Monthly Archives: November 2024

Last full day in Paris: beautiful food and floral displays, La Biblioteque Sainte Genevieve, and Place Vendome

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I don’t know how it seems like even the littlest displays of fruit and food are always so gorgeous here. There can simply be a florist shop on a street, and it will look like someone with a keen artistic eye spent a lot of time arranging all the flowers, pots, and accessories so that every object is just so to make the scene look perfect. Today, we ate at a cute little bistro called Le Petit Cler on Rue Cler, and on the same street there were endless little grocers, shops specializing in specific types of meats, seafoods, and other epicurean delights; each simple display looked like it could be photographed for a magazine. But all those foods, whether it was a display of fruit or a very earthy setup of mushrooms in baskets, all were edible and ready to be purchased, cooked with, and eaten.

There was also an architectural wonder I had on my list for a while that I never got around to: The Sainte Geneiveve Library just a block away from the Pantheon. The library is known to be a beautiful place to read and study and houses about two million historic documents that date back to the 9th century. What is crazy about this place is that as a student, you have to book a time slot and an actual assigned seat in the library, showing proof of your student status via a university ID. And any old visitors are not welcome at any time, as you cannot simply walk in. You have to book designated (and very limited) tours at specific hours, and the areas where you are allowed to stand/look are very small.

I didn’t do my research on this beforehand and thought we could just walk in. Alas, my timing was fortuitous because as I poked my head in to ask the security guard if we could enter, a library employee had just come back from her break. Without hesitation, she ushered me in, telling me in French that they usually don’t do this, but she’d make an exception for us given we were tourists from out of town. We got to stand in the same limited standing area overlooking the reading rows. And I looked up and snapped a few photos of the big windows, reading rows, and interior. And I remembered how I first learned about this library: the Boston Public Library, very well respected for its architecture both on the exterior and interior, was modeled after La Biblioteque Sainte Genevieve.

In the evening, after a last stop at the Paris Christmas markets, we walked through Place Vendome on our way back to the hotel for the night. Paris is one of those global cities that really takes Christmas seriously: all the department store facades were decked out in holiday cheer, and the plaza of Place Vendome and the shops that lined it were the definition of Christmas’s “merry and bright.” The lights twinkled all along the plaza, and it even had this beautiful children’s carousel with endless surrounding yellow and white twinkling lights, wreaths, and glittering Christmas trees.

While walking through the plaza, I actually thought about my mom and how even before she became a Jehovah’s Witness, she never enjoyed Christmas. She used to find the entire holiday a chore, from buying and wrapping gifts to making food to even having a Christmas tree with lights on in the living room. She used to insist that if she were sitting or lying down in the living room that the Christmas tree lights had to be turned off. She would complain and say, “They hurt my eyes! Shut them off!” So when she started studying to become a JW, it was an easy argument for her to completely nix any Christmas tree and lights. And while walking through Place Vendome, I just felt a little sad for her. Had she experienced so much trauma and hate in her life that she couldn’t find it in her heart to embrace this one “merry and bright” season of the year, especially since she knew her kids loved it so much?

But that’s why we learn from the past and try to create better experiences for our future. It’s why I’m so happy that I can create new family traditions for the own family I’ve chosen and formed and move away from all that inherited negativity of the past.

Strasbourg mini Christmas village for littles, delicious pastries and crepes, and tea back in Paris

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Strasbourg was a magical place during our Thanksgiving week, an enchanting Christmas wonderland that I’ll likely remember forever. What also made it so memorable was how child friendly it was. When we first arrived, there was an area in front of one of the markets that had a bunch of wooden boards laid out. I assumed it was likely a mini Christmas village for littles that they’d build. Just hours later, the entire kids’ village was constructed, complete with multiple sturdy wooden houses, fancy rooftops, and even little fireplaces with lanterns, Christmas decorations, and stockings hung up. All the families that passed with young children let their children run in and embrace the fun. Kaia had a little devious mind of her own: she grabbed one of the lanterns, took it into a little house, then shut the door. Clearly, she was up to no good because when we opened the door, we discovered that she had tried to pick apart the inside of the lantern and disconnect it. One of the Christmas mini village workers came over to lightly scold her in broken English, telling her this was, “No good, no good!”, to which Kaia simply responded with a cheeky grin and ran off giggling.

