I had been anticipating this moment since my son, Max, was just six months old and diagnosed with a peanut allergy. Now three years old, that day nearly arrived in a way I never expected.
It was a busy Monday evening post-work. I found myself at the local Whole Foods, specifically in the gluten-free cookie aisle. My husband and I were preparing for a trip that Friday, with my mother flying in to look after the kids. I felt utterly drained. After scanning the ingredients on a box of vanilla gluten-free cookies—promisingly labeled as “gluten-free!” and “soy-free!”—I thought they would be a special treat for Max from his grandmother. I then noticed the same cookies available in chocolate and impulsively grabbed a second box, neglecting to check the ingredients.
Fast forward to two days later, around 8 p.m. My two-year-old daughter, Anna, was still awake when Max spotted the cookies in the pantry. He eagerly asked for one, and I obliged. They came in a two-pack, and he insisted on having both. Anna, in a bad mood, took barely a nibble and tossed it aside. Max, thrilled to have a cookie with cream inside, quickly snatched it up. I took Anna to bed, unaware that Max had told his father, “This cream is spicy.”
Forty minutes later, as Max enjoyed cartoons in our bed, he came running upstairs, scratching and complaining of itchiness. The sight of him sent chills down my spine; the back of one knee was covered in red welts. I turned to my husband, “Think! What did we just introduce to him?” Suddenly, it hit me—the cookies.
I dashed to the pantry and grabbed the box. The ingredient list revealed hazelnuts as the tenth item. I realized in horror that I had never checked the box—I was completely unaware of its contents.
We swiftly gave him a double dose of Benadryl and applied Benadryl cream to his hives. I realized he must have touched the cookie residue and then scratched his knee. We rushed him into the shower, scrubbing his hair and skin. As I held him wrapped in a towel, I apologized profusely, explaining that I had accidentally given him a bad cookie. My heart shattered when he said, “Mommy, I think I’m going to be OK with that cookie.”
His eyes were bloodshot, so I put antihistamine drops in them. I asked if he could breathe, and he nodded. I urged him to take a deep breath, and he did. I asked him to show me his tongue, which appeared fine. While I was downstairs attempting to eat dinner, I heard him cough. My heart raced—he was coughing more and more intensely.
“Andy!” I shouted.
“I’m here with him,” he replied.
“But he’s coughing!” I insisted.
I rushed upstairs to find them in the dark. When I turned on the lights, I saw Max’s eyes swelling; he was still coughing.
“We need to call 911,” I said urgently. “Let’s find an EpiPen and call them. We must bring him downstairs.”
Backstory: We had obtained an EpiPen prescription for Max back in 2011 when he was tested by an allergist. Despite his severe allergies to peanuts, tree nuts, and more, the doctor had initially refused to prescribe it without a treatment plan. After much back-and-forth, we finally secured the prescription, which we’ve renewed every year since.
Max was wrapped in a towel, but Andy scooped him up, and we went downstairs. I found the EpiPen and Andy’s phone.
“Let’s put him in the car,” Andy suggested.
“No, we don’t have time for that. I don’t even know how to get to the hospital; we’ve only lived here for two months.” I dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
My voice trembled as the weight of the situation hit me. “I need to know if I should use an EpiPen on my child,” I explained. She asked for our address, phone number, and Max’s age. “YES, I NEED AN AMBULANCE, BUT DO I NEED TO USE THIS EPIPEN?” I pleaded.
“Ma’am, I can’t tell you that. You need to calm down. Do what your doctor would want you to do in this situation,” she replied.
Max began coughing violently, and I realized the gravity of the situation.
“Then I need to use the EpiPen,” I said, afraid of the side effects, the potential pain, and the responsibility of causing it.
Moments later, three firefighters burst into our living room, followed by two paramedics. One paramedic, warm and gentle, took my hands. “Mama, you’ve got to use this EpiPen. It’s crucial that you learn to do this tonight because there may not always be someone to help you next time.”
As more personnel entered, I felt overwhelmed but focused. I read the instructions on the EpiPen again. “One, two, three!” I attempted to inject it but failed. I tried again, but it still didn’t work. A paramedic took it from me, revealing the needle and explaining how it worked.
In a daze, I readied myself. “One. Two. Three.” I pressed it into his thigh. He cried out in pain. I counted to ten before pulling it out, and he jumped into my arms. I held him tightly, apologizing repeatedly.
“Mommy, I don’t want another one of those!” he cried. I promised him there would be no more, ever.
Once the paramedics assessed him, they asked which hospital to take him. They reassured me that his cough was not as tight. When they strapped him into the ambulance, they handed him a teddy bear, which he hugged tightly. I stood at the back, watching them drive away, my heart heavy with guilt.
What if this had happened while we were away? What if he had fallen asleep before the reaction set in? What if he hadn’t coughed? I was filled with dread as I thought about the “what ifs.”
Later that night, Andy texted me to say they would stay at the hospital until morning. I fell asleep but woke at 4 a.m., replaying the night’s events in my mind.
The following day, I picked them up at the hospital. As we left, Max asked, “Hey Daddy, can I have those cookies?”
Hearing him mention the cookies pierced my heart.
“Sure, buddy, anything you want. Daddy will take you to the slide,” I replied. He looked at me seriously and said, “Mommy, you hurt me with that EpiPen.”
It felt like a knife to my heart.
The rest of the day unfolded quickly, with Max wanting to return to school. Although I would have advised against it, life moved on. I spent the morning in my office, connecting with other parents on a food allergy board. Their support led me to important resources on handling allergies and EpiPen usage.
I realized I needed to inform Max’s school about the night’s events. After drafting an email, I shared the signs of anaphylaxis we had observed. I also noted the recent EpiPen redesign, which had caused confusion.
Later that day, the school called because Max was itchy. My heart raced again as Andy rushed to pick him up.
In the end, this experience was a harrowing reminder of the responsibilities of parenthood and the importance of vigilance in the face of food allergies. To read more about navigating the world of parenting and food allergies, check out this insightful post on intracervicalinsemination.com. For further guidance, visit Make a Mom, a trusted source on these topics, and don’t forget to check out March of Dimes for excellent pregnancy resources.
Summary:
The narrative recounts a mother’s terrifying experience nearly causing harm to her son due to a peanut allergy after mistakenly giving him dangerous cookies. It highlights the importance of being vigilant about food allergies, the emotional toll on parents, and the necessity of being prepared for allergic reactions.