Peanut Allergy: Save Their Life and Apologize for it Later.

When I first started this blog, I was writing about growing up with a peanut allergy.  It eventually turned comical as I introduced my children on the scene, and dramatic, as life ensued.  Today I am again writing about my peanut allergy, as it again has shown its ugly face.

And I thought I was so safe.

I have never known why I have my allergies.  No one else in my family does.  I was born with it.  God gave it to me, I guess.  I spent most of my childhood mad about that.  And most of my adult life, really.  But, within the confines and safety of my life I really kind of forgot about it.

Little Miss and her brother are both teenagers now.  Mr. Man and I dream of days where we have a clean house, time to ourselves, and we don't have to drive the kids everywhere, and feed them three times the amount we eat, and so on.  The Big P (as in, peanut) occasionally showed up in menu planning for camping, going for ice cream, or trying to find a certain almond butter.  Mr. and the kids would go out of town and come back all washed and changed, "We had peanut butter last night, Mom! But we didn't like it - not one bit," they'd lie.

But really, I have a safe life - my home is safe and this is where I spend my time.  The majority of my friends have known me for years and know the drill.  No peanuts.  No exceptions.  Easy peasy.

Well, then I made new friends.  Wonderful new friends who had children who needed friends.  And the Big P reared its ugly head.  Everywhere.  Off a kitchen table, off a person's clothes, off a piece of paper, in a neighbour's lunch (in a small room), and in a dorm 1000s of kms from home.  With no car.  And no Mr. Man.

So really, I shouldn't make new friends.  That's the lesson. 

Well, no, but there are two things I want to say to those of you who know someone who has a serious allergy, or has one:

1.  A reaction to something as oily as the Big P can happen ANYWHERE.  Even if you think you've cleaned your house, she may still find that one little spot under the counter and rub it in her eyes.  Guess what? It's not your fault!!  Insurance brokers or lawyers may say otherwise (dirty rats) but a reasonable allergic person knows there is an extremely high probability of coming in contact with the Big P as soon as she steps out of her house.  I've got it off a steering wheel of a friend's car or off of the cleanest leather couch.  Some of us refuse to hold door knobs or handrails because they know the stakes.  And it's always going to be like this. 

Please don't feel guilty when you've done your best.  And please have us over again.  Please?

2.  Secondly, when there is a serious reaction going on - and I mean serious - the allergic person may not be in their right mind.  This is very hard for me to say (and very easy for my mother to say).  Someone needs to take charge, and the patient may quite possibly want to run and hide.  Call it shock, call it fight or flight, that person may make every excuse in the book not to jab that epipen in their leg and call 911.  Please, please, do everyone a favour and as Nike said, "Just Do It!" 

Save their life and apologize for it later.  I know this idiot would forgive you.

For those of you who are interested in how to use an epipen, check out this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXlqSuzzrws



Erin

Gluten-Free Little Miss: Why I Quit My Job

So, I quit my job.  Well, kinda.  It was a good decision, and there's is no telling if I'll go back part-time, casual or not at all, but I am not to worry about that until the new year.  Until then I am on oven-hiatus.

You see, I've been hired by a gluten-free girl.

That's right. Little Miss is gluten-free.  And nightshades-free, and citrus-free and peanut-free.

And lettuce-free.

And bananas and kiwi-free.

And coffee and beer-free. LOL

Okay, so you get it.  She can't eat anything except chicken, apples and rice.  Well, that's how it feels somedays.

So back to the job:  many people have been disappointed that I stopped baking for customers.  And some are even shocked.  (Which is a nice compliment, actually.)  But it was definitely needed.

Have you seen this face? 

This is Little Miss (age 6 1/2) during her 9-day bout of dangerous, give-me-a-heart-attack hives in April.

Or how about this face (below) when she was about  2 1/2? Back then it lasted three days.

  

This is the face that is in my dreams.  This is why I quit my job. Who can bake for others, and plan wedding cakes and tastings and pretty sugar flowers when your little one needs you?  It takes all of my brain power to figure out what she can eat.

Since April 2013, Little Miss has been going through rigorous testing to see what this is.  I've blogged a bit about it while trying to stay positive and humorous, but it has been difficult.

After blood tests, X-rays, MRI's, EEG's, allergists, anti-histimines and PediaPred, we sent a blood sample away at the end of August to a Naturopath Clinic and the results that came back shocked me.  So many food intolerances, and not one of them could I have predicted.

Lettuce? Seriously?

But with help from family and friends, Mr. Man and I got to work.

What's ironic, is that for my entire life, mom and I have been reading ingredients lists on packages and recycling, always looking for the dreaded word, peanut.  Now, we are looking for peanut, soy, gluten, wheat, barley malt, lemon concentrate, orange zest, potato starch, cashews, walnuts,....and the list goes on.

Really, I've just had to make everything from scratch.  But luckily, that was how I was raised.

However, I could eat porridge, for pete's sake! She can't even eat porridge!

So where is God in all of this?  

Watching.

He hears me.  He knows how my mind works.  He knows when I've had enough.  And He supplies my need. He is with the friends who arrive with gluten-free pancake mix.  Or with the blog follower who sends reassuring words.  He is with the doctors and pharmacists who listen and ask, really ask, what I need from them.