What was also fun was having my French listening and speaking comprehension slowly return bit by bit. We popped into a little patisserie and asked if they had their famous almond croissants left after a lunch at an Alsatian restaurant. The employee responded in French, saying that they had run out of almond croissants, but they still had almond and chocolat croissants left if I’d be interested. My response in my head was, “Uhhh, YEAH!” and I told her that I’d definitely like one. That creme d’amande et chocolat croissant was one of the most delicious ones we’ve eaten. The almond filling was different than the ones we’ve had back in New York in that it was a whipped almond cream filling, like a cross between blended almond paste, cream, and custard. The end conclusion: it was extremely decadent and flaky, just as a French croissant should be.

While in France, while we do enjoy decadent croissants and pastries, what we also enjoy that we never get back home are the simplest dishes, like crepes with butter and sugar or with Grand Marnier and nutella. I love crepes and how simple and delicious they are; they really don’t use that many ingredients, but they’re always so satisfying and light. I used to make them all the time when I was in high school, but since then, I’ve never bothered making them since the effort that goes into them is better for a crowd. And sometimes, you just want someone else to make you something simple and delicious. We enjoyed these crepes on our last night in Strasbourg while Pookster napped peacefully in her stroller.

Today, we headed back to Paris by high-speed train. And my first stop with Kaia after we checked into the hotel was to the closest Mariage Freres tea salon in the 9eme arrondissement. I had last visited a Mariage Freres tea salon back in 2015 when Chris and I last came together. And lucky me, even since then, I’ve had Mariage Freres tea since Chris had come to France on a couple work trips and brought them back. This afternoon, I went row by row, tin by tin, to smell all these beautifully blended teas. I usually detest tea blends with things added other than tea leaves (I’m usually a tea purist), but Mariage Freres truly masters the art of tea blended with fruit and other aromatics. Kaia, of course, wanted to be part of the action, so as I sniffed the tins, she immediately wanted to sniff right after and tell me if she liked the fragrance or not. I ended up leaving with four 100-gram bags of tea, one of which I would give away as a gift.

While tea the prices predictably had gone up, and there has always been a surcharge to have the tea packaged into a gift tin, I was not necessarily expecting the surcharge to go up to 6 euros per tin. This is annoying not just for cost (especially since some of the teas are just 10-11 euros for 100 grams, so an over-50 percent surcharge just for the freaking tin!), but also for packaging reasons. It’s far easier to pack a bag of loose leaf tea than it is a rounded wide tin of tea into your luggage. So even though one of the teas was a gift, I figured my recipient wouldn’t mind not having a tin.

I also noticed something else interesting with the tea containers: now, you can purchase what they consider their “vintage” tea tins and even porcelain jars! The prices for these lacquered jars, bottles, and metal tins range from 15 euros all way up to (gasp!) 150 euros each. This cost is only for the vessel itself; you will have to pay extra for the tea to be added to it. This sounded completely insane to me, as you must REALLY love this brand the history of Mariage Freres to pay those types of premiums just for the tea containers themselves.

France is truly a treasure trove for all things epicurean, as well as all things tangentially related, like beautiful scents and pleasing aesthetics. I’ll never get bored of eating and drinking in this gastronomic capital of the world.

