Peanut allergies did not seem as common when I was a kid for some reason. If they were common, we didn't have any peanut allergy online networks proclaiming it like we do today. There was no Huffington Post to warn us. No Dr. Oz to explain it to us. No Dr. Phil to put it into perspective. No Oprah to soothe us. No Maury to exploit us. Those who suffered a peanut allergy suffered in silence and went through most of their childhood realizing that Mr. Peanut, the cartoon guy with the manacle over one eye in the top hat on the canister of Planter's was the enemy.
And how.
My peanut allergy was discovered abruptly when I was about 7. Life just kept getting better for me one day at a time back then.
One day my dad was in the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for himself. For as long as I can remember, I never liked the smell of peanut butter. It was not just an off putting smell for me. It actually bothered me to the point where I didn't want to be in the same room where it was being used. It was for that reason that I had never tasted peanuts or peanut butter up to that point. My parents never made me eat it. It wasn't like a vegetable to be avoided. It was peanut butter, synonymous with a snack food. No big deal.
For some reason on this particular day I went into the kitchen where my dad was now eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I sat down at the table across from him.
"Hi." I said.
"Hi" he said back in between dramatic chews of Skippy.
"Can I have a bite?" I asked.
"You don't like peanut butter" dad replied.
"I know. But I want to try it."
Dad raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yup" I said.
He smiled and tore off a piece of the sandwich and handed it to me. I cautiously accepted it. For a second I stared at it like it was a precious stone. Should I? The smell of it was already bothering me, although I didn't know why. Okay. Go for it. Wait. Should I?
I think I wanted to get in on the peanut butter thing because all the kids at school seemed to bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in their lunches. I always had tuna salad or baloney. And that was fine. But now I wanted to know what I was missing never having tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was such a staple back then.
My dad sat there eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and waited for me to take my first bite of one.
Finally, I did. Slowly. I took that first bite and started to chew. Within seconds the roof of my mouth started to itch. Within a full minute my tongue started to swell. My dad put down his sandwich and watched in horror as my face started to swell. I started to wheeze. My eyes swelled shut. Later my dad said they looked like two little almonds. Before I knew it he was shouting for my mom who was in the basement doing laundry.
"VIVIAN! HEY VIVIAN! GET UP HERE!"
He ran over to me, scooped me up in his arms and that's when it got weird. He just sort of started running around the house with me in his arms,no particular destination in mind. He carried me into the bathroom and threw cold water on me as if I had burst into flames and needed to be extinguished. I don't know what he thought that was going to do. Then he took me into my bedroom and tossed me on the bed and started to wrap a blanket around me. Never mind that I was soaking wet from having just had cold water thrown on me. As I wheezed and gasped for air I managed to wonder what in the hell was going on. I tried to talk but I couldn't. My mom came upstairs and joined him in the hysteria.
"GIVE HER TO ME, BOB! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH HER EYES! BOB! LOOK AT HER EYES!"
My dad handed me to my mom so she could run around the house screaming with me cradled in her arms. My mom ran back to the bathroom and with one free hand she threw open the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of ipecac. My dad was hot on her heels. She started to open the bottle frantically.
"Vivian! She didn't drink poison! She ate a bite of my peanut butter sandwich!" my dad yelled.
"This might make her throw it up!" my mom yelled back.
"Nobody throws up peanut butter!" my dad shouted, "it's too thick!"
I kept wheezing. Hello? Child dying here. Make a decision.
"Here honey. Drink this" mom said calmly. I couldn't. My tongue had swollen to the point where I couldn't swallow anything. I tried to nod to make her aware of this. I pointed at my throat. Finally.
"Bob! I don't think she can swallow the ipecac!" Mom shrieked.
"That's probably because she's so swollen!" Dad replied anxiously.
"I can't get over her eyes! She looks like a cute little Chinese baby!" Mom said, taking a moment we really didn't have to reflect on the possibility that maybe my real father was Chairman Mao while I clung to life.
"Maybe we should take her to the emergency room!" Dad finally said.
Geniuses. Both of them.
*********************************
Lucky for them the hospital was literally less than a mile away. My dad sort of tossed me in the back seat of the Ford and my mom piled into the passenger seat. I sort of bounced around back there as dad put the car in reverse, tore out of the driveway, put it back in drive and tore off down the street. He was his own ambulance, sans the siren.