When Mom was in my situation and I was the child, there were no peanut-free products or gluten-free recipe books.  No one had ever heard of a peanut-allergy before.  Now, I have facebook friends sending websites and recipes everyday, librarians voluntarily ordering books through interloan libraries, and cake customers dropping off their own personal stash of gluten-free recipe books for me to borrow.

This is when you know who loves you and loves your kid.  Who knew gluten-free rice krispy treats at a friend's place would bring such excitement?  Or a little rice dish placed beside the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving, such reassurance?  That a co-worker takes the time to give the right candy to our kids would brighten our halloween?

There are times when I think, "Is this really what it comes down to? Food?  Are we not just wearing ourselves out for nothing?  Can't we just eat a big soft pretzel and call it a night?" 

I am overwhelmed as others are hurting in worse ways, some losing their marriages, some their lives, and I think, "let's just give up and go help someone else."  I am tired of her crying over ketchup. I am tired of brown rice, and using beets instead of tomatoes.  I am tired of being tired.

There is a knock at the door and my last client walks in to talk about her upcoming wedding cake.  It's a big one, and we have lots to go over.  Suddenly she asks about my daughter.  I am surprised, but I have been writing about it on my business blog so most of my clients would probably know.

We sit down at the kitchen table and she shares with me about urtacaria (acute hives and swelling) and how she suffers from severe rashes and swelling due to a wheat-intolerance.  In fact, she is allergic to peanuts and nuts, and is sensitive to many grains, and milk.  She shows me the marks on her fingers from where she swelled so big, her fingers split open.

I jump up and quickly grab the large file folder I have on Little Miss, including photographs of her hives.

"It's like I am looking in a mirror," the young woman said, "that's definitely urtacaria." My heart pounded in my ears as I felt God in the room.  This was the answer. It had to be.  I was doing this right.

Urtacaria occurs in some people when their immune system is so completely attacked by in-tolerated foods that it cracks up.  Breaks out.  Little Miss's lasted for nine days.  This young woman had hers last for months.

Lyndsay is now on Prednasone every day, has had her gall bladder removed, as well as part of her liver.  She believes none of this was necessary if she had known how to eliminate gluten and other foods from her diet.  She believes in what I have been doing.

And she believes if we keep Little Miss from her food intolerances long enough, she will be able to eat some of it again, most likely in limited quantities or spaced out intervals.

So just when I'd had enough, the Lord sends exactly the right person to me.  Almost a perfect stranger.  That's how I know He's watching.  And that is enough for me at this time.

I don't know what is going to happen.  I don't know if April's disaster was viral or food related or a combination, but I know I am on the right track.  And if ever you need confirmation for what you are doing, God will send it.  He's watching.

To each of you who have helped us through the last few months (and they are not over yet), know that I appreciate you.  Every recipe or website sent through facebook or email, every book dropped off at the house, and especially those of you in church who ask Little Miss how she is, it all means a great deal to us.

Thank you.

Erin

A Cop, A Nurse, and a Personal Trainer...a regular crackerjack day.

The house is very warm as the fireplace has been stoked. A three-year-old boy is standing in his underwear. Plants are knocked over, one small tree is up on the kitchen table.

One woman is practicing sit-ups on the floor, another is calmly making salad and apple crisp.  There is pee on the floor, an infant is about to fall down the stairs and another little girl is pounding on the piano.  There are toys everywhere.

Unable to move, I have my head down on the table, with blurred vision, a swollen face and a wet cloth over my left eye, watching the sit-ups.  I feel drunk, mugged, and extremely hungry. There is a green paper ticket close by, slightly damp, and accusing.

*****

Sometimes a think there is a drama fairy following me around, sprinkling pixie dust over me at her leisure, or perhaps a ridiculous fairy touching me with her wand.  Why can't it just be the tooth fairy giving me random quarters under my pillow? Of course, then I wouldn't have any teeth - and then she'd have a go at Mr. Man's.

With a life like mine, I have discovered how important it is to have a nurse as a BFF.  Whatever they learn in nursing school pours over into their everyday life.  Coping strategies include calmness during stressful situations, a straight face when you tell them something gross or tragic, and they are always, ALWAYS equipped with emergency kits and medicine - sometimes great tupperware containers full.

So have you guessed what happened?

No, I did not get mugged, and yes, a child peed on the floor.  Apparently, if you hang the kid upside down the pee will stop leaving the culprit's bladder. Did you know that? I guess they teach you that in nursing school.  But don't you dare use the wrong cloth to clean it up, as nurses have issues with germs.  (At least we didn't use the bum cloth on the kid's face.)

The sit-ups? Simple enough: my personal trainer. She's eager.  'nuff said.

The rest of the mess was any regular day in the life of three moms.  No surprises there.

So what happened to me?

I have an unpublished post tucked away about my driving skills and how awesome I am.  Yes, I know, a terrible lie, and subsequently, this is the day I get pulled over by the police.

Of course, I did what anyone would do: I bawled my eyes out.

I bawled on the side of the road, I bawled as I drove down the road, and bawled in my friend's driveway. By the time I got in the house, I looked like I'd been beat up. But that's not all.
Nothing compared to the stinging in my eyes a few minutes later.

Peanut butter.

I am not kidding.

And don't let nursey tell you otherwise. It WAS peanut butter. Nothing else has that effect on me.

Just as I had accepted my life as an outlaw, the fairies hit me again and I realize I've been poisoned.  My eye is swelling and then my lips, and once again I am reminded of the movie, Hitch, drinking antihistamine from a straw.  Nursey quickly gives me a large dose of liquid benadryl from her huge medicine bin and I moan and complain until the drugs hit me and I fall to the table.  The antidote works quickly but I am done over and unable to function.