Christmas carousels, Kaia’s love of pretzels, and the most decadent little Madeleine cookie I’ve eaten in my life in Strasbourg

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Merry-go-round carousels are often an image that arises in one’s mind when thinking of childhood, at least in the West. Most of us who were raised in western countries can recall times in our childhood when we rode on top of a carriage, horse, or unicorn on a happy merry-go-round with fun, festive lights, colors, and music. As someone who is well into her 30s and quickly approaching her 40s, I hadn’t actively thought about carousels until we took Kaia on her first one in Central Park during a play date with her bestie from her last school and his parents back in the spring of this year. Then, she was absolutely terrified and screaming her entire first ride with me, which was miserable to say the least. But she’s changed quite a bit in the last 6-7 months. Now, she sees carousels, immediately gets excited, and demands to get on them ASAP. She got to experience four rides on the main Strasbourg Christmas market carousel; four rides that she never, ever wanted to end, likely because the ride was like magic to her. Currently, she doesn’t seem that into the horses or unicorns, but she rather sit in the vehicles when on offer, particularly the fire trucks and airplanes predictably. She LOVES fire trucks and airplanes in real life, so that came as no surprise to us.

Strasbourg during Christmas time is truly a magical place, likely one of the most fairy tale-esque Christmas market experiences we’ve ever had. And the carousel rides and its brilliant lights and decor added to the festive and fairy tale feel. Here we are, as “those parents” who are excited to get just the right pictures and videos of our happy and giggling child on her magical fairy tale merry-go-round rides. Watching her on the carousel rides all those times and trying to capture the moment made me feel really happy, too. It was almost like I was reliving my own childhood through her, but in a much happier and fulfilled way. I have mixed feelings about my own childhood. Of course, I have lots of happy and heart-warming experiences I remember. But I also remember lots of things that I frankly should never have experienced or had to deal with. And so because of that, I feel even more joy observing my own child in her happy moments because it’s like a reminder to me to not repeat all the intergenerational trauma that I’ve inherited.

Some other fun tidbits from the last day: Kaia took a very long nap during one of our Strasbourg days. When she woke up, it was already early evening, and the sun had gone down, so it was quite dark. She immediately saw a food stand at a market with pretzels and asked if she could have one. This was much to Chris’s chagrin, as he absolutely detests pretzels of any and all kinds and begrudgingly agreed that we’d get her one. As long as I have known Chris, he has gone on mini rants about how plain and boring pretzels are, that they’re a total waste of space in the food world and are the epitome of blandness. While all of that may be true, when your child wants one and is famished… well, you kind of… should probably give in and just get her fed.

One of the boulangeries I had originally bookmarked for our Strasbourg trip, Au Pain de Mon Grand-Pere, has three locations in Strasbourg and is quite popular for their baguettes, pain au chocolat, and eclairs. While I’m generally not a “chain” person while I travel, I do make exceptions for specific types of food. And well in France, by default the food quality is so much higher than in the U.S. because of greater emphasis on food and quality of ingredients, so we popped in today to pick up a couple things. Originally, I was in line just for a pain au chocolat (which was delicious and very satisfying), but what I decided to pick up on a whim was a fat madeleine cookie that was beckoning to me under the glass. I threw that in at last minute while I was being rung up at the cash register. My pain au chocolat and madeleine didn’t even cost 2 euros, which was the first thing that stunned me. The second thing that stunned me, though, was exactly how delicious this madeleine was. It had a slight crunch on the outside, was soft and cake-like on the inside, and what really stood out was how buttery this whole thing was. The butter just sang in my mouth when I chewed. This could have been the best madeleine of my life.

If you did not grow up in France, you may have first heard of the madeleine cookie (really, it’s a cake disguised as a cookie in terms of size/shape) from Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time novel. The madeleine in the story serves as an object that triggers memories of the past. The main character eats a madeleine dipped in a tea and is then immediately transported back to his childhood. This is known as the “Proust Phenomenon.” I have always loved the idea of madeleines, but honestly, when I’ve had most, they’ve just been passable. This one I’ve eaten in Strasbourg will remain emblazoned in my mind as the very best madeleine i’ve ever eaten… at the nice ripe age of 38.

