Often, I can equate my life to a train station. Always moving, the lights are too bright, and encounters with disasters and delays are frequent. Noise. Noise. Noise. I am mostly laughing (sometimes screaming) and have found humor in much of what life has provided, alas, sometimes, my heart is in my throat and all 10 fingernails are bitten to the quick.
I hear the phrase “it changed my life” so often. We all say it, and perhaps are all guilty of overuse. The gym….”it changed my life!” Weight Watchers…”it changed my life!” Yoga…”it changed my life!” Going away for college… “it changed my life!” Having kids…”it changed my life!” Going to war…”it changed my life!” These phrases have all been uttered in my home.
What really has changed my life?
A pine nut. A stupid, brilliant pine nut that ended up in a ridiculous cookie that only my cousin, Amy, would buy. Who makes pine nut cookies? Blech. Who would buy such a delicacy? Amy. I am proud of my discernible Mediterreanean palate, but even I turned my nose up at the pignola cookies. Luckily, at Easter dinner last year, The Eldest did not. And for some reason, he had a reaction to this obscure seed that was severe enough to require an Epi- Pen prescription. That I didn’t fill for a few months, because Benadryl remedied his reaction. But then I did, because in passing, a fellow mom mentioned I need a 504 plan for school and field trips. And for this reason, we have an Epi-Pen in our house. And for this Epi-pen, The Middle is safe. And because his mother (me) had such a rare burst of clarity and confidence, (I often have neither nor), he is ok.
I am not over October 14 th. (http://www.hyphenista.com/?p=1256)
I was advised by a handful of wise sages that it may take awhile.
Which is silly and overdramatic. No medical Doctor or blood test or skin test has been able to 100% confirm that his airway would have closed or his heart would have stopped without the epinephrine.
One night last month, he crawled into bed with me around midnight and peeled my left eye open, and whispered in my ear, “Will I die if I get stung again?”
Often, I feel his 6 year old soul tightly wrapped around my heart.
Ok, I am really being dramatic and The Husband will roll his eyes when he reads this post.
He is a Rockstar. Luckily, of my three, he has the smallest amount of propensity for drama, so he is a ahead of his genes and game. He began his mixed venom shots in the beginning of January. Every Wednesday, we head over to the allergists office for the 3 shot administration. He has never once cried, never once complained, never once resisted and never once caused a scene. He holds his nose, sticks out his tongue, and the nurse jabs away. I am not sure if it’s because he has 2 hours of uninterupted time with me sans siblings, or the fact that I let him buy and mix his own F’real milkshake at WaWa afterwards.
I have told him what these shots mean to us. Upon completion, with monthly maintenance, his chances of a reaction what we experienced in October are very low. No ambulance rides or hospitalizations or horrific humpy hives for days. Does this mean that I will only feel 5% worry at soccer games this Spring? 5% worry at playdates? 5% worry while he is at recess? We talk about his allergy, but we have worked very hard at not allowing it to hinder him. He is our outdoor kid and I never want him to fear the forest or the trees. When I ask him what camps he wants to attend this summer his only response is, “nature camps…all of them!”
My hubris meter is high of his bravery and cautiousness, maybe a little too much. Today, when we arrived at the Doctor’s office, a woman I could only describe as being close to my demographic was creating quite a display in the waiting room after her mixed vespid shot. A lot of frantically noisy ujjayi breathes with vigorous arm pumpings. I tried to put my empathy face on, but had to bite my lip when The Middle whispered in my ear, “does she know they have lollipops?”.
I’ve been told there comes a point where a parent can learn from their child. When the student becomes the master. I think it’s fair to say we are there.