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It really was a perfect beginning to the day.  The girls woke up giggling and we got to spend extra time cuddling and slowly waking up with no where to rush off to.  A and I were going to a ballet that day.  We were invited by our good friends and we got ready at a leisurely pace while playing with the baby.

I wanted her to wear a pink dress with a multicolored tutu because I thought it would be so cute to have her dress like a ballerina especially because she was so confused as to what we were actually doing.  "Am I dancing on the stage?...Oh, then are YOU dancing on the stage?" "No, A, we are going to watch professional ballet dancers.  We will be the audience."  "Ohhhh, I get it!"

Of course we took a little too long getting ready and breakfast became a mad scramble to get food down everyone's throats.  I was slicing cheese and eating it with one hand while feeding the kids.  I think that's when it happened. I remember touching her spoon with the hand I touched the cheese and I hesitated for a second before just going with it.  It would probably be okay because my husband and I had just talked about how A was going to have a good year.  She hadn't had a reaction in months and was probably getting stronger and would soon grow out of these stupid allergies.

But that's not how it works.  You don't just wish away anaphylaxis.  No, you treat it like the nasty thing it is--you keep it far far away and you do everything in your power to never let it get the best of you.  But I let my guard down that day.

So, she must have touched that spoon, that touched my hand, that touched the cheese, and somehow that trace amount of milk protein got into her system.  It presented as a stomach ache on the way to the ballet and, in retrospect, I know I should have detected how "off" it was that she kept complaining about her tummy.  When we got to Ravinia, she greeted her friend feebly and then asked me to carry her in.  We found a bathroom and tried to go potty thinking that would clear it up.  Then she started to cry and asked me to take her home.  Instead of listening, I asked her to try and tough it out and told her that she would have fun if she just calmed down.

Things quickly spiraled out of control and before I knew it, I was holding a very sick child in my arms.  We barely made the 40 second walk to the nurse's station and I knew things were really bad when she began flopping around, bucking back, screaming for air, and turning blue.  The nurse wasn't convinced it was an allergic reaction and tried to give her benadryl.  By this time, I knew A needed her epi. I took it out to give it to her but the nurse suggested we call 911 because it would only take a minute for them to get there.  All the while A was fighting and struggling to get in a breath.  I remember her blue lips and the gargles coming up from her throat. Thinking back, I can't believe I listened to the nurse.  Why did I sit there powerless watching my child slip away when I held her medication in my hand?

I listened because I thought she was the expert.  She was the medical professional, after all.  But the truth is, her misstep could have cost me the life of my child.  Thankfully the paramedics got there in time to administer an epi and a neb but I still shudder at the thought of what could have happened.  More importantly, I wonder what A must have been thinking as she stared up at me in terror expecting me to help her but instead of seeing someone she could trust, she just saw fear.

It's so strange how scared people are of this medication.  I'm not sure if it's denial or second guessing but it's like no one wants to ever use the epi.  Certainly not bystanders and not even medical professionals.  If there's anything I can do to help A, it's to inform the people around her (and convince myself) that it's okay and good, in fact, to use the epi.   Don't be scared.  The worst thing that could happen is that the person didn't need it.  And the best case is that a life is saved.

Friends, if you encounter someone having anaphylactic symptoms don't hesitate to use the epi-pen.  I promise you won't regret it.  You will, however, deeply regret the hesitation that costs someone his/her life.

That pink tutu dress is now bloodstained from the different pokes and prods and is sitting in the laundry room ready to be cleaned.  But maybe I'll just keep it stained for a little bit longer to remember how next time I have to be stronger and more ready for this battle.  Anaphylaxis, you will NOT win.  This mama is not going down without a fight.