Ramblin’ Prose

Today was the last day of soccer camp, which traditionally ends with a game and closing ceremonies. I missed it last year, so I wanted to go this year. But when I got there, our normally bubbly Abby was sitting down, holding her stomach and looking sick.

What did you eat for lunch? Pizza, she said. Did you eat too much? No, just one piece.
Her eyes were really bloodshot.
Did you go in the pool today? Yes.
Despite the 90 plus-degree heat, she managed to play for part of each game, but after the second, she just wanted to go home.

I took her back to the office, and Herb took her home, along with Camille, who had been at the office since her camp ended at noon.

They hadn’t been gone long before Herb called me back on the cell phone. He’d given her Benadryl as soon as they got home, but her eyes were really swelling up. As he questioned her more, she told him she’d had a cookie that may have had “some kind of nuts in it.”

Uh-oh.

We knew this day had to come. We’d found out she was allergic to peanuts — a potentially deadly allergy — when she was two years old. Ever since, we’ve carried the Epipen, designed to save her life in the event of an extreme allergic reaction.

But we’d never had to use it, in part because Abby herself was so diligent in telling people about her allergy and asking about the contents of food. She hasn’t had a serious exposure in seven years. In this case, there was no one at the counter, and it looked like a plain oatmeal cookie until she started to eat it. But so far, she wasn’t having any breathing difficulty, so we decided to call her doctor and ask how to proceed.

When Herb called again, his first words were, “You need to come home.” The reaction was getting worse, not better. Her doctor told us to use the Epipen and get her to Urgent Care.
When I got home, she had the same look she had when she was first exposed to peanuts so many years ago — eyes bloodshot and nearly swollen shut. She was breaking out in a rash on her arms and legs.

We held off on the Epipen, but kept it in hand as we drove to Urgent Care. As we stood at the counter, I noticed her ears were even swollen and red inside. The receptionist wasted no time in getting her back to see the doctor, and helped me speed through the paperwork so I could join them in the examining room. I’ll remember that wonderful lady for a long time for her concern and compassion.

The thing that scared me the most when I got back there was that Abby, with her swollen, bloodshot eyes, hot scarlet patches on her insides of her elbows and knees; Abby who had played soccer in the 90-plus heat and humidity, said she felt cold. She got the Epi, though in a kinder gentler shot than the Epipen would have delivered. In only about 5 minutes, the swelling in her eyes was going down. In about 10 minutes, she was enthusiastically talking about meatloaf for dinner.

Through it all, Camille had been worried and a little scared. Is Abby going to pass out? Is she going to die? Is she going to be OK? But as soon as Abby started feeling better, they reverted to their usual pattern of tormenting each other. Camille pitched a fit about Abby’s choice of meatloaf for dinner. Abby howled in frustration when Camille went on one of her kicks of singing one song verse repeatedly (and with the wrong words) over and over and over and over…

All this in the car on the way to the drug store, Boston Market, then home. But later on the couch, as we all sat down to watch a movie, I noticed something. Though they sat apart, their feet were intertwined, gently rubbing. Saying what they’d rather die than verbalize.

I DO love you.