For years, I had been on high alert, waiting for a moment I dreaded. Since our son, Leo, was diagnosed with a peanut allergy at six months old, I had been concerned. Now three years old, Leo was still navigating this challenge. And then, one day, I nearly put him in harm’s way.
It was a Monday evening after work, and I found myself at the local Whole Foods, searching the gluten-free cookie aisle. My partner and I were preparing for a trip that Friday, with my mother flying in to look after the kids. I was feeling utterly drained. As I picked up a box of vanilla gluten-free cookies, I turned it over to examine the ingredients. The packaging boldly proclaimed “gluten-free!” and “nut-free!” which gave me a sense of reassurance. The cookies had cream filling, something Leo hadn’t tried before, and I thought it would be a delightful treat for him when his grandmother arrived. While walking away, I spotted the same cookies in chocolate flavor, grabbed a box, and tossed it into the cart without checking the label.
Fast forward to two days later, it was 8 p.m. Leo’s little sister, Ava, was still awake, and Leo spotted the cookie box in the pantry. He eagerly asked if he could have one, and I obliged. The cookies came in pairs, so when he asked for both, I jokingly responded, “Just like my babies! One for you and one for Ava.” Ava was cranky and took a tiny nibble before rejecting it. Leo, thrilled at the prospect of a sweet treat, quickly grabbed the extra cookie. I took Ava to bed, unaware of what Leo would soon reveal to his father: “This cream tastes spicy.”
Forty minutes later, Leo was nestled in bed watching cartoons when he called out to us, “I feel itchy.” A quick glance at him sent me into a panic. The back of his knee had broken out in angry welts, reminiscent of a fire ant attack. I turned to my partner, Jake, and urged, “Think! What’s new? What did we just give him?” In that moment, I remembered the cookies.
I rushed to the pantry and snatched the box. Scanning the list of ingredients, I realized with horror that hazelnuts were listed as the tenth ingredient. I hadn’t even read the label. We reacted swiftly, giving him a double dose of Benadryl and applying Benadryl cream to the hives. It was likely he had touched his knee after eating the cookies. We quickly showered him to wash off any residual allergens, and 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 replied, “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, to which he replied yes, and instructed him to take a deep breath. His tongue looked fine, so I thought he would be alright. Meanwhile, I went downstairs to eat, leaving Jake to monitor him.
Suddenly, I heard a cough that made my stomach drop. The cough escalated rapidly. “Jake!” I shouted, panic rising. “He’s coughing!”
“I know! I’m here with him,” Jake called back.
I dashed upstairs, flipping on the lights. Leo’s eyes were swelling, and he was still coughing. “We have to call 911,” I urged. “Let’s find an EpiPen and call for help. We need to bring him downstairs.”
As a backstory, we had gotten an EpiPen prescription for Leo at 16 months old after extensive allergy testing. Unfortunately, there had been a bureaucratic delay in obtaining the EpiPen, which I had fought for with the doctor’s office. They had finally relented, but I knew we were unprepared for this moment.
Grabbing the EpiPen and Jake’s phone, I panicked as I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“I need to know if I should use the EpiPen on my child!” I stammered. She asked for our address, phone number, Leo’s age, and whether we needed an ambulance. “YES! I need an ambulance! But should I use the EpiPen?”
“Ma’am, I can’t advise that. You need to remain calm and do what your doctor would recommend,” she replied.
As Leo continued to cough, I knew what I had to do. “She says we have to use it, right?” I turned to Jake, feeling the weight of the decision.
“Then you need to do that,” the operator insisted.
Firefighters burst into our home as we dressed Leo, and one firefighter assessed his breathing. “You’ve got to use the EpiPen,” he said firmly.
A female paramedic approached me, taking my hands in hers. “You need to administer this, Mama. It’s important that you learn how to do this.”
With the pressure mounting, I readied myself, “One, two, three,” and attempted to inject the EpiPen into his thigh. It didn’t work. I tried again, but it still didn’t go through. A paramedic stepped in, revealing how the device worked, and I finally managed to deliver the injection.
Leo screamed as though I had hurt him. I felt crushed, wrapping him in my arms and apologizing incessantly. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Afterwards, the paramedics assessed him and prepared him for transport. They asked which hospital we preferred and noted that his cough seemed to ease a little. They handed him a teddy bear, which he accepted gratefully, and I stood in the background, tears streaming down my face as they loaded him into the ambulance.
What if I hadn’t been there? What if my mom had been in charge while we were away? My mind raced with “what ifs” that night.
The next morning, I picked up Leo and Jake from the emergency room. As we drove home, Leo, who had just been through a terrifying ordeal, asked, “Can I have those cookies?”
My heart sank when he added, “Mommy, you hurt me with that EpiPen.”
Three hours later, after a day of recovery, Leo insisted he wanted to go back to school. I was hesitant, but he seemed so determined.
That day, I buried myself in research, seeking guidance from the BabyCenter food allergy community. A fellow mom directed me to Kids With Food Allergies, urging me to read their section on anaphylaxis. After registering, I discovered alarming information about the potential for allergic reactions to return after medication wore off, something our doctor hadn’t informed us about.
I immediately called Jake to discuss what I had learned. “We need to alert the school,” I said, composing an email outlining the importance of monitoring Leo closely for any signs of a relapse.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from the school. Leo was feeling itchy again, and Jake rushed to pick him up.
In hindsight, it was a harrowing experience that taught me invaluable lessons about vigilance, communication, and the responsibilities of parenting a child with severe allergies.
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Summary
This article recounts a mother’s terrifying experience when her child nearly suffered a severe allergic reaction due to an overlooked ingredient in a cookie. It highlights the importance of vigilance in managing food allergies and the emotional toll it takes on parents. The narrative emphasizes the need for preparedness, knowledge, and communication with caregivers.
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