When we got to the emergency room entrance my dad nearly drove through the double plate glass windows where ambulances dropped off people. The car jerked to halt and dad put it in park. He reached into the back seat and grabbed me. I was nearly unconscious but not so much that I couldn't hear my mom screaming, "Bob! Bob! Is she dead? Bob? Make sure she's not dead!"
Yeah. Make sure she's not dead. Because if she is this whole emergency room trip is in vain.
"She's not dead, Vivian! She's just not breathing right! Something happened after she ate that piece of my peanut butter sandwich!" dad said as he carried my wheezing bad self through the doors of the E.R.
My mom was hot on his heels.
"Why did you give her your sandwich! She doesn't even like peanut butter!" mom insisted.
"She wanted to try it!" dad yelled back at her.
Once inside the attending physicians took over. And that was a good thing. A nurse grabbed me from my dad's arms and rushed me to a treatment area. A doctor showed up only seconds later. My mom was looking around and saying things like "Wow, this is a big hospital" and "I hope they have a restroom."
The doctor's quick thinking saved me. Heaven knows my parents' hysteria didn't. Within seconds I felt my pants get yanked down by the nurse while the doctor stuck me with a needle full of something that got everything under control within minutes. Almost like magic, my throat stopped itching, the swelling in my eyes went down, my tongue returned to its normal size and I was starting to breathe normally again. All was good. The nurse brought me some ice chips to suck on. The doctor turned to my parents to talk to them. Mom was still looking around. Dad was just standing there staring at me.
"You folks want to tell me what happened here?" the doctor asked them. Dad was speechless at first. I guess maybe he was in some sort of shock about it all. He could be like that in emergencies. No fear. Mom assumed control of the situation.
"He fed her peanut butter. She's never liked it. I think she was rebelling" mom explained matter-of-factly.
The doctor looked annoyed.
"Folks? Your daughter had an asthma attack. If she ate peanut butter right before the attack, she's probably seriously allergic to it. I've seen kids come in here before with the same symptoms. I've seen enough of this to know that she was in anaphylactic shock. That's why I gave her that shot. Seeing that it helped her right away, I was right. She could've died. You were right to bring her in right away" he explained. I didn't see any reason to mention to the good doctor that first they doused me in cold water, wrapped me in a blanket and then tried to make me throw up the peanut butter by forcing me to drink ipecac syrup.
"Doctor" my mom said nervously, "She looked Chinese." I saw my dad roll his eyes.
"Vivian. Enough with the Chinese eyes. Her eyes were swollen, doctor. Like two little almonds" he said to the doctor. Mom was insistent.
"No, Bob. I had a friend in college who was Oriental" she corrected him. She looked back at the doctor.
"She looked Chinese" she insisted. The doctor held up both of his hands as if to tell them both to shut the hell up about my Chinese Almond eyes.
"It would be a good idea to get her to an allergist to find out what she's allergic to. If she's allergic to peanuts, chances are good she's allergic to everything in the legume family."
"The what family?" mom asked.
"Legumes. Peanuts, beans, peas..."
I could handle being allergic to peas. I hated them.
It was clear neither my mom or dad knew what legumes were. My mom thought the doctor said "lagoon."
"That's like a pond or something, isn't it?" she asked the doctor.
"Uh, no. Legumes. Not Lagoon. Legumes are in a family of nuts" he replied.
Speaking of a family of nuts.
***********************************
I stayed at the hospital for another hour until they got all my intake information. Good thing, too. It wouldn't be my last trip to the E.R. for anaphylactic shock. In fact, the second time my parents rushed me up there was for the time when I accidentally ate peanut butter again that was baked into some cookies my mom had made that were cooling on the top rack of the stove. She had warned me not to eat the ones with the fork ridges pressed on the top, but I didn't listen.
"Those have peanut butter in them. Don't eat those, honey."
"Okay" I said.
In one ear and out the other.
The same doctor in the E.R. treated me again. As my dad carried me through the plate glass double doors once more and my mom followed frantically at his heels yelling about how my eyes looked Chinese again and I needed one of those shots, I could've sworn I heard the doctor say to the nurse, "Here comes that little Morgan girl and her hysterical parents again. Poor kid."
Pants yanked down. Shot in ass. Breathing restored once again. I would live to see another day.
And that is my Peanut Butter Story.
The End.
And how.
My peanut allergy was discovered abruptly when I was about 7. Life just kept getting better for me one day at a time back then.
