My little one in hospital in Hong Kong

For some parents traveling with kids is something to be dreaded.  Akin to a colonoscopy, or slow root canal.  Something that is perhaps unavoidable, such a journey for an interstate wedding, but certainly not to be courted.   I have looked on these parents with scorn and disdain.  What on earth were they thinking?  They were missing out on fun and adventure, most certainly they were not resilient.  In my mind, parents that didn’t want to travel with kids must be dour, boring homebodies and their kids and partners were missing out as a result.  That is until last week when we headed over to Hong Kong as my husband’s plus four while he attended a conference.  I had anticipated this trip for months, my planning was immaculate and thanks to some fiscally smart online purchases I’d secured a deal for a hotel that was much more luxurious than where we’d usually stay.  Little was I to know it would all go pear shaped before we even left Australia.

Things started to go wrong 12 hours before we left.  I was literally skipping out of my workplace anticipating a glamorous Oriental holiday when I received the call from my daughter’s daycare that she had vomited.  My heart sank.  I know how a dodgy viral gastro-enteritis can wreak havoc on my family of five.  Fortunately when I saw her she didn’t look too sick, and I was heartened to awake for our morning flight to realise she hadn’t vomited during the night.   I headed to the airport grateful that the bug must be short lived – it was all going to be okay.

On the nine hour flight over her diarrhoea started.  Bless the sweet little lass, she didn’t complain as one watery overflowing diarrhoea after another soaked her clothes, and mine on that seemingly infinite flight.  I had come prepared with multiple changes of clothes in my carry on for every family member (in case vomiting struck us all) but she quickly overflowed what in the end was essentially just foul smelling water onto each of her outfits.  She finished the flight wearing only a nappy with an airplane blanket between my body and hers to offer me a little protection.

Five minutes after entering the most divinely exquisite hotel room of my dreams she vomited on the bed, the carpet and my clothes.   After a quick clean up we settled in for a brief sleep.  The time difference between Melbourne and Hong Kong meant the kids woke at 4 am local time.  The most urgent matter of the day was to source nappies as my little bub had gone through them at such a rate that I was seriously low on what was a most essential item.  As a family we trudged out into the Hong Kong dawn on a quest for nappies.  Our quest took us, unwittingly into Hong Kong’s red light district where our little family looked out of place amongst the drunks and late night partiers who were only now stumbling out from clubs into the Sunday morning air.  Our hopes were raised as we found some convenience stores, only to be quashed where, instead of nappies we located prostitutes purchasing condoms with their Johns.   The prostitutes were friendly and maternal, stopping to talk to the kids and telling us how beautiful our daughter was.  The Johns looked embarrassed, fixated on the vomit tarnished concrete near their feet and would shuffle, impatiently waiting for their partner/s of the evening/morning to join them on their own journey of hedonism.  We found no nappies, and while we dodged the vomit on the footpaths my children counted how many cigarette stubs were adhering to the wheels of my brand new travel stroller, which I surreptitiously washed in a fountain back at the hotel.  

Quick – I’d better Instagram a photo of us having a great time.

Somehow my daughter’s diarrhoea subsided long enough for my husband to venture out and find nappies at a more conventional hour and we settled into a few uneasy days of “holiday”.  My daughter was generally happy, waking each morning at 2 am admittedly, and off her food, with the occasional vomit but she didn’t look sick.  During this time one of my sons was struck by the foul gastroenteritis and I nursed him through his own illness.  On day three though my littlest one decided that drinking was an over-rated activity and henceforth no liquids would pass her lips.   With my husband working and a sick little girl I tried to coax overpriced liquid after overpriced liquid through her lips.  Once she told me she’d drink a milkshake so I willingly paid the outrageous $18 that the hotel bar staff insisted was the price for a child sized milkshake, only to have her reject it.  I grew increasingly more anxious as she became dehydrated, lethargic, and “floppy”, a sign in kids that makes doctors like myself very, very anxious.  It seemed a hospital stay was unavoidable.

She was admitted to the isolation ward of Queen Mary’s hospital in Hong Kong with dehydration and low blood sugar.  It was the right place for her, the IV fluids she received were exactly what she needed to finally recover from her illness and we were discharged back to the hotel where I frantically took Instagram photos to prove, more to myself than anything that despite the challenges this was the glamorous vacation that I had planned.  

I think it was our trip to Disneyland that turned me around.  Until then I had remained upbeat about the trip sure that it would finish with a bang.  That the expense and effort would be worth it.  My three children were happy and excited and Disneyland is the place where travel memories are made.   We made it through two rides before my middle child was suddenly struck by fever.  He spent our first day at Disneyland asleep, intermittently in the previously tarnished pusher and back in our Disney hotel room.  I waited with bated breath for the diarrhoea and vomiting that I was sure would come but didn’t.  This last illness in our week long, far too expensive trip is what altered my perspective.  I got it, finally.  I understood why many parents didn’t want to travel with their kids.  It was all just so hard.  Why on earth would I chose to do this?  Why would I chose to do this to my kids?  Parents who travel with their kids must all be mad.

This precious little guy slept through his day at Disneyland

The thing is, the next day, our final day before a red-eye flight out of Hong Kong my son was better.  We spent the day at Disneyland and I was hot and bothered, but the kids loved it.  We arrived at the airport sweaty, grotty and tired looking like long term residents of Dodgyville and were duly seated at the back of the plane near the toilets where I am sure the Qantas staff thought we belonged.  But on that flight my over-tired kids were so, so good.  They slept, and as we flew into Melbourne it looked stunning from above.  We only arrived home yesterday morning but the kids are talking ever so fondly about the trip.  My son who missed a day of Disneyland by being essentially comatose doesn’t mind at all.  Instead he keeps talking about the Jungle River Cruise and the baby elephant he saw there.  They all are asking questions about the nations represented in the “Its a Small World” ride.  There is no talk of vomit, Johns or prostitutes, dirty cigarettes, sleep deprivation or hospital.  Instead the trip is couched already in their memories with wonder tonight as my son chose the pictures to share with his class for Show and Tell.

So while I get it now, I truly do, I’m never going to be one of those parents who doesn’t want to travel with their kids.  As far as our trips go, yes, this one was bloody hard, there is no doubt about it.   But am I going to haul those kids somewhere else sooner rather than later?  I really, really hope so.

You might also enjoy the post “Keeping it real.  The true story behind our travel photos.“

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