I had been anxiously anticipating this moment since our son, Max, was just six months old and diagnosed with a peanut allergy. Now at three years old, I was still on edge—until the day I nearly harmed my child.
It was a Monday evening after work, and I found myself in the gluten-free cookie aisle at Whole Foods. My husband and I were set to leave town that Friday, with my mom coming to look after the kids. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me as I picked up a box of vanilla gluten-free cookies, scrutinizing the ingredients. The packaging boasted “gluten-free!” and “soy-free!”—it seemed like a brand that genuinely cared about food allergies. The cookies had cream filling, something Max had never tried, and I thought it would be a delightful treat for his grandmother to give him. As I walked away, I noticed a chocolate version of the same cookies and impulsively tossed a second box into the cart without checking the ingredients.
Fast forward to two days later, at 8 p.m. My two-year-old daughter, Lila, was still awake when Max spotted the cookies in the pantry. He eagerly asked for one, and I agreed. They came in a two-pack, and when he requested both, I humorously replied, “So do my babies. One for you, one for Lila.” Lila was in a bad mood, took a small bite, and discarded it. Max, thrilled about his cookie with cream, devoured the extra one. I took Lila to bed and wasn’t present when Max told his dad, “This cream is spicy.”
Forty minutes later, as Max watched cartoons in our bed, he climbed to the top of the stairs and called out that he was itchy. The sight of him almost made me faint. The back of one knee was covered in red welts, as if he’d been bitten by fire ants. “Think, Andy! What did we just introduce to him?” I remembered the cookies.
I dashed to the pantry, grabbed the box, and checked the ingredients. Twelve items listed, with hazelnuts sneaking in at number ten. I realized with horror that I had never read this list of ingredients—my oversight could have cost my child dearly.
We urgently double-dosed him with Benadryl and applied Benadryl cream to his hives. Residue from the cookies must have been on his hands when he touched his knee. We rushed him into the shower, scrubbing his hair and skin. I wrapped him in a towel on my lap, apologizing profusely for accidentally giving him a bad cookie. I was devastated.
He broke my heart when he said, “Mommy, I think I’m going to be OK with that cookie.” His bloodshot eyes prompted me to put antihistamine drops in them. I asked if he could breathe, and he affirmed that he could. I asked him to take a deep breath, and he did. His tongue looked fine, but as I sat downstairs eating dinner, I heard him start to cough.
“ANDY!” I called out. “He’s coughing!”
“I know! I’m here with him,” he replied, but my panic escalated. I ran upstairs, flipping the lights on. Max’s eyes were swelling, and he was still coughing.
“We need to call 911,” I insisted. “Let’s find an EpiPen and call 911. Bring him downstairs.” Backstory: We had received an EpiPen prescription for Max back in 2011 when he underwent skin testing at an allergist. Despite his severe allergies, we had to fight to get the prescription filled.
Andy carried Max downstairs, and I quickly found the EpiPen and his phone. “Let’s put him in the car,” Andy suggested.
“No. We don’t have time for that!” I didn’t even know how to get to a hospital since we had only lived there for two months.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator’s voice was calm, but I was shaking. “I need to know whether I have to use an EpiPen on my child.”
While answering her questions, I panicked. “YES, I NEED AN AMBULANCE, BUT DO I NEED TO USE THE EPI PEN ON MY CHILD?”
“Ma’am, I can’t tell you that. You need to calm down and do what your doctor would recommend.”
Max’s cough turned raspy, and I realized we had no choice. “She would want me to use the EpiPen,” I told Andy, who was already preparing for the worst.
Firefighters and paramedics burst into our living room. They checked Max and urged me to use the EpiPen. The paramedic took my hands and said, “You must do this, Mama. It’s crucial you learn how to use it, as there may be a next time.”
The atmosphere was chaotic, but I focused. “One, two, three,” I said, trying to inject him. It didn’t work. I tried again. Still nothing. The paramedics took over, and with their guidance, I finally managed to administer it. Max screamed as if I had hurt him, and I felt crushed. I held him tightly, whispering apologies.
As the paramedics assessed him, Andy and I watched, anxious. They asked where we wanted him taken, noting his symptoms were improving. They packed up the EpiPen and the cookie box before loading Max into the ambulance.
I stood by, tears streaming down my face as I watched them drive away. I called my mom, filled with regret and anxiety. What if it had happened while I was away? What if he had silently suffered in his sleep?
Later that night, as I lay awake, I replayed the entire ordeal in my mind. The next morning, I picked up Max and Andy from the hospital. As we drove home, Max asked, “Hey Daddy, can I have those cookies?”
I was relieved yet heartbroken when he said, “Mommy, you hurt me with that EpiPen.”
Three hours later, after a whirlwind day, he was ready for school despite what had just happened. I spent the morning in my office, seeking solace from other parents online. Two moms suggested the website Kids With Food Allergies, urging me to read about what to expect after using an EpiPen.
I finally registered on the site and found valuable information about possible relapses after the medication wears off, which hadn’t been mentioned by the doctor. I called Andy to share what I learned, and we promptly informed Max’s school about the situation.
The day after, the school called to report that Max was itching again. I told Andy to rush over, fearing the worst.
In summary, I learned a harrowing lesson about vigilance and the responsibility that comes with parenting a child with food allergies. Mistakes can lead to dangerous situations, but they also provide the chance to learn and prepare for the future.
Keyphrase: Near Miss with Child’s Allergy
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