With an Allergic Kid, You Prepare, Educate, and Pray

For the last four months, my wife and I have become virtual experts on our son’s severe food allergies. We’ve learned new ways to cook (flax-seed meal makes an excellent egg substitute), we’ve become good at evaluating situations (“That kid’s got peanut-butter crackers!”), and we both know how to treat anaphylactic shock.

But the most important thing we’ve learned? How to relax.

When Graeme was diagnosed, I worried that we might not be able to let him out of our sight ever again. We were paranoid and instilled the same paranoia in his caretakers. Our mothers, who cared for him until July, called frequently with questions about food, or to report a mysterious red spot or random itching. The YMCA’s day care, which he occasionally visits, put up signs. We eschewed babysitters and nights out. And we hired a day-care provider whom we thoroughly vetted and educated.

These days, we’re pretty easy. We don’t panic at strange blotches or the occasionally consumed corn chip. Where does this newfound confidence come from?

When we left the allergist, we had a list of things we couldn’t feed Graeme, or even expose him to, but we didn’t have any guidance on how to raise a kid with multiple allergies. So we got busy reading, researching, and networking. My wife, who is a pediatric nurse, asked for advice from colleagues with allergy backgrounds. I ran up a tab at Amazon.com and trolled dozens of Internet sites. Friends who had similar challenges called. People posted helpful suggestions on this blog.

In short, we got educated and realized that despite his allergies, Graeme isn’t all that fragile. Understanding the difference between the universe of what can possibly happen to your child versus what is likely to happen to your child is deeply comforting.

It’s also liberating. The other night my wife and I left Graeme and our daughter Elise with our über-responsible 15-year-old niece so we could go to dinner and a movie—the first one we’ve seen together in more than three years. At the beginning of the summer, there was no way we would have done this.

Before leaving, we went through our allergy procedures: an EpiPen seminar, a list of things Graeme can and can’t eat, and a detailed plan of action should something go awry (“Start by calling 911″).

We went through these instructions, not to scare her, but to reassure her that it was OK (and important) to call for help if she needed it.

For the first time since he was diagnosed with all his allergies in April, we left our son behind without an enormous level of guilt and concern. We again felt like normal parents headed out for a date.

Pulling out of the driveway, I thought about a poetry line tossed around by soon-to-be empty nesters carting their kids off to college: “I hurl you into the universe and pray.” Anytime we let our kids—whether it’s Graeme who is allergic to everything or Elise who is allergic to nothing—out of our sight, we do this, knowing that we must prepare for what is possible and expect what is likely.

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(PHOTO: SEAN KELLEY)