One day my dad was in the kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for himself. For as long as I can remember, I never liked the smell of peanut butter. It was not just an off putting smell for me. It actually bothered me to the point where I didn't want to be in the same room where it was being used. It was for that reason that I had never tasted peanuts or peanut butter up to that point. My parents never made me eat it. It wasn't like a vegetable to be avoided. It was peanut butter, synonymous with a snack food. No big deal.
For some reason on this particular day I went into the kitchen where my dad was now eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I sat down at the table across from him.
"Hi." I said.
"Hi" he said back in between dramatic chews of Skippy.
"Can I have a bite?" I asked.
"You don't like peanut butter" dad replied.
"I know. But I want to try it."
Dad raised an eyebrow.
"You sure?" he asked.
"Yup" I said.
He smiled and tore off a piece of the sandwich and handed it to me. I cautiously accepted it. For a second I stared at it like it was a precious stone. Should I? The smell of it was already bothering me, although I didn't know why. Okay. Go for it. Wait. Should I?
I think I wanted to get in on the peanut butter thing because all the kids at school seemed to bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in their lunches. I always had tuna salad or baloney. And that was fine. But now I wanted to know what I was missing never having tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was such a staple back then.
My dad sat there eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and waited for me to take my first bite of one.
Finally, I did. Slowly. I took that first bite and started to chew. Within seconds the roof of my mouth started to itch. Within a full minute my tongue started to swell. My dad put down his sandwich and watched in horror as my face started to swell. I started to wheeze. My eyes swelled shut. Later my dad said they looked like two little almonds. Before I knew it he was shouting for my mom who was in the basement doing laundry.
"VIVIAN! HEY VIVIAN! GET UP HERE!"
He ran over to me, scooped me up in his arms and that's when it got weird. He just sort of started running around the house with me in his arms,no particular destination in mind. He carried me into the bathroom and threw cold water on me as if I had burst into flames and needed to be extinguished. I don't know what he thought that was going to do. Then he took me into my bedroom and tossed me on the bed and started to wrap a blanket around me. Never mind that I was soaking wet from having just had cold water thrown on me. As I wheezed and gasped for air I managed to wonder what in the hell was going on. I tried to talk but I couldn't. My mom came upstairs and joined him in the hysteria.
"GIVE HER TO ME, BOB! SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH HER EYES! BOB! LOOK AT HER EYES!"
My dad handed me to my mom so she could run around the house screaming with me cradled in her arms. My mom ran back to the bathroom and with one free hand she threw open the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of ipecac. My dad was hot on her heels. She started to open the bottle frantically.
"Vivian! She didn't drink poison! She ate a bite of my peanut butter sandwich!" my dad yelled.
"This might make her throw it up!" my mom yelled back.
"Nobody throws up peanut butter!" my dad shouted, "it's too thick!"
I kept wheezing. Hello? Child dying here. Make a decision.
"Here honey. Drink this" mom said calmly. I couldn't. My tongue had swollen to the point where I couldn't swallow anything. I tried to nod to make her aware of this. I pointed at my throat. Finally.
"Bob! I don't think she can swallow the ipecac!" Mom shrieked.
"That's probably because she's so swollen!" Dad replied anxiously.
"I can't get over her eyes! She looks like a cute little Chinese baby!" Mom said, taking a moment we really didn't have to reflect on the possibility that maybe my real father was Chairman Mao while I clung to life.
"Maybe we should take her to the emergency room!" Dad finally said.
Geniuses. Both of them.
*********************************
Lucky for them the hospital was literally less than a mile away. My dad sort of tossed me in the back seat of the Ford and my mom piled into the passenger seat. I sort of bounced around back there as dad put the car in reverse, tore out of the driveway, put it back in drive and tore off down the street. He was his own ambulance, sans the siren.
When we got to the emergency room entrance my dad nearly drove through the double plate glass windows where ambulances dropped off people. The car jerked to halt and dad put it in park. He reached into the back seat and grabbed me. I was nearly unconscious but not so much that I couldn't hear my mom screaming, "Bob! Bob! Is she dead? Bob? Make sure she's not dead!"
Yeah. Make sure she's not dead. Because if she is this whole emergency room trip is in vain.
"She's not dead, Vivian! She's just not breathing right! Something happened after she ate that piece of my peanut butter sandwich!" dad said as he carried my wheezing bad self through the doors of the E.R.
My mom was hot on his heels.
