I had always dreaded this moment, ever since my son, Leo, was diagnosed with a peanut allergy at just six months old. Now at three, that day had finally come—when I almost lost my child.
It was a Monday evening after work, and I found myself at Whole Foods in the gluten-free cookie aisle. My husband and I were gearing up for a trip that Friday, with my mom flying in to help take care of the kids. I was beyond exhausted. As I picked up a box of vanilla gluten-free cookies, I carefully examined the ingredients. The packaging proudly boasted “gluten-free!” and “soy-free!” It seemed like a brand that genuinely cared about food allergies. The cookies contained cream, something Leo had never tried, and I thought it would be a delightful surprise for his grandmother to treat him with. Just as I was about to leave, I noticed a chocolate version and tossed it in the cart without checking the ingredients.
Fast forward two days to 8 p.m. My two-year-old daughter, Mia, was still awake, and Leo spotted the cookies in the pantry. He eagerly asked for one, and I agreed. They came in a two-pack, so he insisted on both. Mia took a tiny bite and promptly rejected it, allowing Leo to snatch up the extra cookie, thrilled at the thought of having a treat with cream. I tucked Mia into bed, unaware that Leo had just told his dad, “This cream is spicy.”
Forty minutes later, Leo was watching cartoons in our bed when he came to the top of the stairs, scratching at his skin and crying out that he felt itchy. I rushed to him and nearly collapsed when I saw his knee covered in hives. “What’s new?” I frantically asked my husband, Andy. Then it hit me—the cookies!
I dashed to the pantry, grabbed the box, and scanned the ingredient list. There it was, hazelnuts, the tenth ingredient. I realized I had made a grave mistake by not checking the chocolate box. As we double-dosed him with Benadryl and slathered his hives with Benadryl cream, I felt my heart sink. He must have touched his knee after handling the cookie. We quickly showered him to wash away any residue. Wrapped in a towel on my lap, I repeatedly apologized, telling him it was an accident.
In the midst of my guilt, Leo looked at me and said, “Mommy, I think I’m going to be OK with that cookie.” His eyes were bloodshot, so I put antihistamine drops in them. I asked if he could breathe, and he nodded. I requested he take a deep breath, which he managed, and his tongue looked normal. As I went downstairs to eat, I heard him coughing—my heart raced with dread.
“ANDY!” I yelled, rushing back up the stairs. I switched on the lights and saw his eyes swelling. “We need to call 911. Let’s find an EpiPen!”
Backstory: We had received an EpiPen prescription for Leo back in 2011 after an allergy test, but the allergist hadn’t provided it. After much insistence from other parents, I finally got the prescription renewed through a different doctor.
As Andy scooped Leo into his arms, I frantically searched for the EpiPen and grabbed Andy’s phone. “Let’s put him in the car,” I suggested, but we didn’t have time. I dialed 911, my voice trembling as the reality of the situation sunk in. I told the operator I needed to know if I should use the EpiPen. She asked for our address and details about Leo’s age. “YES, I NEED AN AMBULANCE, BUT DO I NEED TO USE THIS EPIPEN ON MY CHILD?”
“Ma’am, I can’t tell you that. You need to stay calm and do what your doctor would advise,” she replied.
Leo’s coughing worsened. “She would want me to use the EpiPen,” I told Andy. The operator urged me to stay on the line.
Moments later, firefighters burst into our living room. One checked Leo’s breathing and confirmed he was wheezing. “You need to use the EpiPen,” he insisted. With paramedics arriving and the situation escalating, a warm, compassionate medic held my hands and said, “You must do this. It’s crucial for your son’s safety.”
As the room filled with first responders, I felt paralyzed. After several attempts, I finally injected the EpiPen into Leo’s thigh. He screamed, and I felt like the worst mother in the world. “Mommy, I don’t want another one of those!” he begged, and I promised him there would be no more.
The paramedics asked which hospital we preferred and noted that Leo’s cough seemed less tight. As they prepared him for transport, I stood outside the ambulance, watching through the window, tears streaming down my face. What if this had happened while my mom was babysitting? What if Leo had fallen asleep before we realized?
That night, as I lay in bed, my mind replayed the events over and over. The next morning, I picked up Leo and Andy from the hospital. On the way home, Leo asked, “Can I have those cookies?” My heart sank. He even knew the term “EpiPen” now.
Later that day, as they headed to the playground, I remained in my office, trying to process everything. After connecting with other parents on a food allergy forum, I discovered alarming information about allergic reactions returning after the effects of EpiPens wear off. I immediately called Andy to inform him.
In summary, the morning after our harrowing experience, I reached out to Leo’s school to ensure they were aware of his condition and the potential risks. Communication was vital, and I was grateful for the support I received from other parents. This experience taught me the importance of vigilance in managing food allergies, and the need for preparedness, which you can read more about in our other blog posts about home insemination and parenting.