The Day I Came Close to Hurting My Child

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Updated: July 15, 2021

Originally Published: September 6, 2014

I had been living in apprehension ever since my son, Leo, was diagnosed with a peanut allergy at just six months old. Now at three, I was still on high alert. That is, until the day I almost harmed my child.

It was a Monday evening, and I found myself in the gluten-free section of Whole Foods after work. My husband and I were preparing for a trip out of town that Friday, with my mom flying in to watch the kids. I remember feeling utterly drained. As I perused the gluten-free cookies, I picked up a box of vanilla ones, reading the ingredients carefully. The packaging boasted “gluten-free!” and “soy-free!”, suggesting a brand that prioritized allergy concerns. The cookies had cream filling, something Leo had never tried before, and I thought it would be a delightful treat for him from his grandma. As I was about to leave, I spotted the same cookies in chocolate and tossed a box into my cart without checking the ingredients.

Fast forward to Wednesday night at 8 p.m. My two-year-old daughter, Mia, was still awake when Leo spotted the cookie box in the pantry. He eagerly asked for a cookie and, despite my initial hesitation, I agreed. They came in pairs, and he insisted on having both. Mia took a small bite and discarded hers, leaving Leo ecstatic to have the extra cookie filled with cream. I quickly took Mia to bed, unaware of what Leo would say next to his father: “This cream is spicy.”

Forty minutes later, Leo was watching cartoons in our bedroom when he called out to us from the top of the stairs that he was itchy. I rushed to his side and nearly collapsed at the sight of his leg, which looked like it had been attacked by angry insects. I turned to my husband, Kyle, in panic. “Think! What have we introduced to him?” I suddenly remembered the cookies.

I dashed to the pantry, snatched the box, and scanned the ingredients. There it was—hazelnuts, listed as the tenth item. I realized in horror that I hadn’t even read the label before buying them.

We quickly gave Leo a double dose of Benadryl and applied Benadryl cream to his hives. Most likely, he had touched the rash after handling the cookie. We rushed him to the shower to wash off any remnants of the allergen. As I held him wrapped in a towel, I apologized repeatedly, overwhelmed with guilt for giving him a bad cookie. “Mommy made a mistake,” I said, “and I’m really sorry.”

In one of those heart-wrenching moments only a parent can understand, Leo replied, “I think I’m going to be OK with that cookie.”

His eyes were bloodshot, so I used antihistamine drops, checking to see if he could breathe, which he assured me he could. I asked him to take a deep breath and show me his tongue, which looked fine. I headed downstairs to eat dinner while Kyle stayed with him.

Just as I was finishing, I heard Leo coughing. The sound sent chills down my spine: cough, cough, cough—growing more intense. “Kyle!”

“I’m right here,” he called back.

“But he’s coughing!” I yelled back.

I raced up the stairs to find them in the dark. I flicked on the lights and saw Leo’s eyes swelling, and he was still coughing. “We need to call 911,” I insisted. “Let’s find an EpiPen and call for help. Bring him down!”

Quick context: We had received an EpiPen prescription for Leo when he was tested for allergies at the allergist’s office years ago. Unfortunately, the doctor had sent us home without it, insisting that a treatment plan was required first. After much persistence, we finally obtained the prescription, which we renewed annually since then.

With Leo wrapped in a towel, Kyle and I hurried downstairs. I searched for the EpiPen while Kyle grabbed his phone. “Let’s put him in the car,” he suggested.

“No time for that!” I said, panicking. I didn’t even know the quickest route to a hospital since we had just moved there. I called 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

My voice trembled as realization hit me. “I need to know if I have to use an EpiPen on my child.” The operator asked for our address, phone number, and Leo’s age. “YES, I NEED AN AMBULANCE, BUT DO I NEED TO USE THIS EPIPEN?” I almost screamed.

“Ma’am, I can’t tell you that. You need to calm down. Do what your doctor would advise.”

Leo’s coughing intensified, and I knew what the doctor would say. “She would want me to use it.”

“Then you need to do that,” the operator instructed, insisting I stay on the line.

I looked at Kyle, filled with dread. “Do we really need to do this? What if he’s fine without it?” I feared the side effects and the pain of the injection.

