The post I've been dreading... Anaphylactic Shock

I have been putting off writing this blog entry for a couple of reasons.  One, it reminds me of the day my child almost died and how I failed as a mother. And two, It reminds me of how easily it could happen again.
It’s important to me, and if you have a child with food allergies, it will be important to you to read this post and understand what happens when your child goes into anaphylactic shock. Granted, this is just my story.  Allergic reactions can manifest in many different ways and at different times.
This is a detailed account of what happened that day.  Why is it so hard for me to write this? I made mistakes.  I should have done things differently and I didn’t.  I didn’t truly understand food allergy and reaction and I was complacent.  I blame myself for all of it.  And at the end of this terrible day, while I hated myself, I was so very grateful I was given another chance to do things right.   Maybe by sharing my story, you will have a better understanding of how quickly and suddenly an allergic reaction can happen.  How there isn’t any such thing as being over reactive or over-prepared when it comes to keeping our food allergy children safe.  Read that list of ingredients one more time.  Check your bag again to be sure you are carrying everything you need out the door.  Because, in the world of food allergies there’s little to no margin for error.  Here’s my story.
A warm Spring day.  Cade was 3.5 years old and we were enjoying one of our outings to a local farm and bakery. We liked to visit the baby cows, chickens and eat some of their delicious ginger snap cookies.  The bakery was out of Cade’s favorite cookies, so he asked for a muffin instead.  As a “food allergy mom” I carefully read the label. “Chocolate Chip Muffin” the ingredients listed were standard and all seemed safe. Two small bites into the muffin Cade turned to me and said his mouth was “hot and prickly” – this was a description he hadn’t used before so I calmly took him to the car and searched for my Benadryl.  I assumed that the muffin must have been contaminated and he was having a reaction.  We have had reactions before and a little measured cup of Benadryl always did the trick.  I searched for the Benadryl, dumping my purse on the car seat… nothing. How could I be so unprepared? Did I forget to replace the “one –dose” I carried around with me? I didn’t want to give him an Epi-Pen shot to the leg, it didn’t seem serious enough to warrant it.  But here we were ten minutes from any store.  I quickly put him in his seat and drove toward town.  As we were driving Cade started saying, “Mom, I’m having a really bad reaction!  You should have read the ingredients” (yes, my 3.5 year old uses those words). I reassured him that we were going to get to the store and get him his medicine and that I DID read the ingredients!  In the pharmacy, I sat him down and dosed him in the aisle.  Ok, I have everything under control. Everything will be just fine now.  What a relief.
We drove home (a short drive) and the medicine started to take effect.  Once home, he became sleepy and wanted to snuggle on my lap.  Sitting there I punished myself, swearing I would never be without Benadryl again.  A close call, narrowly avoided. Just as I thought I might close my eyes and fall asleep with my sweet, snuggly boy. He awoke and said, “I’m going to be sick!” He started to vomit.  I was trying to calm him down and thought, “This must just be his body rejecting whatever he ate”… “The Benadryl must be working”.  Still I reassured myself and him that everything was fine. 
This is the moment where I have to believe greater forces were at work in my life. Cade turned to me and in a voice so matter of fact, so assertive, said, “Take me to the hospital.” My three year old was telling me to take him to the hospital?  “Are you sure? Really?” Honestly, the request seemed so strange coming from this little child that I felt compelled to honor it.  I packed him into the car and started driving.  Along the way I called family to tell them what was going on, also saying how I thought maybe I was over-reacting by taking him to the hospital. I called his pediatrician. I thought that maybe it would be better to check in with them than to head into the ER with a small child.  The pediatrician’s office suggested I continue onto the ER given their busy schedule.
Driving down the road I kept the conversation going with Cade. Hearing his voice, making sure it was clear and he wasn’t having difficulty breathing.  Approximately, half of a mile away from the hospital, Cade said that he had a “clump in his belly and in his throat”.  I became increasingly concerned and started passing cars along the busy road.  Laying on the horn at the street light intersections, I felt my panic start to rise.   I was becoming more and more terrified, just needing to make it up the hill to the hospital. 
