Food Allergies and PIGs!

When I was a child, I blamed my parents for a lot of things.  I blamed them because they didn’t help me achieve my dream of worldwide stardom via my undeniable and incomparable talent in the performing arts. I also blamed them for not promoting my supreme swimming aptitude into a gold medal winning Olympic career I so richly deserved.  I even blamed them for cursing me with curly blond hair when I clearly would have been much better off with straight blond hair.

In retrospect, I realize, it’s silly to blame my parents for my lack of a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and the absence of Olympic gold medals around my neck.  However, that curly hair thing – that really is their fault!  I mean, I’ve forgiven them, even though, to this day, I still am the target of multiple Jewfro jokes…. Their genetics caused my lifelong hair trauma, but I’ve forgiven them – except on humid days. 

I bring this up because I officially have become a PIG. I’ve consumed a lot of time thinking about being a PIG and beating myself up over it.  I’ve rolled my PIG status over in my head a thousand times and I always coming out more PIGgy.  PIG: Parent with Inheritance Guilt. 

I’ve guilted myself over many inherited “features” (a very clever term used by computer programmers when referring to what a commoner might call a software “bug”) I’ve passed along to my kids…. Jack, my oldest, is such a smart and sweet kid.  And, he does not have a competitive bone in his body.  Not one.   While many will think that’s a good thing, it can be a bit detrimental as a kid who is expected to compete for just about everything in a school environment.  This is my fault.  That comes from me. 

Will more than makes up for Jack’s lowered competitive spirit . He competes for everything!  Will competes with his siblings to see who gets first rights to the bathroom in the morning… and he always wins! However, Will is the kid that will not try any new foods.  He likes the tried and true – chicken nuggets, pizza and spaghetti.  Just like his dad was at that age.  Again, my bad.  It’s on me. 

And Emma – my little princess – is so sensitive that one misplaced critical comment (like “Emma, how come you didn’t finish your breakfast?”) can send her spiraling into the safety of a hiding place.  Her bedroom closet is a favorite.  Mine was under my bed.  Ugh.  That’s on me, too.

All of those character traits are the mountains I will have to help my kids climb and conquer.  And, in time, I know we’ll get there. Then there is Sam, my baby.  And, for him, I am the biggest PIG….

Sam is an adventurous kid, even at one year old.  Unlike his older brother, he likes trying new foods. When mommy or daddy are eating something interesting, Sam will request a bite.  And by request, I mean thrust his entire body forward, towards the food, full force, with his mouth wide open, making a sound that can best be described as an infantile battle cry.  He is the William Wallace of mealtimes.  He makes it known he’s coming in.  Prepare yourself to donate the “baby tax” directly into Sam’s mouth. 

Yogurt Mountain is a favorite dessert spot for my kids.  Of course it is - why wouldn’t it be? Add “do it yourself” frozen yogurt with “do it yourself” candy toppings galore and you have grade school nirvana.  The three older kids love to make their own ice cream monstrosities, bringing unending smiles to their faces.  And, of course, Sam goes in for the baby tax.  But after taking a few bites, we noticed that Sam’s own unending smile is now surrounded by a rash of some sort.  Uh-oh.

As it turns out, Sam has food allergies.  The Yogurt Mountain incident (along with a few others like it) resulted in a trip to the doctor’s office to investigate.  A few awful blood tests later and we have confirmation… Sam is allergic to dairy, peanuts and (gulp) shellfish.  (Why the “gulp”?  Well, someone else in the family has a shellfish allergy….me.  Yep, confirmation that I’m a PIG.)

So, my happy little Sam – the boy whose smile can light the darkest of times, will be restricted in what he can eat for the foreseeable future and maybe the rest of his life.  And it’s my fault.  Stupid genes. 

Look, it could be worse.  It could be a lot worse.  Sam could have gone into anaphylactic shock immediately and who knows if we could have reacted in time.  His throat could have swelled up.  Truthfully, we are very, very lucky.  But the bottom line is Sam can’t have dairy or peanuts or shellfish.  And that’s on me.

The reality of this hit me when Blythe came home from that doctor’s visit with two Epipens.  Epipens!  Sam needs to have access to an Epipen…just in case.  Know what an Epipen is?  It an emergency does of epinephrine.  Know what that is?  To quote a medical website:

“Epinephrine injection is used to treat life-threatening allergic reactions caused by insect bites, foods, medications, latex, and other causes. Symptoms of allergic reaction include wheezing, shortness of breath, low blood pressure, hives, itching, swelling, stomach cramps, diarrhea, and loss of bladder control. Epinephrine is in a class of medications called sympathomimetic agents. It works by relaxing the muscles in the airways and tightening the blood vessels.”

Did you see those words? Shortness of breath.  Low blood pressure.  Swelling. He may not have had those symptoms yet, but they are possibilities.  And it’s my fault.

And though I accept the blame, I don’t accept victim status.   We all have choices to make.  There are two sides to this coin…  Shall I wallow in self-pity for my son (I guess that’s self-pity by proxy, actually) or shall I be grateful for what we have and control what we can?  I choose the latter.

No child could ask for a better advocate in life than Blythe.  When she senses danger, her protective instincts turn into action.  Don’t mess with mama bear’s babies.  She has taken on this food allergy condition as if she were preparing a PhD thesis.  She now knows more about allergies than the doctors we visit.  If knowledge is power, she’s the food allergy Wonder Woman.  And, so, Mother Nature, Sub-Section: Allergies, please consider yourself put on notice.  You’ve messed with my wife’s baby.  She does not forgive easily.

My role, other than supporting my wife in her crusade against food allergies, is simple.  Along with Blythe, we’ll work on keeping Sam comfortable and safe.  We’re so fortunate to live in a time when information is readily available.  The plethora of “kid food allergies” websites alone is astounding.  And the food alternative choices for Sam are really incredible, too.  This morning, for the first time in his young life, Sam enjoyed ice cream.  Well, “rice dream” ice cream, but to him it’ll be ice cream ice cream.  He loved it.  And that smile alone makes the efforts all worthwhile. 

By the way, we also bought him a few varieties of vegan cheese.  We sampled along with Sam.  Sam enjoyed his new foods.  I, on the other hand, found it to taste roughly the equivalent of soggy shoe leather.  Luckily, it wasn’t purchased for me.  Or the dog.  Even he hated it.

The beauty in all of this is that Sam is just a really happy little boy.  To see the joy that he brings to so many people, his parents included, is to understand the seeds of love.  All of my kids have been different and all spectacular (I’m not at all humble when it comes to the awesomeness of my kids).  Sam has changed the world for the better.  And food allergies aren’t going to keep that unending smile from his face, so surely it shouldn’t keep it from ours, either.

I look forward to the day when Sam is free to eat whatever he wants, whenever he wants, without any repercussions.  But if that day doesn’t come, then I’m just going to look forward to any day that I get to spend with Sam.