This was published 8 years ago
How to help children take their malaria medication
Vietnamese chicken curry.Credit: Getty Images
Hubby's hand is halfway down Grace's throat.
We're in the restaurant of a three-star hotel in Hanoi, that chaotic pile of French colonial architecture at the top of Vietnam.
The breakfast buffet bulges with rice, pastries and fruit: food our daughter refuses to eat.
Usually, we don't resort to such measures. She's often a fussy eater. But it's been three days.
And we need to get Malarone into her.
This is the incredibly effective - and enormously expensive - malaria medication, afforded by folk in the first world.
Those in the developing world are dying for it - literally - at a rate of almost half-a-million a year.
Apparently, our privileged nine-year-old doesn't like swallowing tablets. So she has sealed her lips in protest.
We try everything, from bribes of coconut candy to threats of mosquito-borne disease.
But she's as stubborn as an ox, crossed with a goat AND a mule.
What do you do when there's nothing your child will eat - in an entire country?
Vietnamese food is some of our favourite in the world: the fragrant pho bo and crispy Bánh xèo.
At a class in Hoi An, we learn to make the aforementioned beef soup, Vietnamese pancake, and green papaya salad.
"I like cooking it, Mummy, but I don't want to eat it," Grace says, as I attempt to prise open her lips with chopsticks.
Perhaps we should have taken them to a Vietnamese restaurant before the trip? Or booked somewhere self-contained, to cook our own food? Or brought a jar of Vegemite from home?
Each of these strategies is advisable, if taking kids to places with unusual cuisine.
Because we discover it's the unfamiliar environment - not actual obstinacy – that's driving our daughter's behaviour.
This is her way of dealing with stress.
So, instead of shoving food down her throat, we shrug and say, "It's OK. You don't have to eat anything. But we're going to have this chicken curry. It smells amazing!"
This is similar to a dish I cook at home. Suddenly, she skewers a chopstick into a piece of meat, and pops it in her mouth.
We say nothing. Best not to bother the beast at feeding time. Soon, she scoffs the lot.
Sure, she still doesn't want to swallow the tablet.
But at least her stomach is lined.
Before bed, we trick her into pretending she's a cat.
After petting and stroking her, we start to tickle. It's at that moment – when her mouth is wide open – that hubby strikes.
He flicks the tiny tab down her throat.
"OK, kitty cat. Want a bowl of milk?" I ask, with a Cheshire-like grin.
"Hey, you tricked me!" she says, hands on hips.
"Or, you could say, we've saved your life," I respond.
When it comes to kids on holidays, always remember this: There's more than one way to skin a cat.
tracey.spicer@fairfaxmedia.com.au
Tracey Spicer and family travelled to Vietnam courtesy of Intrepid Travel.
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