At this point all havoc breaks out in the living room.  A kid is peeing on the floor, giving us that far off look of "I know I shouldn't do this but ah, such relief."  Plants are being pulled over, puzzle pieces are being thrown and the piano is giving out some loud sharps and flats.  The mothers are up and running and suddenly I am shaking, freezing and starving like any druggy would be when completely high.

As the fairies giggle in the background, the commotion settles, sit-ups are back in motion and I eat way more than allotted by my trainer.  And the heat is turned up until I stop shivering.

Throughout all of this, the trainer is laughing and the nurse calmly continues with our visit as if nothing has happened and I am not passed out on her table.

Mr. Man finds out and texts that I am not allowed to go over there again.

But somehow, he is not surprised.

Please Don't Pass the Chocolates!!

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and like many people I am filled with longings of chocolaty goodness, sweet sayings, and being swept away by the love of my man.  Yet for a nut-allergic person like myself, adventures in wining and dining, and delicious chocolates can sometimes lead down a dangerous avenue. So lies my preference for a romantic evening of the ‘comfy on your couch,’ non-exciting kind.  I have had a severe allergy to peanuts since I can remember, and plenty of experience in high drama dinners out and fast car rides – to the hospital. 

A box of chocolates, a huge staple for Valentine’s Day, is generally off limits.  There are very few chocolates that I can eat.  In fact, most are deemed deadly: those candy coated sweets with the mysterious centres – a mystery that, for me, usually means an unhappy date with a hospital emergency room.  A neighbourly woman on the street where I grew up used to get her son to bite into his own chocolate to prove the centres were only filled with crème.  Which one did I inevitably pick?  That’s right, the chocolate laced with my enemy, the peanut.  This was just one of the numerous times I ran home sick from a friend’s house.

There are a few more candy bars than chocolates that I enjoy. Some were known to be peanut-free before the “peanut-free” era.  Trial and error was our homemade allergy test:  I would taste a tiny amount:  If there were an allergic reaction, that food wouldn’t be eaten again.  No reaction?  Yes! A new treat!  One such test involved a university friend holding my epi-pen in one hand, and the telephone in the other while I tasted a particular Swiss chocolate candy for the first time.  Success!  It is, presently, the most popular treat received at my house on occasions such as Christmas and Valentine’s Day.

For a time, it was the chocolate that made me sick, not just the peanuts.  I stopped eating chocolate for about six years after repeated stomach upsets.  Perhaps I’d have given it up sooner had it not tasted so good!  Paper valentines and peppermint hearts filled my desk at school during those chocolate-free years, instead of the individually wrapped goodies. And the Easter bunny?  Well!  He had a hard time coming up with treat ideas for me between my tummy’s dislike of chocolate and my immune system’s hatred for the peanut. Cute, porcelain bunnies still sit on my dresser that had been placed in my Easter basket throughout those years.  Personally, I think in the long term I scored better than my little sister did with her chocolate covered lips and wide, sugar-crazed eyes even though it would have been nice to have a lick or two! 

I knew that one day I would meet a man who, if he loved me, would have to give up peanut butter.  And, sure enough, I met him.  Mr. Man.  We vaguely recall how the allergy discussion came about, but inevitably he realized peanut butter was not in the cards. And seeing his sacrifice made me love him even more.  Mr. Man would not only give up this one staple, but would continually make sure where we ate would accommodate my allergy.  At first he would say he was the allergic party, but then we realized the kitchen staff were nervously watching him through the door instead of me.  He joked about swooning dramatically in order to freak them out, but that probably would not have gotten us a table on our next attempt at a reservation. 

A full year of marriage went by before Mr. Man witnessed my anaphylactic reaction to a peanut product.  We were at a friend’s wedding, and the meal that came out contained what looked suspiciously like a peanut sauce.  We called over our waiter and asked her if it was safe, and she complied.  Thus began an allergic person’s worst nightmare – she ran up to us in a matter of seconds (after I’d put the food in my mouth) and exclaimed that she had been wrong.  Mr. Man and I jumped up, my throat in flames, and raced to the hospital. 

If I wasn’t going to die from the reaction, I was surely going to die in the car ride to the hospital.  It was soon evident that Mr. Man was not the greatest while under duress.  He drove like a madman, swerving around cars, even to the point of crossing over the median and driving into oncoming traffic! We got there in one piece, but a few years later, I would remind him of that drive as we were headed to the hospital to have our first baby.  He was under strict instruction not to cross medians or go faster than the speed limit of my choice.

Eventually, chocolate was again on the menu as I grew out of my tummy troubles.  And it arrived in greater variety since so many products were now labeled “peanut-free”.  One candy bar had been around for years, but I did not try it until I was in my thirties.  We said I would be a perfect spokes model for the candy bar.  I would hold out the candy, smile at the camera and say, “This is the first ____ bar I have ever eaten since I have an allergy to peanuts.  Now that they are peanut-free, I am going to have my first bite!”  And then I would bite it, love it, and earn millions.  Great idea, but we just acted it out in my living room instead.

Now, as a parent of two, Valentine’s Day involves wonderful handmade creations in red and white, mostly made of construction paper, sparkles and paper doilies.  Painted handprints and excited smiles make up for any lack of sweets.  These past few years have brought joyful moments instead of the “I ate that nutty chocolate and now I’m throwing up” memories. 