As I pulled into the parking lot, Cade was still talking to me although his voice began to sound hoarse.  I turned around one last time and told him that we were here and the hospital would take care of him. I hopped out the driver’s side and ran around the car to take him out of his seat (probably 10 seconds tops).  When I opened the door, his airway had sealed shut. He was going into anaphylactic shock. Barely breathing… looking at me in fear. I can’t exactly say what my emotions were in that moment.  Only drive… drive to pick him up and run with him in my arms across the parking lot into the doors of the emergency room. There wasn’t room for fear, sadness or blame.  That came afterward.
Through the doors of the emergency room I ran up to the window and uttered the word, “allergy”.  At the call of the woman behind the window, it was as if a swat team of nurses descended upon us.  I continued to carry him through the building directed to a bed.  He was given an oxygen mask with a steroid, I believe.  I laid on the bed with him on top of me.  He was completely unconscious.  I felt like it was the least I could do as his mom… to hold him and let him know that I was right there.  How I wanted him to wake up – to open his eyes.  The doctor entered and examined him.  I felt so helpless.  I wanted to yell at the doctors.  For what, I’m not sure.  I wanted this to be someone else’s fault.  The steroid worked enough to keep him breathing and quiet.
They wrapped him in warm blankets and even though I was losing the feeling in both of my arms, I kept holding onto him.  Time was hard to keep track of in these moments of fear and frustration, but I believe twenty minutes had gone by when he started to stir.  I thought he might be warm under the blankets, so I removed them slowly.  Underneath the blankets I found his body was covered in hives. Hives like I had never seen before.  In fact, they all massed together and created one swollen child.  So swollen that the hospital bracelet they had put on him was tight.  They spread across his entire body so quickly.  Every inch of him was covered. Between his toes to his eyelids… the largest of the hives concentrated in his warm areas; groin, underarms, behind the knees, around his neck.  Some looked like blisters.  My son was unrecognizable. 
As if seeing him unable to breathe were not enough, the visual before me confirmed it all. A flood of emotions came over me.  I did this.  I was supposed to protect him.  This happened because I wasn’t careful enough.  I was complacent.  I recalled the last visit with our allergist, where I told him I wasn’t sure if Cade’s allergies were really all that serious.  We had never had a serious reaction and we also hadn’t been overly careful.  We ate at the bakeries were there was a chance of cross contamination and I thought that was ok. I never thought of myself as an over-reactive parent.   And look where this landed me.  My child almost died.  And why didn’t I think to give him his Epi-Pen? Why did I wait until the very last second?  Why did I risk my child’s life? 
At the sight of the hives, the doctor injected Cade with Epinephrine into the skin of his stomach. Cade had no idea it was even happening. They followed with two more injections of steroids into an IV in his arm.
“We’re waiting for the second wave” the doctor told me. When an individual has an allergic reaction, there can often be a second wave, a second reaction. 
Fortunately there was no second wave just a child, tired and confused by what had happened to him.  I realized why I didn’t give him the Epi-pen when I should have.  I was in denial.  I didn’t want to believe that our lives were at such great risk because of food.  That’s right… what amounted to milligrams of what we later discovered was a mislabeled “walnut chocolate chip muffin” my son could have died.
Within a couple of hours we left the hospital as if nothing had happened.  No hives, no swelling, breathing normally and all he had to show for all it was a Band-Aid where the IV was.  I left with so much more.  I left with awareness and a fear that no doctor could instill in me.  I left with a diligence to be prepared and to protect my son at all costs.  And hopefully, my story never becomes yours.  Be proactive, preventative and don’t take chances.  Share my story and your own to spread the word and raise awareness about the seriousness of food allergies in children.  They’re counting on us.
 
All original content copyright Kira K. Guidon, 2013.