Strasbourg – La Capitale de Noel

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Strasbourg has declared itself the capital of Christmas, aka la capitale de Noel in French. Chris says that no one can really claim that about themselves, but hey, Strasbourg was bold and decided f- everyone: we can call it like we see it and believe it! Strasbourg is one of the capitals of the EU. It has gone back and forth between being a part of Germany and France, and now, it’s currently part of France and is located right at the France/Germany border. It is famous as being one of the least French cities in all of France, and of course, for having some of the most magnificent Christmas markets in all of Europe. Its Christmas markets are one of the oldest in Europe, going strong since the 1570s, and now stretches over 300 markets stalls across the entire city. Strasbourg’s Christmas tree is known as the tallest decorate Christmas tree in all of Europe, and with all the half-timber houses lining the city, it is beyond picturesque during Christmas time. And with all the gorgeous reflections of lights and half-timber houses along the Rhine River, walking through it has felt like a fairy tale adventure.

We’ve been lucky and privileged to have visited various European Christmas markets for the last 11 years, except for 2020 (pandemic) and 2021 (when I was pregnant, then Kaia was born). We started in Hamburg and Berlin, Germany, in 2013, moved onto Vienna (2014), multiple cities across Switzerland (2015), Brussels, Brugges, and Amsterdam (2019). And this year, we’re in Paris and Strasbourg for their Christmas markets. I do not say this lightly since I never rank or have favorites for places I’ve visited: Strasbourg is likely one of the very best European Christmas market destinations we’ve ever visited; in my opinion, it really lives up the self-declared “Capitale de Noel” designation. Berlin and Hamburg were truly epic with a flying Santa with his reindeer and sleigh in Hamburg (!!) and endless, humongous, and elaborate weihnachtspyramide, or Christmas Pyramids. And here in Strasbourg, it seems like almost every house, shop, and building decks out its facade for Christmas, with Christmas themed teddy bears, Christmas lights, holly, wreaths, and endless ornaments. The markets all have local, Alsatian handmade goods, lots of edible delights (oh, the food at these markets is better and far more varied than in Germany given the French influence!), so there’s lots of fascinating, intricate, artisan-crafted goods to see as eye candy (or purchases, if your luggage has space). And the Christmas tree in Place Kleber – oh, my goodness. It’s likely my favorite Christmas tree of all the European Christmas markets we’ve been to. It’s so, so tall, and it has lots of interesting ornaments and lights that change different colors. Every 30 minutes to an hour, the lights “dance” to a light and music show that is a medley of familiar and favorite Christmas tunes. And my favorite part: it has little gingerbread people all over it! I just loved this tree SO much!

Sometimes when I walk through these markets, I feel like a child again, wide-eyed with wonder at all of the beautiful twinkling lights, mouth-watering scents, and all the fun and festive vibes emanating around me from both tourists and locals alike. I suppose each and every one of us adults has an inner child in us. But oddly enough, as I’ve gotten older each year, I have felt even more like a happy, innocent child at these markets, admiring the simple joys and pleasures of life and taking it all in like there might not be a tomorrow.

Third time in France

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When I was young, I used to have all these fantasies and idealizations of France as some paradise on earth, where people simply understood la joie de vivre (“the joy of living”) and lived life to their fullest. But as someone who is about to turn 39 and nearly entering her 40s, I have realized as an adult who is only getting older that there’s really no such thing as a perfect or ideal society, that every city, country, and place on earth has its tradeoffs. You cannot have one great thing without sacrificing another. The things I love about France can also be the things that frustrate me about it, in the same way that the things I love about the U.S. are also the things that make me absolutely detest it and want to run from it. But alas, that certainly does not mean I do not love France and look forward to every visit here. I feel very lucky to say that I have visited this beautiful and delicious country three times now. It’s one of just a handful of places on earth where I feel like I need to save extra luggage space for all the delicious things I want to bring back home with me (not to mention all the incredible French skincare finds that are so much cheaper here!).

