Tasty but dangerous
time to address that little green nut
Pistachio had grown to be the cartoon monster blob on Abi's arm in recent years' skin prick tests, so I knew this was going to be another big day.
Pistachio had grown to be the cartoon monster blob on Abi's arm.
When the day started I could really feel the impact of being the only adult around. I tried to project confidence and c-a-l-m to my daughter, but secretly I was up early: eating, packing, re-packing, eating more, arranging taxis (en français, bien sûr), eating again. And then, at the hospital, the COVID paraphernalia and clinic paperwork - all in French. On the surface the morning started smoothly, but I could definitely feel what was going on underneath.
7.30am - shown to our room for the day and it seemed we'd have company
We were shown to our room, to find we'd be sharing with another teen. At first we were disappointed... but it grew to be both informative and humbling. I got to see first-hand what another mother-daughter combo was going through and - I'll be honest - my compassion levels skyrocketed.
I got to see first-hand what another mother-daughter combo was going through.
the usual process
It was the usual process: cannula, doctor chat (no skin prick tests this time), then the doses.
An apple puree dose
The first dose elicited no reaction at all! Woah! Awesome news! So, twenty minutes later, onto the second.
The next dose brought about a slight change in Abi's throat. "It just feels different." The doses were slowed down, with an hour before the next one.
The subsequent dose had a similar effect, however this time Abi reported feeling, nonspecifically, 'weird'. No aches/pains, no nausea, no itchiness, no wheezing. Just 'a bit ill, all over'. The treatment paused, and it didn't take long for Abi to feel more herself. And so on to the next.
when intuition kicks in
Abi, my stoic, unreactive and ridiculously brave girl, announced with certainty after the forth dose that she wanted to stop. She had developed what I would describe as mild hay fever symptoms, but seemingly nothing else. Itchy eyes, a runny nose, a funny throat. Was stopping premature? I felt full of doubt. However, she was immovable: she sensed that the next dose would be one too many. I respected her intuition, sense and confidence to be assertive with her own health at that moment, and translated this to the nursing team as best I could. The treatment stopped immediately. She was left to chill, and within the hour was served her usual French hospital platter, which she devoured.
I respected her intuition, sense and confidence to be assertive with her own health at that moment.
Once again, the hospital food was a winner winner
As Abi ate and chilled, I exhaled. Beginning OIT feels like buying your child a ticket for a train ride that has all manner of horrific stops on its route. That sense of anticipation had worked away inside me all morning: a sense of not knowing which stations we'd see on our day's journey.
As we sat quietly during our post-challenge observation period, we started to hear our roommate behind the divider. I'd learned from her mother that her allergies were particularly diverse and invasive, and she was having an unpleasant reaction. It made me appreciate, again, the impact of severe allergies: on our children, on our families... and on us. Though different nationalities, backgrounds and languages - her mother and I were united with a huge common factor. Our mutual compassion for one another's paths was obvious and, on reflection, sharing a room was a privilege.
It made me appreciate, again, the impact of severe allergies: on our children, on our families... and on us.
a pistachio protocol
The doctor returned with great news: Abi had, in fact, consumed in total more than one entire nut! We could start a protocol with real nuts because of this, split into predefined amounts over a six month period before our return. I couldn't believe it! Her intuition had been spot on and she had stopped the doses at a great time. What natural wisdom we have in our bodies, if only it were easier to listen...
Her intuition had been spot on and she had stopped the doses at a great time.
Cannula out, goodbyes were waved and we climbed into our waiting taxi. Abi was tired and, frankly, I have no idea what I was. Stunned? Relieved? Excited? Exhausted?
We stopped en route so that I could buy some pistachios for Abi's treatment, which would start the following day. I must say, it did cross my mind when I muttered aloud my shopping list, that the world felt peculiar all over again.
Pistachios on my shopping list, seriously?
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