The Strange Gift Of Food Allergies

Peanuts: one of the most common food allergies.

The kitten heels of Deirdre’s patent-leather party shoes clicked cheerfully on the sidewalk as we headed into the annual Christmas Eve gathering. My husband’s cousins are (basically) saints who host the whole crew - plus some - for a fantastic party every December 24. That year, my daughter Deirdre was tall enough to cruise the spread of treats, and she kept testing things for my approval. “Can I have a candy cane, mom? What about another brownie? Can I have this sugar cookie?” After about 30 minutes of shoveling sweets, she disappeared to the basement and proceeded to climb walls and mangle toys with all the other sugar-fueled kiddos. I settled comfortably into the party, warmed by holiday spirit and a generous pour of pinot noir. 

Suddenly, someone came running up the stairs, holding my daughter, and thrust her into my arms. 

“We didn’t know she’s allergic to peanuts!!” 

In Deirdre’s hand was the shiny crumpled wrapper of a fun-sized Snickers, with one tiny bite missing. My fuzzy-warm feeling instantly evaporated. Deirdre retched into the sink. So as not to disturb her further, I pasted a calm smile over my terror (I’m sure I looked entirely deranged) and asked for directions to the nearest ER. I didn’t look for my husband, didn’t try to dig my daughter’s coat out of the pile, I simply grabbed my car keys, wrapped my own coat around both of us, and started the longest 2-mile drive of my life. Deirdre dry-heaved and gasped the whole way. I fought through tears, played some cheery carols, and repeatedly assured her that everything was going to be fine. Surely, I was trying to sell myself that same empty guarantee. 

This little trooper, smiling for the camera so Grandma wouldn’t worry too much.

Thankfully the ER was close, and as a bonus, they had a Pediatric division. Giant yellow and green paw prints on the floor directed us back to a team of pros that had her on IVs, situated in a hospital bed, and watching Dora the Explorer before I could finish a verse of “Jingle Bells.” After the appropriate amounts of steroids, anti-inflammatories, and watchful supervision, we were released. It was 4am on Christmas morning. Deirdre was alive, breathing normally, and wanted hot cocoa for breakfast. 

Although we’d known of Deirdre’s allergies for some time (she reacted to scrambled eggs when she was just 6 months old) only that Christmas did we begin to understand their many layers of implications. One of them is this: it’s hard to watch any food land your kid in the hospital without wondering about the implications of all foods.

Taken this way, the allergic reaction is more than just an inflammatory attack: it is a constant reminder that what we eat is so much more than fuel. Our food is energy and vibrance, or malaise and illness. Rarely is it somewhere in between. Allergies are illness, instantly. The body is saying NO, and it’s saying no LOUDLY and RIGHT NOW. Other things that we eat make our bodies say no, but they say it softly, and they say it later. Sometimes people go weeks, years, their whole lives, not realizing that those mild headaches, that weird nausea, the feeling of being “off” was actually a certain food all along. 

Making some berries and cream.

My entire professional career (or nearly so) has been devoted to food, and yet it took the terrifying consequences of food allergies to really help me begin to understand its true nature. Food is so many things: potion and poison; celebration and regret; health and disease. But eating is not everything, despite how often it overtakes our thoughts. Sometimes -- allergies or no -- we need to step back from the things we ingest to ask if they are all still serving us. 

Taking a giant step back (for Deirdre) means turning down cake at birthday parties, snacking before (not during) playdates, and reading ingredient labels on the brightly colored packaged foods that people always seem to be thrusting at children. 

So if she, at 5, was able to turn down birthday cake, should I re-evaluate that glass of wine? If she can recognize and turn down her poison, should I not also learn to recognize and turn down mine?    

Food allergies teach us to say “no,” because the consequences are too great not to. In turn, and given practice, we learn to say “no” not because we must, but because we can. And freedom from the incessant “yes” of all foods; exercising the muscle of our resolve that gets stronger with each “no”; these are the things we are given in return.It’s a strange gift that actually takes things away, but that is a gift of food allergies.