We spent the last day in Paris unexpectedly given my unanticipated ER visit and a delayed arrival in Europe. I got to visit Paris’s Chinatown for the second time (the first time was for Chris’s cousin’s wedding back in October 2015), but this time, we actually got to explore it. We found Chris’s cousin’s ex favorite durian cake spot and got some durian flaky pastries to enjoy. I noticed how much more Vietnamese than Chinese the neighborhood was. Paris’s Chinatown doesn’t look at all like any other Chinatown I’ve been to in that 1) it’s not really that Chinese, and 2) it feels more like a suburban neighborhood where everyone gets around by foot, but the shops, stores, and restaurants don’t really live on a main street or drag. Rather, they are all spread out just within blocks of each other for you to stumble upon.

One interesting thing I learned while looking at how Asian foods, particularly breads or “bao” are labeled in France is that they basically call all bao (soft, fluffy milk bread/buns) “brioche.” When I think of “brioche,” I think of a very specific type of extremely soft, buttery French bread. But “brioche” in France, it seems, is used a lot more loosely. They use it to label all Chinese buns, likely because Chinese bao (good quality ones) are all light, fluffy, and soft in your mouth. This kind of tickled me and gave me some more insight into the French language. My grasp of French is pretty poor now, but it has been coming back to me being surrounded by it here for the last day, and I’ve started remembering basic phrases and have been able to understand what people are saying to each other based on context. But I do love learning nuances of linguistics, especially of Chinese and French because they are the two languages I have formally studied.

When your toddler doesn’t understand what’s happening and still shows love

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Being in the ER was no fun. It was also frustrating because I spent so long there, just over six hours, when I was originally told I’d be there for about four hours end to end. And not knowing whether I was going to be able to make our original flight was unnerving from a logistics standpoint. But what was cute was seeing how Kaia responded to all of it. The night before, when it was evident that I found it challenging and painful to speak and eat, I tried to explain to her in my croaking whisper voice that I wasn’t feeling well and that I needed to rest in Chinese. She responded back in Chinese, “No, I want mama to be comfortable. I want mama to be comfortable!” It was really sweet and almost made me tear up to see how affectionate and concerned she was being.

While spending almost all Saturday at home when she expected to head to the airport, Kaia got upset when Chris tried to get the both of them dressed towards the end of the day to pick up soup and yogurt for me since I couldn’t eat solid foods. Kaia had a melt down and started screaming and crying, saying she didn’t want to go to the airport without Mummy. “We need to wait for Mummy to come home! We can’t go to airport without her!” she cried. My heart almost broke when Chris told me she said this after I got home from the ER.

I hope Kaia is always filled with this much love, affection, and empathy. These are the moments I absolutely love — seeing her grow and blossom and show how deeply human and compassionate she is as a growing tiny person. It would be a shame not to write all these moments down and document them to share with her once she is older and able to see how far she has come. These are the special moments that make me realize exactly how lucky I am to experience motherhood and having a child — a truly beautiful child, inside and out.

Peritonsillar abscess and a fun trip to the Emergency Room

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I couldn’t sleep on Friday night because of the pain. I had my eyes closed while in bed from 8:45pm to 3:30am, wondering when the heck I would fall asleep. In between, I’d take sips of warm water and go to the bathroom to pee. When I woke up at around 7:30am, I knew I was not feeling any better… and in fact, I was feeling worse. I just had this gut feeling that this was far more than just HFM or tonsillitis. I went into the bathroom and shined my phone flashlight on the inside of my throat. The growth on my tonsil had not only gotten redder and bigger, but my uvula (you have one, too! It’s that little hanging ball in the back of your throat!) was completely pushed to the side due to the lopsided growth on my left tonsil. Having a “deviated” or lopsided uvula is very dangerous and is a reason in itself to go to the ER. The health article that outlined what “peritonsillar abscess” was basically gave me a bullet by bullet list of every single symptom I’d had this week, down to the very clear diagram of the abscess and how it creates a deviated uvula, which is how my throat looked! I felt worried and did not want the worst happening to me while traveling abroad. I needed to get this addressed ASAP, as in that morning.

