This was going to be a Facebook post, but something screwy kept happening in which the letter I was typing would show up on the screen and be immediately deleted by a mysterious backspacing, completely independent of my fingers. After the third cut and paste to try to work around it, I gave up. I've been paying for blogspace for a while, so here it is: my first post.
What am I thinking about? Anaphylaxis. Specifically, Lucy and anaphylaxis, which she suffered for the first time last night.
Lucy, 2 and one half years, is fine, thank God and the wonders of the epi-pen, and she seems unscathed by the drama associated with three firetrucks, the emt truck, and an ambulance, which took her to the hospital. (She didn't much like it at the time, as you might imagine.) She has politely requested, several times, that I give her different food, helpfully suggesting noodles with parmesan or a jam sandwich. (No more lentils, please and thank you, which is unfortunate since she gobbled them down and would have eaten more had we not been leaving the house.)
I, however, haven't settled. I am restless and agitated and wanting to DO something. This isn't that same feeling that I get when I haven't gotten any real heart-pumping exertion in a while. This wants more than moving my body.
Sitting in the van with Lucy in my lap and calling 911 because I was afraid we weren't going to make it to the hospital in time on our own is as close to Lucy's mortality as I've been. I had administered the epi-pen--also a first and awful--and her wheezing and gasping hadn't changed in the first five or so minutes post administration. If I did know how long it would take take to act, I forgot it then. All I could imagine was getting out of the car and running with her if the ambulance didn't come quickly. (Clearly operating from some place other than my frontal lobe.)
Thankfully, by the time the emergency personnel arrived, the epinephrine had started to work, and her breathing was nearly normal. She was taken to the ER, where she was given a dose of dexamethasone and observed for rebound. There was no rebound, so we were sent on our way with instructions to follow up with her doctor. The ER doctor and nurses couldn't have been more helpful (yea! Sacred Heart Pediatric Emergency Room), we had all our questions answered, and we were encouraged to call back with any others questions that came up.
Lucy is okay. I am not. Yet, anyway.
Lucy has always, until last night, had a nearly immediate hive response around her mouth (or other point of contact) to any allergen. I gave her a test bite last night, and when she had no response in 10 minutes, I gave her the lentils and rice. It was twenty to thirty minutes after she had finished eating when she had noticeable symptoms.
How do we plan for that?
We have appointments with her pediatrician and allergist, and I'm sure questions will be answered.
I am sure I will be less easy-going about her allergies; I've largely not hovered beyond her immediate space. Namely, she cannot have a peanut butter sandwich (or split peas, or mustard, etc), but she can be in the room with someone who is having it as long as you don't touch her, or vice versa. Now, this seems like playing Russian roulette. (I have already taken the offending lentils and some yellow split peas I bought by accident across the street to my friend.)
My mind has started composing scenarios in which the adult in charge doesn't notice she's having trouble and by the time it's discovered, it's too late. My mind has only started. I am being protected from imagining too far, so I will take that protection gratefully and not actively or intentionally think that direction tonight. When we talk to Dr. Thompson tomorrow, I will project far enough down that path that we can troubleshoot.
And I will be grateful for our having known far enough ahead that this could happen that we had a means of treatment while we waited for the emergency personnel. And I will pray. And I will watch. Closely.
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