As the situation escalated, three firefighters stormed in, followed by two paramedics. One paramedic held my hands and said, “Mama, you have to use the EpiPen. It’s crucial you do this because next time, you might not have help.”

A police officer joined the chaos. Our small living room was now filled with nine strangers.

Leo was gagging, and I read the EpiPen instructions for what felt like the hundredth time. A firefighter held him still while another paramedic guided me as I struggled to inject the EpiPen into his thigh. It didn’t work on the first try. I panicked, but the paramedic took over, demonstrating the correct technique and saying that I had to use force.

“On three,” I said, feeling like I was in a nightmare. “One, two, three.” I pressed it in, and Leo screamed as if I had stabbed him.

“Count to ten,” the paramedic instructed. After what felt like an eternity, I pulled it out, crushed with guilt, holding Leo tightly. “I’m so sorry,” I said repeatedly.

“Mommy, I don’t want another one of those!” he cried. I promised him he would never have to experience that again.

As Kyle entered Leo’s sight, he leapt into his father’s arms, and the paramedics asked which hospital we preferred. They pointed out that Leo’s coughing had lessened, but I couldn’t see it. He looked like he had been through a battle.

“Do you like teddy bears?” one paramedic asked Leo, who nodded. They packed up the EpiPen and the cookie box and escorted Leo into the ambulance with a bear in hand. I stood at the back, peering through the window, tears streaming down my face. They drove off, leaving me alone in the house, where I sat on the stairs sobbing and called my mom.

The “what ifs” haunted me. What if we had been on our trip and Leo had asked my mom for those cookies? What if this had all happened on her watch? What if he had fallen asleep before the reaction set in?

Kyle texted me at midnight to say they would stay at the hospital until morning. I finally fell asleep, only to wake at 4 a.m., replaying the terrifying events.

The next morning, Mia and I picked them up from the emergency room. As the double doors opened, I saw my husband walking out with my small, weary child.

On the drive home, Kyle mentioned that the cookies were still in their hospital room. Apparently, Leo had asked, “Hey Daddy, can I have those cookies?”

As I helped Leo out of the car, he said, “Mommy, I want to go to the spiral slide.”

“Of course, sweetie. Daddy will take you.”

He shot me a serious look and said, “Mommy, you hurt me with that EpiPen.” It felt like a dagger to my heart; I couldn’t believe he even knew the name “EpiPen.”

Just three hours later, Leo wanted to go to school. Kyle didn’t consult me—had he asked, I would have protested, given that our son had just been in the ER. But as the day unfolded, I was grateful not to have a say.

I spent the morning in my office, holding back tears, reaching out to other moms on the food allergy board. Two encouraged me to visit the Kids With Food Allergies website. One said, “You have to check out the After The EpiPen section.”

I took their advice, knowing the universe had something to teach me. As I read through the anaphylaxis section, I came across a chilling note: “Every time the medicine wore off, the allergic reaction came back.”

What?! I hadn’t been informed of this. I called Kyle immediately. “The reaction can return when the medication wears off,” I told him.

“Alert the school,” he replied. “You need to warn them.”

I quickly drafted an email to the director, sharing what we had experienced and the signs of anaphylaxis. I stressed that the EpiPen had been redesigned, making it essential to understand how to use it. I requested that they administer Benadryl, but the director explained that state law required a doctor’s orders.

Frustrated, I had Kyle send the orders over, but they weren’t signed. The director reassured me that Leo was acting normally, but they would keep an eye on him.

At 2:30 p.m., I received a call from the school. Leo was itchy again. Kyle rushed to pick him up.

In a time filled with lessons and uncertainty, I learned to trust my instincts and prioritize Leo’s safety above all. This experience was a wake-up call that no parent should ever take lightly.

In summary, the overwhelming challenges of parenting a child with allergies can be terrifying. It’s crucial to stay informed and prepared, as even a moment of carelessness can lead to dire consequences. If you want to learn more about navigating these complex issues, check out our post on home insemination kits or see the resources available at Make A Mom for assistance. Additionally, for a deeper understanding of pregnancy and allergies, visit Facts About Fertility.

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