The kids know that we are a peanut-free family.  They are thankfully not allergic to anything, but realize if they touch it, then it is as if Mommy touched it.  I have picked my son up from day-care only to break out into hives because of something he had pulled out of their garbage can.  Every time I picked him up the reaction would continue, until he was bathed and his clothes washed.  The first time Mr. Man ever took our oldest child away for the weekend, the boy was surprised and confused when his daddy brought out a jar of peanut butter.  He knew this wasn’t allowed, but his dad reassured him that after two nights away from Mommy, she would be okay. (And that he had my permission!)

Most date nights, we have tried to go out for dinner, but sometimes, it just isn’t possible.  Our small town in southern Ontario does not have many fancy places where we could eat out.  And most times it is not worth the effort.  I’ve reacted to food at a Lebanese restaurant and had to drive myself to the hospital.  I’ve handed back dessert pizzas at a local pizza joint since it came with peanuts decorating the top.  Some places think scraping off the nuts would then be okay.  Sigh.  And up until a few years ago, many pubs had shelled peanuts on the counters and floors.  Now, almost all local restaurants tell me not to bother with dessert or I am offered a fruit dish or crème caramel (which I dislike immensely).  An evening out at a restaurant can quickly become a total disaster if the kitchen staff is not knowledgeable on what they must do to accommodate my allergy. On the other hand, it can be safe but bland and boring.  Mr. Man knows that an enjoyable date with me would not involve food at all, but perhaps a bouquet of flowers, taking a turn on the dance floor or a night in watching a movie and eating something I had baked. 

So, I’ll let you know how Valentine’s Day turns out this year.   Maybe it will involve long-stemmed daisies with a side of milk chocolate, maybe it will be a small party with close friends, but chances are it will not be the mad dash to the hospital, wielding my epi-pen like a weapon as in past years.   I am sure my Valentine, the ever sensible and safe, Mr. Man, will come through.

Peanuts are Back!

I've got peanuts on the brain these days as I read over some papers on allergies I'd written in the past, so I honestly thought I was seeing things when I read "Peanuts are Back!" on a local restaurant.

I can only assume it is not a joke.

This restaurant that had removed all shelled peanuts from their tables years ago, has now reintroduced them.  It was an odd feeling reading that sign.  I had, personally, never eaten there, but have enjoyed eating at another previously peanut-filled restaurant on numerous occasions.  Was their business failing without the shelled peanuts?  Will others follow?  Perhaps they feel we allergic people can go somewhere else to eat.  I will NOW.  


But sure, why not go back?  Nobody said they had to take the little killers away.  Seafood restaurants still serve seafood even though some of us are allergic.  Cows still give milk...


It didn’t bother me so much that they made this pro-peanut choice, but that they went back to it.  Has the battle come full circle?  Have food companies and restaurants tired of taking care of the allergic?  


Quaker Oats has come out with a new line of Cheerios.  You guessed it - Peanut Butter Cheerios.  Why would you possibly consider contaminating the first finger-food for toddlers?  And it looks very much like multigrain cheerios, so don't doubt that mistakes will be made in the shopping aisle.  


So, we’ll see what happens.  I grew up without any "peanut-free" foods.  Allergic-kids are, at present, living in a fairly safe world in comparison.  But if food agencies, schools and restaurants decide they don't care about going the peanut-free route anymore, these kids are in for a real dose of reality.  


They're going to have to do what we did.  Pray.real.hard & don't.eat.anything!

An Allergic Mom and the Hungry Boy

The other night I took my kids out to the local library for an evening of music.  Little Miss had a blast dancing and doing actions while her older brother sat back and waited for everything to end.  SO not his thing.

There were complimentary drinks and desserts for everyone, and I had to remind my kids about the rules of foreign sweets.  They both asked at separate times if they could try one of the delicious goodies on the counter and each conversation was quite different:

Little Miss:

"Mom, can I have one of those things there on the counter?"
"No, hon, there might be peanuts in it.  But you could have a juice box."
She jumps up. "Get one for your brother, too." I say as she runs excitedly to the counter.  I can hear her explain everything to the librarian just in case she does not understand about juice, sharing, or brothers.
She runs back, "It costs no cents, Mom, no cents!!"
She is extremely excited about everything, and the treats are forgotten.

Little Monster:

"Mom, can I have one of those cookies over there?" Sipping his juice box.
"No, hon, there might be peanuts in it." He slumps in his chair and says, "Humph."
"I'll go over and check just to make sure," I say.  I want him to start having a good time, and he didn't have much supper.
Sure enough, three platters are arranged beautifully with mixed cookies, tarts and other home-baked goodness.  Definitely a nightmare for me and my allergy.
"Sorry, bud.  It's a no go."
He pouts some more, complains how hungry he is, and his eyes water.
Suddenly, Little Miss arrives with a tennis ball that she won for her extreme dance moves, and he is distracted.  Phew!

But as I sit there beside him, I think, what would be the harm in him having something?  What are the chances that I would react?  If something is a peanut-butter cookie, or contains M&Ms, then it is definitely not an option.  But what if there was nothing there with allergens?  I could go through all of the pre-bought packages and choose something from there.  Even if it said "may contain," I probably wouldn't react if he ate it.  But at the age of seven, can he distinguish one from the other?

