One of the things I always have to break to people I’ve just met is that I suffer from a condition that is both A) annoying and B) unfortunate. That condition is a peanut allergy.
(I thought I would break the news here so that many of you would read it and maybe remember it for me so that I don’t have to mention it in person. Save us a lot of time.)
I was born with this allergy. At least, I guess I was. I’ve always had it. At some point in my childhood, my parents took me to get allergy-tested, and I tested positive for peanuts. Even as a child, this was a huge inconvenience.
My father, you see, was a peanut nut. He loved peanuts and peanut butter. He loved pecans, too. Not sure about walnuts. He’d scarf down anything associated with nuts. His favorite sandwich consisted of peanut butter and bananas. I once saw him put away a dish of peanut butter with sardines. So as you can see, mine was an uphill battle.
A person suffering from a peanut allergy cannot come in contact with a peanut. Even the residue has a strong likelihood of touching off a reaction. That person’s kitchen must be peanut-residue-free. Try telling that to my dad when I was growing up! He kept the Peter Pan out on the countertop to assert his independence.
Public schools in the 1970s were wholly unprepared to deal with peanut allergies. Half the lunch menu in my school consisted of peanut products. Cookies, cakes, frostings, candies, you name it, every kid in my grade had a taste for it, and the cafeteria served it up three or four times a week.
My school’s answer to the problem? Separate me from the rest of the kids on peanut butter day. Yep, on the day that the cafeteria handed out peanut butter cookies, etc., to the “normal” kids, I got assigned to eat with the teachers. Of course, this made no sense, as the teachers were just as addicted to Jif as my dad. Still, three or four times a month, I had the pleasure of dining with my science teacher, Mrs. Barnes. She thought I was weird.
What, then, are the symptoms of an allergic reaction? If you are familiar with anaphylactic shock, you’re getting close. It involves itchiness, swelling and a sudden and frightening inability to swallow. It’s like getting exposed to poison ivy, only internally. Did I mention it is no fun? Oh, boy! It is not.
Fortunately, I have rarely suffered a severe reaction. For the most part, people around me have been considerate of my allergy. There have been close calls. Benadryl usually does the trick. I’ve been scolded for not keeping an EpiPen on me at all times, but, really, an EpiPen? Maybe. I once had a couple of the things, but they expired without ever being used.
That said, I did end up in the emergency room for about five hours one night after drinking a milkshake. I had ordered a plain vanilla shake from a local shop. As soon as I began drinking it, I detected chunks of some unidentifiable substance and felt the telltale tingle of a nut allergy. I immediately announced that I needed to go to the ER, as I had already ingested the nut shells. There was just no denying what was about to happen.
Many hours and thousands of dollars later, I was safely sleeping in a Benadryl-induced semi-coma. We had stopped the allergy in time. As it turned out, employees at the restaurant hadn’t sufficiently cleaned their mixer before serving my milkshake. I had consumed small amounts of Butterfinger accidentally.
People urged me to sue the shop for my medical bills, but here is the “nut” of it: an allergic reaction can happen anytime, anywhere, and it’s all usually the result of an accident. Look on any food wrapper and see the legal fine print: “Made in a factory that handles peanuts.” Sure, I’d love a million bucks, but the truth is you take your life in your hands stepping into a restaurant. Also, I’m not terribly litigious.
Another thing I have learned is that this allergy seems to skip generations. I can’t consume peanuts, but my daughter and grandkids can. Try explaining to a 2-year-old that Pappy can’t have Skippy!
So, I live with it. I buy only the safest foods and avoid milkshakes. I am hyper-aware of this allergy, which has not abated since childhood, but I don’t let it control my life. It’s just one of those things.
At least I don’t have to eat with Mrs. Barnes anymore. She was weird.
- Contact Dan Marsh at 662-581-7235 or dmarsh@gwcommonwealth.com.
