Three days before her first birthday, my baby caught the dreaded hand, foot, and mouth disease, also known as HFMD. I knew it'd be pretty bad (babies and mouth ulcers, worst combination ever), but what I didn't expect was how easy it'd be for me, a person in her late 30s, to catch it from her. 

A quick Google search led to loads of Reddit posts from adults comparing the pain to being dipped in hellfire, but I dismissed this as internet hyperbole and figured that since HFMD was a kids' thing, I'd be back to work after a couple days of low-grade fevers and mild itching.

Turns out Reddit was right. HFMD is not mild. HFMD is a medieval plague. It is a biblical pestilence that left me both physically and emotionally scarred. Case in point: it's been more than a month, and I'm still moulting (yes, like a snake). 

When I saw the news this week about an outbreak of HFMD in Thailand, something clicked: most of the messaging around HFMD centres around how parents can safeguard their kids, but no one talks about how brutal it is — or what it even feels like — to kena the virus yourself. While kids under five might be more prone to catching HFMD, I learnt the hard way that it's certainly not a "kids' thing".

Day 1: Denial

My symptoms began just as my baby's rashes were starting to fade. Like her, I developed a fever out of nowhere, my temperature spiking to 38 degrees over breakfast.

"It can't be HFMD," I told myself, even as my throat began to prickle. Maybe this was just the final vestiges of laryngitis? My voice had sounded funny for two weeks prior to this. There was no way that hadn't afforded me some immunity, right?

Only while eating a burger that night did it dawn on me that this was no ordinary sore throat. Every morsel lit my mouth aflame. Even fruits and water made it sting. My husband passed me his all-powerful army torchlight so I could get a closer look — three "whiteheads" on my soft palate. I figured it was Covid again, citing the rise in numbers that month.

Days 2: Reality check

My fever persisted throughout the night and into the next morning, hovering at 38.3 degrees between doses of paracetamol and ibuprofen. Feeling paranoid, I checked my hands and feet — no rashes, aside from a couple of ambiguous bumps on the side of one finger, but the number of white spots in my throat now numbered eight.

I tried eating warm porridge for lunch. Pain sia. Drank room temperature water — might as well have swallowed lava. I called telehealth with my suspicions, but without lesions on my hands and feet, they could only diagnose it as a run-of-the-mill respiratory virus.

By then, I'd launched into a full-fledged Reddit spiral, where I gathered that if it was indeed HFMD, days two through five would be the worst. Most people couldn't eat, sleep, walk, talk, or even type without pain. At 2.45pm, I did another mouth blister check — the whitehead-esque ulcers had multiplied to 15, almost double the amount since that morning.

At 3.30pm, I studied my hands and feet for what felt like the 100th time that day, and at long last, I received the confirmation I needed: a pale red rash on the soles of my feet.

Things only got worse from there. At 9pm, I noticed more bumps appearing on the sides of my fingers. At 11pm, walking started to feel funny, as if I were standing on pins and needles.

Our household needed a designated survivor. I banished my husband to the living room, filled my water bottle with cold water — as per the internet's recommendation — and hunkered down for a long night ahead.

Days 3 and 4: Prolonged misery

The following days were more of the same, except worse. My fever subsided once the rashes appeared, but my throat continued spawning new ulcers by the hour. By the afternoon of Day 3, I counted more than 20 all along my tonsils, my soft palate, my uvula, along the sides of my cheeks, and in the back of my throat. 

Based on how much it hurt to even swallow saliva, I suspected there were just as many down my throat, far beyond the reaches of hubby's trusty torchlight. That's not even including the small bumps that were starting to form on my tongue, which had since grown swollen and fuzzy, as if I'd burnt it drinking hot soup.

Meanwhile, I began to understand why people had compared the pain of the rashes to being dipped in hellfire. My feet, growing increasingly mottled, were unbearably itchy, raw, and hot. My fingertips too: the last time I'd felt pain of that magnitude was after a long afternoon of bouldering, except that this time the stinging pulsed relentlessly, leaving me with little to do but sit on the bed watching hours of Netflix.

As if things couldn't get any worse, a spray of red spots along the roof of my mouth erupted into some kind of rash, making it near-impossible for me to talk without feeling like I was gargling a mouthful of bleach.

You're probably wondering if there was anything I could've done to expedite my healing or keep the symptoms at bay. To which I answer: Nope! You know things are bad when the GP says "Oh s***" after seeing your feet. He explained to me that since HFMD is a self-limiting virus (i.e. it will go away on its own), that there was nothing I could do but take more painkillers and tahan the symptoms.

Days 5-10: The light at the end of the tunnel

Reddit was right: Things typically start to turn around between Day 5 and 6. I still had too many ulcers to count, but they felt slightly less raw, which allowed me to finally eat something other than yogurt (more on that later).

From there, the symptoms began to abate as quickly as they'd arrived. The rash on my feet got darker, but started hurting less. The blisters on my fingertips began to dry. The white spots in my throat began to shrink. I could go around the house without feeling like I was walking barefoot on hot sand.

The recovery stage was more or less bearable, although certainly not pretty. It took about four to five more days for the pain to completely subside, which was followed by an ongoing period of peeling.

My tips for surviving HFMD as an adult

Ice, ice, baby

While conventional wisdom usually calls for warm tea or chicken soup to soothe a sore throat, you'll feel much better when numbing the ulcers with ice cold water. Stock up on ice cream and make sure your fridge has plenty of ice cubes.

Same goes for the skin lesions. Soaking your feet and hands in cold water will give you a bit of relief after the burning sensation sets in.

Still can't deal with the itching? Try diaper rash cream

Slather extra-strength diaper cream — the kind containing zinc oxide — all over your feet, put on your lightest pair of socks, and give yourself permission to spend the day in bed.

The best (and worst) foods

You'd think that salt would feel awful, but eating anything remotely acidic, like fruits, felt worse. Anything with sugar also triggered the pain, but dairy soothes it, so by Day 3, I was on a steady diet of plain yogurt and yogurt drinks.

In a cruel twist of fate, HFMD isn't one of those viruses that curbs your appetite. If anything, I felt weak with hunger because of how little I could eat thanks to the mouth sores. I wanted to gorge down everything in sight, but consuming anything other than cold yogurt and iced water was pure agony. At least I finally managed to shed the last of my pregnancy weight?

When can I go back out again?

While schools typically disallow kids with HFMD from attending until they've gotten clearance from a doctor, adults with the disease can technically still go to work and to social functions since there's no quarantine order for them. 

However, if Covid has taught us anything, we should look out for the immunocompromised by lying low until we've recovered. HFMD symptoms typically resolve in 7 to 10 days, and true enough, I only felt up to going out on day 7, and strong enough to work after day 10. Look out for your neighbours, give yourself a chance to get well, and stay home!

Preventing HFMD

While getting HFMD as a child is almost a rite of passage nowadays, getting it as an adult is pretty avoidable if you practice proper hygiene at home. Once your kid starts showing symptoms, tap into your Covid-era protocols (the last thing you want is to kena while also taking care of a sick kid!). 

Mask up, wash your hands regularly, and disinfect all surfaces with Clorox once your kid's asleep. Use serving utensils during meals, avoid sharing drinks or food, and save kisses for when everyone's well.

This article was first published in Wonderwall.sg.