At some point, he is going to lash out at me, rebel, and eat something I can't.  My sister did the same thing, only to be shamed by my mother.  So when and where do I let him go?  Little Miss has NEVER had peanuts.  She's had her allergies tested, but she has never had an opportunity away from me.

The "boys" have a weekend away every fall and gorge themselves on peanut butter, Reece's peanut butter cups, and the like.  They eat it Friday night, wash up, clean everything short of burning their clothes, and return home two days later.  Little Miss doesn't get that.  It broke my heart the day they came home and she asked her brother what peanut butter tasted like.

Near the end of the evening, my son again complained of hunger and eyed the goodies being packed away.  Our friendly librarian suddenly remembered our predicament and found a box of Dare cookies that had not been put out on the trays.

Little Miss loudly asked, "Are they peanut-free?" My heart burst.

Little Monster shyly took some cookies, looked at me with those big, thankful, bright eyes and ran after his sister onto the dance floor.  I smiled as she began her extreme dance moves again, and he happily hopped on one foot, leading the younger boys in a new, cool dance move.

There won't always be a friendly librarian, and he won't always be distracted by a tennis ball, but for now I could let my worries rest until another day.

How I Injected Myself With An Epi-Pen

I was just forwarded this link, and thought I'd pass it on.  You can see how I replied in the comments section.  This mom, although in a silly predicament, has the ability to tell people what it feels like to give yourself the epi-pen.  I have given it to myself once, in a very scary situation, but she seems to have stayed calm, without the added fear of death attached to the drug surging through her veins.

In my unprofessional opinion, this blog post gets two-thumbs up, three stars and a half-dose of epinephrine :)

Pizza Hut and the Peanut Allergy

When I was in teacher's college at Queen's U. there were several of us that did our practicum at the same school (my high school, actually).  Although we spent many weeks together I did not really get to know the others that well.  But we still celebrated our teaching accomplishments together, and went out to dinner one night after "work".

Pizza Hut was the only thing available in town (other than MacD's), and we couldn't have afforded much else anyway.  I'd eaten there before, so I did not worry about my peanut allergy and, therefore, did not tell the others about it.

At the pizza bar they always put out dessert pizzas.  I went over by myself to check it out, knowing that I probably wouldn't have any on account of the "traces of peanuts/nuts" that almost all restaurants claim.  Yet everything seemed harmless so I went for it.  There was a young employee beside me, refilling topping containers and I mentioned to him about my allergy.

"I have an allergy to peanuts.  Do you think I can eat any of this?"

"NO!" he exclaimed, "You shouldn't eat ANYTHING!" He then took me by the wrist and shook the chocolate chips out of my hand.  And then took my dessert plate away from me.

I sheepishly walked back empty handed to where my fellow students were sitting, silent, and staring at me.  "Did you KNOW that guy?" one of them asked.

"No." I said.  I was too embarrassed to explain.  They looked at each other and went back to eating.  I wonder if they thought I was in trouble.

Secretly I was pleased that someone knew how serious a food allergy can be, and had the gumption to do something about it. I certainly have more confidence now then I did then in sharing my situation.  If that young man had not been there, perhaps nothing would've happened, but it could've.  And I didn't have a plan.

A few of my allergic clients will order a birthday cake from me, take it to the restaurant, and have the staff bring it out to their child during dessert time.  I know of a mom who would bake a small nut-free cake in the similar colours of the dessert, and would secretly pretend it was part of it.  The allergic child would probably never know the difference.

It is moments like these that we allergy sufferers cherish.  We typically do not have the confidence to speak up for ourselves, or use our epi-pens.  Who wants to wreck the party with a drive to the hospital?  But when we do choose you to hold our secret, please take it seriously.  We love our rescuers - even if it takes a little wrist handling!

Allergic Girl, by Sloane Miller

After spending a blissful, kid-free hour and a half at Chapters bookstore yesterday, I have to tell you about a book I read.

Obviously I wasn't able to read all of Ms. Miller's book, but within the chapters I delved, there was a bravery I have never had. With her severe allergies to nuts and fish, she remains steady in eating out in NYC's restaurants, speaking up for herself and her "requirements", and even allowing friends to eat these allergens in her home.

The closest I ever got to this were my daily breakfasts in first-year University, where my best -friend ate peanut butter on his bagels across from me at the table. I always considered myself foolish in my choice of morning camaraderie over safety, but never regretted it. In Allergic Girl, Adventures in Living Well with Food Allergies, Sloane Miller encourages allergy sufferers to be brave, yet cautious, and to not be afraid of trying out these situations. She promotes the need to have fun, and enjoy your life, with the emphasis on being smart, having a game plan, and speaking up.

I was never in the dating scene long, and living in a small city, expensive restaurants were not an option. Miller talks of several of her dates with great humour, and pride in her ability to handle "the kiss." I was asked about this topic once, and honestly couldn't answer it. I wish I'd had the chapter to pass on. This chapter, in fact, sells the whole book for me.

If Mr. and I ever decide to go back to NYC, Ms. Miller's list of nut-friendly restaurants will be stuck to the inside front cover of my tourist map. No more dingy fast-food places on Fifth Avenue for us!

So, at this point in my post, if I were an actual book critic, had any credentials, and serious followers, I would loudly give Allergic Girl two thumbs up, five stars, and an epi-pen.