"Why did you give her your sandwich! She doesn't even like peanut butter!" mom insisted.
"She wanted to try it!" dad yelled back at her.
Once inside the attending physicians took over. And that was a good thing. A nurse grabbed me from my dad's arms and rushed me to a treatment area. A doctor showed up only seconds later. My mom was looking around and saying things like "Wow, this is a big hospital" and "I hope they have a restroom."
The doctor's quick thinking saved me. Heaven knows my parents' hysteria didn't. Within seconds I felt my pants get yanked down by the nurse while the doctor stuck me with a needle full of something that got everything under control within minutes. Almost like magic, my throat stopped itching, the swelling in my eyes went down, my tongue returned to its normal size and I was starting to breathe normally again. All was good. The nurse brought me some ice chips to suck on. The doctor turned to my parents to talk to them. Mom was still looking around. Dad was just standing there staring at me.
"You folks want to tell me what happened here?" the doctor asked them. Dad was speechless at first. I guess maybe he was in some sort of shock about it all. He could be like that in emergencies. No fear. Mom assumed control of the situation.
"He fed her peanut butter. She's never liked it. I think she was rebelling" mom explained matter-of-factly.
The doctor looked annoyed.
"Folks? Your daughter had an asthma attack. If she ate peanut butter right before the attack, she's probably seriously allergic to it. I've seen kids come in here before with the same symptoms. I've seen enough of this to know that she was in anaphylactic shock. That's why I gave her that shot. Seeing that it helped her right away, I was right. She could've died. You were right to bring her in right away" he explained. I didn't see any reason to mention to the good doctor that first they doused me in cold water, wrapped me in a blanket and then tried to make me throw up the peanut butter by forcing me to drink ipecac syrup.
"Doctor" my mom said nervously, "She looked Chinese." I saw my dad roll his eyes.
"Vivian. Enough with the Chinese eyes. Her eyes were swollen, doctor. Like two little almonds" he said to the doctor. Mom was insistent.
"No, Bob. I had a friend in college who was Oriental" she corrected him. She looked back at the doctor.
"She looked Chinese" she insisted. The doctor held up both of his hands as if to tell them both to shut the hell up about my Chinese Almond eyes.
"It would be a good idea to get her to an allergist to find out what she's allergic to. If she's allergic to peanuts, chances are good she's allergic to everything in the legume family."
"The what family?" mom asked.
"Legumes. Peanuts, beans, peas..."
I could handle being allergic to peas. I hated them.
It was clear neither my mom or dad knew what legumes were. My mom thought the doctor said "lagoon."
"That's like a pond or something, isn't it?" she asked the doctor.
"Uh, no. Legumes. Not Lagoon. Legumes are in a family of nuts" he replied.
Speaking of a family of nuts.
***********************************
I stayed at the hospital for another hour until they got all my intake information. Good thing, too. It wouldn't be my last trip to the E.R. for anaphylactic shock. In fact, the second time my parents rushed me up there was for the time when I accidentally ate peanut butter again that was baked into some cookies my mom had made that were cooling on the top rack of the stove. She had warned me not to eat the ones with the fork ridges pressed on the top, but I didn't listen.
"Those have peanut butter in them. Don't eat those, honey."
"Okay" I said.
In one ear and out the other.
The same doctor in the E.R. treated me again. As my dad carried me through the plate glass double doors once more and my mom followed frantically at his heels yelling about how my eyes looked Chinese again and I needed one of those shots, I could've sworn I heard the doctor say to the nurse, "Here comes that little Morgan girl and her hysterical parents again. Poor kid."
Pants yanked down. Shot in ass. Breathing restored once again. I would live to see another day.
And that is my Peanut Butter Story.
The End.
2 comments:
Well Cheryl it seems our parents were cut from the same cloth. I cut my head open and was bleeding like a stuck pig. They took a towel and told me to hold it to my head while they sat me in the tub. I sat for what seemed forever thinking I was bleeding to death and finally got sick of waiting for them to come back. I went in search of them to find they were both lying in bed feeling faint because of all the blood. I was six at the time. They never did take me for stitches because my mom didn't want me to have to have my head shaved and I had a part in the school xmas play.
Thanks for making me smile.
I recall New Orleans being overrun with women who have balls, as well as other features of the male anatomy. One had to be careful in approaching a supposed member of the opposite gender, lest the joy of unwrapping the present ended in an unwelcome surprise.
Post a Comment