I have had a peanut allergy for as long as I can remember. But I am told that it started when I was 18 months old. Realistically, it likely began long before that—my immune system might’ve started fighting off nuts while I was in the womb, for all I know, but my first allergic reaction took place when I was just a tyke in a high chair, shoving a piece of toast smothered in beautiful, creamy peanut butter into my little mouth.
I don’t know what it’s like to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (jelly and fluff was my jam, though… get it?). No idea what an almond really tastes like, besides the all-too-familiar feeling of my tongue and lips swelling; my throat becoming constricted. I’ve always said that I don’t have “anaphylaxis,” which is a severe, potentially life-threatening allergic reaction, and a word all too common in the allergy world. But lately, it’s become more and more obvious to me that yes, I do have that, and while I was told over and over again as a kid that perhaps I’d grow out of my allergy, as far as I’m concerned, it’s only gotten worse.
I’m an active person. Well, this is to say that I like to work out (though I’m rather sedentary moment to moment, read: Netflix and books). But I love to run and bike and lift weights, all to the chagrin of my allergy. When I do any of the above, my heart rate increases. Blood pumps more quickly through my veins, and if I’ve had any of the plethora of things I’m allergic to—any and all nuts, even just the tiniest bit—within the last, say, 8-12 hours, I’m in trouble.
I’ve never written about this before because, for me, it’s a touchy subject. I used to find it embarrassing that I was so deathly allergic to something so many people love and enjoy daily. M & Ms? Nope. Kit Kats? Not ‘til I was 13 did I start eating anything in that potentially dangerous category. And now that nuts are more Vogue than ever when it comes to health and wellness, my eating reality has only gotten more difficult. Again, I like to be active. This also means, often, though not always, that I like to eat well. Eating well these days is practically synonymous with chia seeds, flax, and things like that—which I’m good with, thankfully. But then there’s the dreaded almond—the macadamia nut—and peanuts, of course, which seems to appear in everything. I’ve been reminded of this too, too many times lately, all while I’ve been working out. Well, trying to work out.
The last two allergic reactions I had occurred while I was on a run. One happened at the gym, and thank God I had someone present there to help me (this was not his first time coming to my rescue). I called him desperately, my fingers barely working—hands and feet beginning to go numb—from my throne, aka the toilet, where I thought I was either going to shit my brains out, or throw up all over the floor in front of me. Neither happened, but my head lolled after I got off the phone and I started to panic, wondering how quickly he’d get to me. Perhaps I should have called 9-1-1, I don’t know. But this has been my reality so often, of late, that I’d constantly be in the hospital if I called an ambulance every time it happened.
The most recent reaction occurred when I was on a dirt road in Martha’s Vineyard. On Chappaquiddick, to be exact, which is a largely uninhabited island off of the Vineyard. I was about a mile and a half from any Benadryl or human help, and again, I started to panic; not sure whether I should run back to the house and encourage the reaction further, but arrive at help sooner. Or to walk, slowing my heart rate and trying to keep calm. The latter, I decided, didn’t make sense, because it might happen that I wouldn’t make it back to the house before I passed out—my blood pressuring dropping that low—on the side of the road. This thought, of course, only makes things worse, and panic ensues, whether you want it to or not.
Back at the house, I called out to the friend I was staying with, who is luckily a very well trained EMT. He found me sitting in a cold shower, fully clothed, socks and sneakers still on, shivering, my face, neck and stomach, red and hot. He took my pulse, asked if I’d taken Benadryl (I had), and told me that I actually looked okay. Asked if I was disoriented (I was, but it was getting better), or if I thought I needed to go to the hospital. Much like my other rescuer, who has helped me so many times with this, my EMT friend was so calm, so helpful, I almost cried at his kindness. Mind you, this is not a cute scene to walk in on. I’m puffy and blotchy and scared out of my mind, every time. Even writing about it now frightens me, and I can’t help but wonder when the next time this will happen will be—where I’ll be, how bad it might get.
To be honest, and to use that cliché at will, I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this. I guess because I think it’s important not only for me to come to terms with the gravity of my allergy, after so many years of belittling it, even in my greatest moments of terror, but also to bring to light the seriousness of food allergies in general. To impart to those of you who work in the food industry, for instance, making patrons’ sandwiches and salads and things that might contain nuts: this is no joke. If you think that it might be contaminated, say it. We’ll take our chances if it makes sense to us and our persona sensitivities, or we’ll go with something else. Obviously, this reaches far beyond just nut allergies, though in the US alone, peanut allergies represent .6% of the population. And that's just peanuts.
For those of you who are so, so genetically blessed not to have this problem--because that's what it is, really, plain and simple: a problem--I think it’s important for you to at least be a little bit more aware. The immune system shut down our bodies go into with the slightest ingestion of an allergen is an issue, and it’s a serious one at that. Sure, it's our issue. But only to an extent can we take full blame. Food allergies, for all intents and purposes, are an incredibly frightening life-setback that can rear its ugly head at any given moment (see below for something pretty yikes inducing stuff... I know, it's a big photo, and I know it's not cute. But it's so, so real. That's sweat dripping off of my hair, by the way. And moments later I was swaddled in a huge sweatshirt, freezing. Obviously, this isn't at the height of things. It's a good time after, when I could function in some capacity). Even for someone whose entire life has been riddled with this plight, the moment you realize something is happening never gets easier, or less terrifying.
If you want to read more about all of this, though it is quite sad, head over to this piece about a young boy whose life was taken by his allergy. I don’t know what I’m doing about my allergy right now, besides visiting an allergist for the first time in a long time, very soon. But I think this is a start. Just talking about it. Coming to terms with the fact that this is my reality, and so many others', but I—we—need help keeping ourselves safe. Help us, help ourselves, yeah?