My Peanut-Free Blog

So today I thought I'd google "peanut-free blogs". Whoa, it was crazy! Blogs filled with outrage, desperation, and an infinite number of people looking for any possible allergy solutions. Most sites were mom-related, while I was looking for any adult allergy sufferers. The only blog that really got my attention was a guy, The Militant Ginger, looking to stir things up. The amount of comments that were flying! It was fiery! Check it out and be horrified! lol

Among the mom-related blogs, I found a few useful ones that I may look back on. Here are a few:

1. Allergy Moms

2. Peanut Allergy Kid

3. The Nut-Free Mom Blog

4. Peanut Free Mama

Some advertise peanut-free products (mostly from the states), and other sites are great just to read the comments from others.

My entire life I have tried my best to pretend I don't have an allergy, much to the chagrin of my mother, and as of today really never had the desire to look around at helpful information. There are a lot of scared moms and dads out there, let me tell you!

I tend to look back on everything with humour, again much to the chagrin of my mother, so I have a feeling most allergy moms would balk at what I have to say in my allergy posts. Perhaps a warning label is needed? For the not-so-sensitive allergy sufferer? Peanut-Free with Bite?

I guess I'll just say that if any of these moms happen upon my blog, I hope someday, like me and my family, your son/daughter's peanut allergy will no longer consume and overtake your life as it does now. There is rest in your future, or at least a fair amount :)

10 Ways to Survive Nut Season

As the holiday season is upon us, you may be one of the lucky ones to get invited out, and those of us with a nut allergy need to be cautious. Here are a few things to keep in mind. Feel free to add your own.

When going to a person's house for a casual, potlucky, snacky type of gathering:

1. Take your own snacks - and be prepared to share. I know a guy once who took a baked potato with him to every party. He ate only the potato and wouldn't share. Don't do that.

2. Make sure your snacks do not get put on a platter with other snacks. In other words; take your own platter and watch over it (without being obvious - you are supposed to share).

3. If there are a few contaminated items, then avoid them at all costs. Do not shake hands. Hug with your forearms. (If I could draw you a sketch, I would). If it's your kid with the allergy, put mitts on him, and maybe a surgeon's mask.

4. If the contamination in rampant, walk around with your elbows in, or arms in the air, and only stay the required time it takes to chat with your hostess, compliment her on her home, outfit or children.

5. Should you enjoy the conversation so much that you can't bare to leave, then DO NOT EAT, make chewing motions with your mouth, and smile, saying, "Oh, I couldn't. I am SO FULL!"

6. Stay away from squares, anything beige or brown, or any cheese balls with a crunchy look to them. If the ingredients aren't listed anywhere in the kitchen, or recycling, or trash - don't eat it. (I am known for going through recycling to find containers).

8. Take a friend who will tackle people if necessary, or politely ask them to take their cookies to their car (oh, yeah, it's happened).

9. Wash hands regularly. And face, and arms, and neck. Chances are they'll think you're in the bathroom because of food poisoning, and then no one will eat.

10. Don't freak out when others stare - they may be looking for a reason to call 911. (aka the superman complex) Give your neck a scratch or two, and watch their eyes bug out! Everyone needs a little Christmas drama.

Sure hope this helps. We nutters have to stick together :)

Planes, Trains, and...Peanuts

I was talking with another mom, (we'll call her Betty), recently about riding in airplanes with her six-year-old son who has a nut allergy.

There are such things called "buffer-zones" now, in which the airline stewardesses ask people not to eat or buy nuts during a flight in which there is an allergic child. Betty said they went on three flights this summer. On the first flight the stewardess asked the first few rows around them to stay nut-free. On a second flight the attendant asked only the left side of the plane to refrain from eating nuts. And on the third flight Betty's family was refused any such treatment. Confused? So was she. "And," she said, "they obviously don't clean very well in between flights as there was a peanut right under his chair." Yikes.

So here I am, on a bus to the states with 51 other people, in seat 13. A few people in front of me; a lot behind. Mr. Man was seat 14, the aisle seat, stretching out his legs. We are excited, a little tired from the early start, and quite comfortable. The tour guide is going over her list of the beginning of the itinerary, and nobody is really listening. But just then, she mentions the duty-free shop. "It's great for snacks like chocolate, liquor, and bags of nuts."

Most people would go for the liquor, I figured, but the bus suddenly seemed smaller with the idea of nuts floating around. Sure enough, when the bus stopped, all of the above were bought and brought onto the bus.

Mr. and I, we bought hand antiseptic.

As the elderly and naive shovelled handfuls of mixed nuts into their mouths, waved at their friends, and touched all the seats as they moved up the aisle, I leaned closer and closer to my precious window seat, soaked myself in antiseptic until I stunk, and waited to get off. I figured, "let them get it out of their system, eat them all and I'll wash my hands with this stuff every time I move." Honestly, I don't think that "stuff" even works, but I held onto it like life raft.

I was asked later why I didn't tell them I was allergic, but actually we had. It was on our application for the trip, but there is nothing that could be done. For children, there are "buffer zones" and peanut-free snack rules, but adults are adults. We are old enough to take care of ourselves. People don't think an adult would have an allergy, it's just in the kids. Besides, the bags were opened; the harm had been done. I would just sit still and wait. There would no shaking of hands on this trip.

Eventually, they closed up the bags, and I subtly walked off the bus with both my arms straight up in the air.

We had a fabulous trip; safe; eventful; lots of fun! Three days later we get back on the bus with the same 50 people, and cross the border into Canada.

