Tuesday
Tuesday started as a totally normal day. Well, not that normal, since I was on the deck priming the frame of the screen doors so I could paint them, which is not really normal for me, but still, a nice, normal day, nonetheless. Until my son Sam, age 6, threw up on the patio. "I threw up the popcorn, Mom." A stomach bug, I thought. Quick onset, to be sure, but I wiped his face, grabbed a Popsicle, and put him on the couch to watch a movie. More stomach trouble. And congestion. And a couple of hours later, a complete body rash, throat to toes, neck to heels. With one phone call to the doctor, a normal day with a stomach-bug-twist turned into a day tinged with words like, "anaphylaxis" and "Epinephrine" and "ambulance."
Sam is fine. And, truth be told, there's a lot to be said about the events of that day, but all I can really keep thinking is: Thank you, God, that his throat stayed open. Thank you, God, for the gift of time that allowed us to travel to the ER safely and without panic. Thank you, God, for my friends who were instantly there—on the phone, by my side, at my home—and thank you, God, for the brilliance of the scientists who created these medications that worked almost instantaneously to relieve this tri-fold reaction. Stomach, skin, and airways: Anaphylaxis.
In this house, two of the people I love most in this world have food allergies of their own. My older son, peanuts. My husband, poultry. And now Sam. . . the allergist thinks he reacted to the cashews in a snack mix.
I can do this. I can read labels, limit foods, take extra care, and protect. But most of all, today, I can hang out with my littlest guy and go to the park, play a game, and read a book, maybe two. Perspective is quite something, isn't it? Sam was amazingly fine during his overnight stay at the hospital. I was amazingly grateful for those that observed him for secondary reactions and watched his vital signs as he was given medicine. But there were parents at the hospital, wearing their sadness on their faces. Parents who don't leave those halls after 24 hours. Perspective. On my own day, on how it compared with my own yesterday, and on how it might compare with someone else's everyday.
Thank you, God, for Sam.
Sam is fine. And, truth be told, there's a lot to be said about the events of that day, but all I can really keep thinking is: Thank you, God, that his throat stayed open. Thank you, God, for the gift of time that allowed us to travel to the ER safely and without panic. Thank you, God, for my friends who were instantly there—on the phone, by my side, at my home—and thank you, God, for the brilliance of the scientists who created these medications that worked almost instantaneously to relieve this tri-fold reaction. Stomach, skin, and airways: Anaphylaxis.
In this house, two of the people I love most in this world have food allergies of their own. My older son, peanuts. My husband, poultry. And now Sam. . . the allergist thinks he reacted to the cashews in a snack mix.
I can do this. I can read labels, limit foods, take extra care, and protect. But most of all, today, I can hang out with my littlest guy and go to the park, play a game, and read a book, maybe two. Perspective is quite something, isn't it? Sam was amazingly fine during his overnight stay at the hospital. I was amazingly grateful for those that observed him for secondary reactions and watched his vital signs as he was given medicine. But there were parents at the hospital, wearing their sadness on their faces. Parents who don't leave those halls after 24 hours. Perspective. On my own day, on how it compared with my own yesterday, and on how it might compare with someone else's everyday.
Thank you, God, for Sam.
Sounds like it was a scary experience. I'm glad it turned out okay - and now you're aware of the situation. That's the good be gleaned from the scary. And trying to view things from the perspective of others - another eye opening lesson.
Hope all is well now and proceeding back to normal (or as normal as it gets, right?)
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