MY BRONCHI BABY

DO YOU WANT TO BE

By Jessica Boxer

T There is nothing quite like the beginning of Shabbat. Every Friday before the sun sets, I look forward to the feeling of peace that I know will rush over me after I light my Shabbat candles, set in the silver candlesticks passed down through generations of my family. As I light, I sometimes imagine a lined, older face surrounded by a shawl in a dimly lit shtetl cottage. Her mouth moves to the same pattern as mine, praying for her children and grandchildren.

But on Friday 16th November 2018, there was no match to strike, no long white candles, no silver candlesticks. No feeling of peace. The flick of two small switches on the underside of a pair of electric tea lights gave me no respite from the exhaustion and fear that had consumed me for days. We were nearing the end of day six of Hillel's confinement to a tiny room in Barnet hospital, and it was his birthday - he was exactly one month old.

I knew only too well that it was day six, because day five was the deadline that the doctors had given us for the bronchiolitis to 'turn a corner'. Until then, we were assured, "Today might be the day he gets better, let’s try turning down the oxygen. Oh actually his saturation levels are down again, we need to stop the tube feeds... and let’s turn the pressure up again..." A cruel cycle of hope and disappointment that accompanied the unrelenting weight of responsibility for this suddenly very sick infant who my two older children had joyfully welcomed home a few weeks earlier.

For five nights I snatched fitful snippets of broken sleep, fearful that I wouldn’t hear Hillel the next time he had a coughing fit and needed me. The only respite was visits from family, and the only structure was the three-hourly hum of the milk pump and my little trips to the ward freezer.

Nothing in those exhausting five days could have prepared me for what happened that Friday, not long before I flicked the switches on the electric tea lights.

As had so often been the case I was alone with Hillel, just watching him attentively as he lay at the centre of the too-large bed with tubes and machines all around him, when he went very quiet. My eyes immediately shifted to the green numbers on the monitor, which were dropping - too far and too fast. I shouted, nurses came. I can't remember what they did but the numbers picked up again and he was ok. I wondered dizzily if it had been real, or if I had made a mistake, or if what I had seen was simply a confused product of sleep deprivation.

When the numbers dropped a second time, my husband was there too to confirm that I hadn’t imagined it. A nurse who I had never seen before appeared and pressed the big red button on the wall behind Hillel's bed.

Our six days at Barnet hospital ended very much how they had started, when we were shocked to have Hillel rushed away from us to the resuscitation area of A&E - surrounded by medical staff within minutes of our arrival. Only this time it seemed as though three times as many doctors and nurses had appeared, whilst we the parents were sent outside so that they could determine our son’s fate out of earshot. Shabbat is a joyful time and we aren’t supposed to cry, but as I stood outside the closed door to Hillel's hospital room, shocked and helpless, I cracked. I'm pretty sure I unwittingly terrified the other parents and their kids on the openplan ward nearby with their broken legs, appendicitis and other relatively minor ailments.

Before long we were told that Hillel would need to be put to sleep, a tube inserted into his throat and a ventilator used to do his breathing for him. "He's just too tired" they said. I may not be medically trained but it wasn't hard to grasp what "tired" was code for.

We were also told that the best paediatric anaesthetist in the entire hospital would be performing this delicate procedure. We wished Hillel didn't need someone quite so well-qualified.

I sometimes struggle with faith, but I have never prayed as intensely as I did that evening in the dark, silent waiting room on the third floor of the hospital, far away from my little one. I didn't know where he was and wasn't allowed anywhere near him in any case. Finally, the ‘best anaesthetist in the hospital’ appeared at the door. His first words to us: "He's alive".

Then there was more waiting. Which hospital with an intensive care unit for children would we be taken to? How long until the specialist ambulance would arrive? And then the lengthy process of safely transferring Hillel into the capsule they use for transporting very sick babies.

When we finally arrived at the surprisingly calm St Mary's Hospital at two o’clock in the morning, we soon began turning a long-awaited corner. The doctors were going to test Hillel for absolutely everything, he would have 24-hour nursing care and bronchi babies like him were their ‘bread and butter’. Shabbat finally enveloped us in its cloak of comfort and peace.

After several days on a ventilator, I was warned that Hillel’s recovery would probably be slow, and that he would likely be prone to chest infections in the future. But with the help of the medical team and Hashem he bounced back at record speed, even learning how to nurse again. He’s had no medical complications since then, and is thank G-d a bouncy, happy and intelligent little boy today.

I will never forget what Hillel went through, but recounting his story reminds me to be grateful for every Friday that I am blessed with the opportunity to strike a match and light those long white candles again, with all three of my children by my side.

Vital Information & Practical Tips

Bronchiolitis is a chest infection that affects babies and children under 2. It usually develops from a ‘common cold’ virus called RSV. It is generally mild and can be treated at home, but it can become serious - particularly in babies under 3 months old.

As well as the usual cold symptoms like a stuffy nose or cough, there are some specific signs of bronchiolitis in babies that may seem minor but that all parents should know to look out for. The top three: If your baby isn’t feeding as frequently or taking as much milk as normal, if they seem more sleepy and sluggish generally or if their breathing is faster than you’re used to – these are all reasons to take them to the GP.

If you have a baby due anytime during the cold and flu season (September to March), I would suggest taking a little more care during the first few months of their life when it comes to cuddles from older siblings or cousins. Children generally catch 8 to 10 colds a year so I personally assume they have one at any given time in the season! I would also limit the baby’s contact with symptomatic adults as much as you possibly can.

COVID trained us all to wash our hands frequently, disinfect our homes more thoroughly and exercise caution in crowded indoor spaces – with a little one around this is particularly important, as is training siblings to cover their mouth and nose when they cough or sneeze and to dispose of used tissues hygienically. I would also encourage well-meaning relatives to kiss the baby’s toes or the top of their head rather than their hands or cheeks.

Jessica Boxer is the editor of the Family Matters magazine and creates Seed’s newsletters, social media posts, fundraising literature and more. She lives in Edgware with her husband and three children and loves to read, write, learn and create.