I told Chris I had to make an urgent care visit, so he set me up with an appointment Saturday morning just a few blocks from our apartment. I walked over and was lucky to be the first person seen when they opened. The doctor took a look at me, listened to me discuss my symptoms in a near whisper (it hurt even more to speak that morning), and immediately told me I had to go the ER and explained what I had, which was exactly what I suspected: a peritonsillar abscess. She wrote me a note to get admitted to the ER. I walked over to the hospital’s emergency department and got evaluated right away (in times like this, I’m so grateful I live just one block over from a major hospital!). I did NOT foresee myself going to the ER this week… in fact, other than getting admitted into the Obsetrics department overnight at Lenox Hill in 2021, I’d never gotten admitted into any hospital ever, so this was a bit scary to be told I had to go to the ER right away.

Even though I was the first patient admitted to the emergency room that morning, end to end, it still took 6+ hours before I did all the required tests, blood draws, IVs, medications, treatments, and was finally discharged. Two doctors were assigned to me and attempted to drain my abscess after my cat scan revealed an abscess on the left side of my throat that was about three times the size of a quarter. They were unsuccessful, so they had to page a ENT specialist on the other side of the hospital to assist. It took him almost an hour to come, but I was so thankful when he did. He was really friendly and polite, explained everything very clearly to me, listened to everything I said and treated me with respect. He even insisted I just call him by his first name, Peter (that was very non-American of him; all doctors here always introduce themselves as Dr. “Last Name”!). He gave me two painful numbing shots with huge needles (!!) in the back of my throat, then proceeded to drain the abscess, or at first, attempted and failed, as well. Then he had to keep re-aiming and moving the needle (oh, what joy!) to get into the right spot. Even with the area numbed, it was absolutely miserable. Then, he did a rather large incision and fully drained the last bits. And as if THAT were not enough, with the two major areas where he drew out pus, he had to inject sodium chloride to cleanse the open wounds, and that was truly the cherry (or the scream) on top. The cup that held all the pus was pretty hideous; part of me wishes I took a photo of it just to document all the crap I’ve gone through in my motherhood journey as a way that I can tell Kaia, “See? This is how much Mummy loves you! Look at what I had to deal with because of you!” The entire process with the ENT, end to end, was over 30 minutes. Thirty miserable, intense, awful minutes. I wish this experience on no one, even all the people in my life who have knowingly wronged me.

All three doctors marveled over how well I dealt with the abscess draining. One of the attendings chuckled and said that women overall handle it far, far better than any men, but I probably was the best patient when it came to not moving, squirming, or screaming. The ENT doctor insisted that I must have extremely high pain tolerance because I never once asked him to stop or slow down, even when there were more difficult parts. They said that unfortunately, peri-tonsillar abscesses are actually relatively common. They see anywhere from 5-7 cases every week, and occasionally even more. Nothing really puts you more at risk for it (other than being around young kids, ahem). They say that perfectly healthy people just get it, and that it’s really just bad luck. They’re just happy that I came in today as opposed to waiting longer because in the absolute worst cases, the abscess spreads and could cause pneumonia or even SEPSIS.

I always laugh when people talk about high pain tolerance. I went through IVF, pregnancy, pregnancy sciatica, and a completely unmedicated labor and birth. Plus, I survived 14 months of breastfeeding that included pumping as well as two horrible milk clogs, one of which, to this day, still has a remaining scar on the side of my breast to remind me of my breastfeeding woes. If I am not on the top of the pain thresholds for humanity, then I don’t know who the hell is other than those really sad, unfortunate souls who have been tortured and raped in wars or nearly burned/beaten to death and still living.

So I finished my antibiotic IV. They checked my face and throat for swelling. I kept spitting out endless mucus and blood from my drainage and incision. They gave me two prescription painkillers, an antibiotic, and a steroid to take for the next 6-10 days. I got discharged at 4pm yesterday after over six hours in the ER, and I went to to the pharmacy to pick up my meds. And then I finally went home to Chris and Kaia. Chris spent much of the afternoon on hold trying to change our travel itinerary, and I’m sure Kaia was angsty because she had to stay home all day. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for them not knowing what was going to happen next with my ER discharge time constantly changing. They originally told me I’d be out by 2, best case, but I didn’t end up actually walking out until just past 4. We’d never have made our 5:30 flight out of JFK in time.

