Series: We Demand Better, Part 2
It’s 2:14 AM. The world is dark and quiet. My neighbors are asleep. The dog is asleep. But not in my kitchen. The fluorescent light is buzzing, and our children are sitting at the table. They are buzzing with chemical energy, eating a ham sandwich. It’s their second sandwich. Or maybe their third. I have lost count. This is the Prednisone Hunger.
If you haven’t lived through this, you might think, “Great! Their appetite is back!” You might just picture a growing kid who needs an extra snack.
But we know the truth. This is not a normal appetite. This is a fierce, primal need. It’s a hunger that causes real physical pain. It is a pit so bottomless that it turns our sweet children into starving wolves. They will actually weep over an empty bread bag. Prednisone Hunger is not to be laughed at.
I sit here, watching them eat, too tired even to cry. For the hundredth time, I wonder: Is this truly the best modern medicine can offer us?
The Beast in the Belly: Dealing with Prednisone Hunger
When the doctor writes the prescription, they quickly list the side effects. “Increased appetite,” they say.
They don’t tell you that your child will dig through the trash for wrappers. They don’t tell you that your grocery bill will triple. They don’t warn you that you’ll have to lock the pantry because your toddler is trying to eat raw pasta at midnight. Again, prednisone hunger is very real.
The Prednisone hunger is relentless. It simply turns off the brain’s “I’m full” signal. It is often paired with steroid insomnia, making the need for food even more urgent in the dead of night.
And the parent guilt? That lands squarely on us. How can we refuse food to a child screaming that their stomach hurts from emptiness? Yet, if we feed the beast, we know every extra calorie leads to rapid weight gain. This weight gain will make their joints ache and crush their self-esteem.
There is no way to win. There is only the 2:00 AM sandwich.
This is the Prednisone Hunger.
The Moon Face: When the Mirror Becomes the Enemy
Next, there is the swelling. The formal medical term is “Cushingoid appearance.” We know it simply as Moon Face.
It happens so fast. One week, your child looks just like themselves. The next, their neck has vanished. Their cheeks are swollen tight, their eyes look smaller, and their belly is bloated.
I dread the way strangers look at us in the grocery store. I see them look at the full cart, then look at my swollen child, and they judge. They assume I’m feeding them too much sugar. They cannot see the high-dose steroids coursing through their little body.
Worse than the strangers, though, is the sadness in my child’s eyes as they look in the mirror. They don’t recognize their own face. They start avoiding photos. They pull their hoods up over their heads.
We are treating the disease, yes. But we are also breaking their hearts in the process.
The “Wired but Tired” Nightmare: Prednisone Insomnia
The sandwich is finally gone. It is now 2:45 AM.
You would expect them to crash after the day’s emotional outbursts. But steroid insomnia is a terrible, cruel joke.
Their bodies are totally exhausted. Their eyes have dark circles. But their brains are blazing like a marquee sign. They become manic. They want to play with Legos. They want to talk non-stop about dinosaurs. They want to perfectly reorganize their sock drawer. This is a perfect example of prednisone hunger and insomnia working together to destroy the night.
And we, the parents, stay awake as the “sentinels of the night.” We survive on coffee and worry, knowing that in just four hours, the sun will rise. We then have to go to work, manage the medications, fight the insurance companies, and somehow pretend we are functional adults.
The Emotional Whiplash: ‘Roid Rage
If the hunger and lack of sleep weren’t enough, we also get the terrible mood swings.
We call it “Roid Rage,” but that sounds too light, like a joke for bodybuilders. There is nothing funny about a five-year-old screaming that they hate you because you cut their toast the wrong way.
The emotional swings are terrifying. It’s like a switch flips. One moment they are laughing (maybe a little too hysterically), and the next they are sobbing or throwing objects.
Then comes the inevitable crash. The rage clears, and they look at you, terrified by their own actions. “I’m so sorry, Mommy/Daddy. I couldn’t stop myself.”
That is the moment that truly breaks a parent. Our children are passengers in a car driven by the medication.
We Are Tired of “Just Managing”
We have countless blogs on “low-sodium recipes.” We have support groups for “how to handle the tantrums.” We have articles full of tips on “how to hide the swelling.”
We have become experts at managing prednisone side effects. We are warriors.
But we should not have to be.
We should not have to suddenly become nutritionists, family therapists, and sleep specialists just to get through a single prescription.
We demand better than “management.” We demand treatments that fight the illness without also destroying the child. We want research that solves the main problem without creating ten new ones.
The sandwich is finished. The kitchen is silent, but only for a moment.
I am going to try and get both of us back into bed. But I’m leaving the light on. I know we will be back here again very soon.
Disclaimer: I am a parent, not a physician. This post is based on personal experience. Please do not change your child’s medication schedule without consulting their specialist.
Leave a Reply