Two hours from home I hear the rustling of bags, smell the nutty aroma and start to cry.

As an aside: One fellow passenger who we got to know pointed out that eventually all of these allergic children will grow up and enter the work force. It will be interesting to see if their adult life will be safer than mine or just the same. Once you're an adult, are you on your own, like me, or will there be "buffer zones" then, too?

My Magic Bag

As many of you are aware, I am nervous about heading out because of my peanut allergy. I don’t dare say anything to Mr. Man as he in his own world of worry: leg room, muggings, directions… so he has enough on his plate. I cannot tell my mother – she’ll just get it all mixed up and think I DID have a reaction, and upset everyone. So instead, I will tell you!

At times I get really excited. I booked us broadway tickets, and mapped out all of things I (and Mr. Man) want to see. It’s true, he did say I could take him anywhere…but I’ll include a few things I think he will like!

But I have this shadow that follows me. It sits on the edge of my thoughts, waiting. We have no control over what is planned for us, do we? It could all be taken away at any moment. A car ride, a fall at the park, a dark stranger. I need to stay safe for the kids. The kids need to stay safe. Mr. needs to stay safe. So I have this constant fight with myself to have a relaxing time, to put the shadow to rest and trust that everything will be all right. Mr. says that's why we believe in a loving God. I do not have to be prepared for the worst all the time.

Funnily enough, I got my results from my sleep deprived EEG last week. I am (or my brain is) “essentially normal.” Whatever that means. Aren’t we all “essentially normal”? Is anyone normal?

Based on today's and last day's blogposts, I guess the EEG doesn’t measure the levels of being a nutter. I am, with all of my worrying and stressing, "essentially," a nutter.

So here I am packing for my trip to NYC. In my magic bag I have three epi-pens, one new pair of pants, new groovy running shoes and insoles for walking, one camera, batteries and SD cards, US cash for taxis, various maps, updated VISA card, passports, other ID, sunglasses and hair elastics.

Also inside my magic bag is a small pocket filled with neurosis that I will pull out, shake, and replace whenever needed. Drama tends to follow me, but I think my magic bag can handle it.

So here I go, clutching my bag full of adventure on one hand, and leading my big, handsome Mr. Man on the other. What fun!

Bubble Girl

One of the scariest things about having a food allergy is travelling. When I woke up with amnesia a few years ago, one of the things my mom would do was put on a movie to ease the tension. I had short term and long term memory loss, so watching a movie that had nothing to do with my real life took our minds off everything for an hour or two. One of them was called, "Bubble Boy". It was the stupidest movie ever, but I loved it. And it is how I feel a lot.

In the movie, a teenage boy is allergic to everything and so his parents keep him in a plastic bubble to protect him from having a reaction. Eventually you find out his mother kept him in there longer than necessary, BUT it was so amazing to me that a writer could understand that people like me are actually out here, living in an invisible bubble.

The bubble, for those of you who do not understand, surrounds us and stretches out to only those places where we feel safe from harm. For example: my bubble extends its curve to MacDonald's and Denny's and, presently, Montana's (not in the past), but does not even brush against Asian food places, church potlucks, or Dairy Queen. If I go into any of these places, the bubble will break and I may have an allergic reaction. So I feel I miss out on a lot, and it makes me nervous to try new things and new places.

So this returns me to my opening sentence. Travelling is hard. How much food can I pack in my backpack that will sustain me if I am in a place that only sells Asian food (i.e. I am never going to China)? If I have three epi-pens, we can speak the language, and have enough fare for a taxi, how much time does that give us to hail a taxi, and get through traffic to the hospital? And what if the hospital is full? What if they won't treat me because I'm Canadian? And what if they tell my mother? She'll NEVER let me go out again. Back in the bubble.

And what if they won't let me bring my home-baked, peanut-free, soy-free food with me over the border? What if? What if?

Then, three times in one month I have a freak allergic reaction to something right here, within my safe places. The first, sitting in a family member's chair: I broke out in itchy hives. The second, using the wrong chocolate coating: again I broke out in hives, and had swollen eyes. And the third, at a friend's house my eye started itching and swelling. Only one of those times did we know what had caused the reaction.

So, if I am reacting to unknown things within my small world anyway, why not risk it in the big world? I know the Big Guy's got my back. And those three epi-pens I ordered will come in handy. AND I'm married to the best insurance broker in the world so he's got my back, too.

And, maybe I'll just have to bake the border patrol one of my delish red velvet cakes so they let me take all of other baked goods across with me :)

My Safe Places

I asked mom a few months ago how she managed to let me go away to summer camp with my peanut allergy:

“It was close to home, close to the hospital, and was only 30 kids a week. Some of the camps had hundreds of kids a week. We thought the small staff would know you and it would be safer that way. They would be more aware,” she answered. “When I came to pick you up and I saw the state of the swimming area,” her eyes widen, “I thought, who needs to worry about food when you are all going to die right here! All those jagged rocks, and snakes, and this young guy sitting there who wouldn’t have been able to help.”

I nod as I remember. And I smile. Gosh, that camp was fun! Some of my best summers, best friendships – life changing! (And mom does have an outrageous fear of snakes…)

But she was right – they made the right decision in that camp. It was perfect for me. We were less than 15 minutes from the hospital and I didn’t start attending until I was thirteen (and my younger sister went with me the first year – much to her dislike) so I was well aware of my allergy and how to handle it. It was the end of grade eight and I was away from home! I was still a shy kid so having only 29 or so other kids to meet was pretty easy, and it wasn’t too long until I was comfortable enough to get myself into trouble. That first week of summer camp was the beginning of a wonderful thirteen-year stretch; from camper, to counselor, to program coordinator; I didn’t stop going until after I was married. It was my favourite safe place.