It’s okay, though. I’m happy I acted on my gut and went to Urgent Care, and then the ER, to get this abscess addressed and drained, plus the medications I needed. It means we’d have one day less in Europe, and we ended up having to cut Luxembourg entirely out of the itinerary. But now, we do have more time in Paris and the same amount of time in Strasbourg. I can’t really complain about having another night at home to rest, or an extra day to explore Paris.

This is yet another grim, painful reminder to me how important health is, and how it really trumps all else. If you don’t have your health, you truly have nothing else.

Travel while sick

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“Are you excited about your Luxembourg/France trip?” my friend happily texted me yesterday morning. I grunted when I saw her message.

I felt like a poor little rich girl when I saw that message. I should be happy that I have this fun European Thanksgiving trip filled with Christmas markets across three cities the next week. But honestly, nothing is that exciting or satisfying when you are not feeling well, especially when it’s a challenge to talk, eat, and breathe. Going on a trip, especially for over a week, means I have to pack and organize all my stuff. It means that I have to pack and organize all of Pookster’s stuff. It means I have to think about which bags/rollers to take and which not to take. It’s a mental load that when you are sick, is not very fun. Oh, and then I realize that I didn’t even compile lists for things to do/eat while in two out of three of the cities, so I had to spend time doing that yesterday.

At least one fun thing I did between preparing for the trip and napping is watching cooking videos (hi, Kenji and Pailin from Hot Thai Kitchen), and also watching people take out all their Trader Joe’s grocery hauls. I love watching people reveal their grocery purchases!

Massive growth on my left tonsil

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I woke up this morning hoping to feel better, but instead, I woke up to shine a light into my throat to discover that the HFM growth on my tonsil had only gotten larger. I cannot even open my mouth now past a certain extent without it hurting. Pushing my tongue down so that I can properly see the full growth is painful in itself. Talking hurts. Eating everything hurts. Even things you’d think would be soothing like hot liquids and soups just feel irritable. I took some honey and prescription strength ibuprofen, which seem to be helping a bit. Even breathing hurts since there’s wind that goes through your throat every time you breathe (hence… why it’s called a “wind pipe”).

Every time I have gotten sick like this because of little illnesses that Pookster has picked up, I always jokingly tell myself, “It was worth it to have a child, right? This is all making me stronger?”

Third time’s a charm with Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease

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I knew I was coming down with something again earlier this week. I could feel my throat getting sore. But it wasn’t until last night when I suddenly realized my toes and fingers felt painful in certain areas that I wondered if I had contracted hand, foot, mouth disease… for a third time? After dinner, I shined a light into my throat, and there it was: all the spots along my tonsils and back of my throat. I looked closely at my toes in the areas where I felt pain and sensitivity, and there were tiny little red dots that were painful to touch.

Here I am again, for the third time in my child’s life: with hand, foot, and mouth disease. The first time, in early 2023, I had it the worst: I had a fever, massively sore throat, body aches, the works along with all the spots that I somehow failed to notice until a doctor pointed them out to me. That was when Kaia picked up HFM from some kid in the building’s play room. The second time was summer 2023, where I had the spots and a sore throat, yet I was still functional and able to do meetings and calls, go to the gym, and do most things other than socialize in person. This time, the feeling of blades in my throat are the worst. This afternoon when having a quick verbal exchange with Chris, it felt like every word that came out of my mouth was like a cut in my throat. My fingers and toes are very uncomfortable. But the good news is that I don’t have a fever or body aches!

It’s okay, though. I’m resilient. I can get through all this. Pookster’s illnesses, even when she is asymptomatic, make me stronger, too, right? And the good news is that we still have plenty of food to eat so that I don’t have to cook. We have Vietnamese garlic noodles, roast chicken, stir-fried gai lan, as well as leftover rice and dal makhani! Hopefully, they won’t feel like blades going down my throat when I eat it all.