Tiny Nair

The fine line between adventure and disaster is sometimes as stark as a positive COVID-19 test. This little boy sneaked into his COVID-positive cousin’s bedroom at night to show him the new “adventure” comic, slept in the same bed and landed up a week later in the COVID-19 paediatric ward.
He was one of the bravest five-year-old reporting to the paediatrics ward — not scared of PPE-clad masked men or needle-wielding women and not deterred by the antiseptic stench or the crying inmates. As the ritual of the morning rounds unfolded, the stainless steel trolley, loaded with case files, cotton swab, pulse oximeter and thermometer rolling into the ward floor, it amused him. He instinctively came running to watch the four-wheel wonder up close, perhaps imagining it to be an alien space ship.
Without waiting for permission, he tried his hand at pushing the cart, catching the trolley handle with his tiny hands. The heavy trolley did not move, but it caught his imagination. No amount of coaxing from his mom could deter him from his new-found job; the nursing staff finally gave him an appointment letter with a wink and a nod.
It was early April, the dark clouds of the pandemic was pointing to rough weather ahead. But the data showed that children were generally safe. Every morning, the boy would puff and pant trying to push the trolley, try out and pose with the stethoscope, make funny faces and put on a serious act of mimicking the nurses. For the first time during the pandemic, morning rounds were fun.
Two weeks later, he tested negative and the trolley-pushing volunteer reluctantly got relieved of his job. He said bye to the staff, threw countless flying kisses to his friends in the ward and left, clutching the chocolates presented to him. “He is fine, nothing to worry,” the doctor told the thankful family. Only during the next morning rounds did the team realise how much they missed him, a little piece of sunshine.
Three weeks ago, he came back. His shiny eyes looked dull and listless, he had fever, looked tired and was re-admitted. As the rounds started and the trolley rolled in, he looked at it and smiled. By noon, he was restless, his oxygen saturation dropped. By midnight, he became breathless and drowsy and was shifted to the ICU.
Early in the morning, he was connected to a ventilator. Investigations revealed all the features of hyper-inflammatory shock with evidence of multi-organ dysfunction, a late complication of COVID-19 called multi-system inflammatory syndrome in children. Such cases are anecdotal, rare, unpredictable, and have very poor outcome.
On day three, he died, leaving the ICU in a steel gantry, similar to the one that fascinated him. “Do you think we could have done anything more? I feel so frustrated,” asked my son, a resident at the paediatric unit. With a vaccine yet to reach the community, the best option for the healthcare worker is a face shield and an N95 mask. At least, people don’t see us cry.
-The Hindu