Crackerjacks and Nuts

You may have wondered what the meaning is behind the title of this blog. Two things:

1. The words "cracked" and "nutter" are commonly associated with how I feel most mornings after a terrible night sleep; and

2. This blog was originally supposed to be about my peanut allergy, and therefore crackerjacks, and food with nuts in them are generally off limits.

Actually I have never had Crackerjacks in my life. And, as I was sitting in church this morning, trying hard to listen to the sermon, (on taking risks...see I was listening!) I was also mentally making a list of some of the foods I have never eaten.

1. Crackerjacks

2. Turtles

3. Oh Henry bar

4. Sushi (that's just because I think it would be gross)

5. Anything sweet from a United Church potluck (and actually, after trying their flakes of ham triangle sandwiches, I don't eat ANYTHING.)

6. Squares of any kind, not even if my mother-in-law made them and is about to cry.

Oh, the list goes on, but really, there are things I do eat that other peanut allergy sufferers do not:

1. Tim Horton's (there's a higher probability of someone else dying if I don't get my Timmy's fix)

2. Ice cream (again, it has to do with that "fix") but only out of a box, not at a parlour where they scoop it out themselves - that's dangerous. I like to live in ignorance of what goes on at the plant, but what I see with my own eyes, that's different. It doesn't matter if you rinse the scoop, it's still contaminated.

3. Rachel's Tarts (the ones with the raisins) in Trenton, Ontario. Some things are worth the risk.

Anyway, on that note, someday soon I will list: "Things not to say to a peanut allergy sufferer." It'll be great.

Erin

Mr. Man and the Peanut Allergy: Part 2

Here's another, one less heroic:

As an adult I can count on my one hand the times I have had a run-in with a peanut. Even my four-year-old sees a random peanut shell that a squirrel has left in our yard and is on instant mommy duty. As a mom, I buy and read all grocery labels, as a woman I choose all restaurants that I go to, and really, as an adult I can throw off the guilt and say no to a dessert, and even leave if need be. There are still those who are unaware that the allergy lies amongst the adults and not just the children. Bryan and I have been to wine and cheese’s that serve desserts with nuts, and we discretely leave. The hosts don’t necessarily need to know what could have been. There are restaurants changing their menus so often now that I have the freedom to go to different places than I would have dreamed. I celebrated my 34^th birthday in a restaurant that used to have peanuts in piles on the floor and bar. A local ice cream shop recently changed to be peanut-free. A whole new world is being opened up to me.

So, it was ironic that one night when Bryan and I went to bed, I should break out in hives on my face and neck wherever he kissed me. An affair to remember indeed. The conversation went as follows:

Me: (scratching) What did you eat today? (I go to the bathroom, and wash my hands, face and neck) Go get the Benadryl.

Him: (Coming from downstairs, Benadryl in his hand) I may have eaten something with peanut butter in it at lunchtime.

Me: (Swallowing the meds.) What was it?

Him: (Looking really scared) Peanut butter.

Gotta love him!

Mr. Man and the Peanut Allergy: Part 1

In lieu of Valentine's day, I thought I'd post an excerpt from my peanut allergy journal:

...Neither Mr. Man nor I can remember me telling him about my allergy at a significant moment. He says he came to the realization that he was going to have to give up peanut butter. There were some weekends that I would be away overnight for work, and he would eat as much p.b. as he could in 24 hours, wash really well, and come home. He did it all at the office, of course, and did everything he could, short of burning his clothes, to decontaminate himself. The same would happen if he was away overnight. He would buy a whole bunch of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, peanut butter and white bread and gorge himself in his hotel room, clean up and come home the next day. An affair to remember.

In fact, Mr. Man had never seen me have an allergic reaction until a year after we were married. We were at a wedding reception of some friends, and when the food was brought out I asked about peanuts. (I could see walnuts on the green beans and wondered about a peanut sauce). After checking with the kitchen, the waitress reassured us that there were no peanuts, and then in the time it took for me to take a bite of my dinner, she left and came back saying she was wrong. (Later, I wondered if she really did ask the first time.) I had not swallowed my food yet, but the inside of my mouth was on fire. We jumped up and left (I spat out the beans) and we drove to the hospital. It was a learning experience in our marriage. Mr. drove like a madman! He had the four-ways flashing, the horn blowing, and at one time he even crossed the median and drove headlong into traffic. I was terrified, and a little embarrassed. The thing was, the hospital was just a few blocks away. I did not need my epi-pen as the hospital would administer epinephrine if I needed it, and my reaction was not extending into my throat. The story went on from there; an argument ensued involving a nurse, (I was not at my best), a cop approached Mr. Man for parking in a no parking zone as I ran into the hospital, (Mr. almost claimed I was a doctor), and over time we realized my reaction was not manifesting into what it could have been. We were able to return to the wedding dance and reassure our friends that everything was fine. Months later, Mr. Man got a long lecture about his driving skills when I was in labour with our firstborn.

Needless to say, all was done out of love, and as this fanciful day approaches, may you be rescued, if for the first time or the millionth, by your love.