. My heart breaks when she cries during every nappy change. When she quietly and shamefully deposits herself in a hidden corner for another watery episode. When she cries for milk and I give in despite knowing milk isn’t the best for diarrhoea.

I’m on the bus to work as I’m writing this and I so don’t want to be here. I just want to be with my kids, to give Saitaomei a hug and tell her it’s ok after her nappy changes, to wipe her sweaty forehead and to stroke her brow when she falls asleep, exhausted after battling fever and another bout of diarrhoea.

But I can’t. I have an important meeting that I have to attend in the absence of my teammates who have flown out of the city for work. They are pulling a lot of weight, filling in for me whilst I was on leave, there is a lot of stress to get this done. We are slowly moving away from the toxic environment, but the aftermath of her shocking legacy will linger on till hopefully she’s one day forgotten.

It’s still not the best environment to be in, and doesn’t buoy much enthusiasm especially when my entire being is wanting to just be with the kids.

I wish I was stronger and that my kids being sick didn’t affect me so badly. I wish I could just take it in stride, it’s been four years of being a mum now and I’m still no better at handling this situation. I just feel broken and so so shattered.

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February 2020



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