Abi and Fay aged almost one and four
my family
My name is Jo, I'm a working mother who's getting on a bit and, for better or for worse, these two little blonde creatures are the most important things in my life. Fay and Abigail. Fay is three years older than Abi and, as you may detect from her expression in this image, she thrives in her role of big sister. Abi, on the other hand, most certainly takes advantage of the younger sibling approach to life - again, see above image and note tongue poking out at me as I take the picture. Aged 10 months - that's my girl!
cheeky toddler
Abi arrived as an adorable, curious and squidgy bundle of cheekiness. With her mop of floating white hair and laughing eyes, she was the one who would be found testing how the cupboard locks worked; she was the one stuffing the contents of two bags of cat biscuits into her cheeks (that was particularly fun, apparently); she was the one taking her nappy off to go for a paddle... in our loo! Yup - Abi was certainly curious and, erm, adorable!
But then Abi was also the one who snuck a corner of toast from my breakfast plate and ran off, delighted with her loot. Toast that was spread with peanut butter and jam. I had craved peanuts like a wild animal during my pregnancy and the breast-feeding months, but had stuck with the NHS' advice of the time - exclude nuts at all costs. So imagine my joy when I could finally feed my craving! She was over a year old, no big deal. I was revelling in the apparent luxury of peanut butter seven days a week, but then this particular day came along: Wednesday 14th January 2009. Abi was exactly 15 months old. Now that day wasn't so much fun.
She snuck a corner of toast from my breakfast plate and ran off, delighted with her loot.
anaphylaxis isn't always what you think
As soon as I saw what Abi had tottered off with I clocked it was her first exposure to peanuts. Having grown up with oral allergy syndrome and eczema myself, I'd always had one eye open for allergic reactions since Fay was born. But this particular instance caught me napping: I merely made a mental note, and watched her a little. The fact that she adored her stolen bounty for the first minute eased my vigilance. Within two minutes however, she started crying and threw the toast to the floor. I dismissed that as morning grumpiness and, as she seemed happy two minutes later, I sent her off with our childminder at 9am. That was the last I thought of it. Until my phone rang at 9.10am.
'Jo? Has Abi fallen in nettles or something this morning?"
Of course, I knew it was the peanut butter immediately.
Having grown up with oral allergy syndrome myself, I'd always had one eye open for allergic reactions.
At school we had been taught that anaphylaxis was an instantaneous, airway reaction to exposure. But here was Abi, fine for twenty five minutes; her reaction only began after that. The first sign was hives as the childminder described over the phone, and by the time I saw her (thirty minutes in total after exposure), the baby I lifted from the car was unrecognisable.
Sitting next to my daughter in the back as my husband sped to the hospital, I couldn't tell whether she was conscious or not. Her eyes were goose eggs, clear mucus flowed from her nose, her sounds were different and her neck was swollen. She barely responded to me. Within thirty minutes we were running into A&E, our baby's face in my arms startling everyone we passed.
Our baby's face in my arms startled everyone we passed.
Of course I didn't realise that, as we were rushed to acute care, we would be exiting the hospital that night as different people. Later on, when we were sent home after many hours of stress and distress, we stepped out with an exhausted baby in our arms and a leaflet in our hands. "Allergic Reactions & Anaphylaxis: The Facts." Meeting the January air, we entered an entirely foreign world - one where safety was no longer what or where I thought it was. The planet had settled onto a different axis and my once-excellent bearings felt meaningless. Looking back, I guess I was in shock.
Comments