allergies

Childhood Injuries: Who Hurts More?

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 4 Comments

When I was 13, while skipping stones before a lake with a dozen of my classmates, I bent over to pick up a rock when someone accidentally hit me in the face with a boulder. My left front tooth broke in half, which hurt like the dickens. I started bawling and ran back to the cabin where we were all hanging out for the afternoon. The dentist fixed my tooth, and many years later my father told me, “When I saw your fat lip and tooth hanging, I started crying.”

When my daughter Jessie was four, she was bitten by a white German Shepherd. I rushed her to the E/R where she had to get four stitches on her lip. That night, I pored over the pages of her baby book. As I stared at her beautiful photos, all chubby cheeked and pig tailed, I cried. What a terrible mother I was–leaving Jessie alone with my mother-in-law and that crazy untrained dog. Of course it bit her! I didn’t deserve such a beautiful daughter.

My second daughter, Josie, is a bit more self-destructive. My husband, daughters, and I were all living in Bellingham, Washington, when Josie ran into our duplex and said, “I just stepped on a nail.” I’m a Gen Xer, okay. So, all I could think was, tetanus shot!!! One of my grad school buddies said “calling the fire fighters was cheaper than calling 9-1-1-” so we called the fire station. Turns out it’s not the rusty nail that causes infection, it’s the bacteria from the bottom of the shoe going into the skin. But later Josie told us, “I wanted to see what it would do.”

Nothing comes close to Kid #3, my son, whom I love to the moon. He’s allergic to tree nuts. In the last ten years of his life, he’s been to the E/R five times.

1: Age one- Grandma makes cookies with walnuts. Vinny eats one and then pukes. Breaks out into hives. Left side of his face swells. Dad gives epi-pen because of peanut allergy. Takes Vinny to the E/R.
2. Age five- Teacher gives Vinny cookie from grandma of classmate. Vinny pukes. Breaks out into hives. Dad gives epi-pen. Takes him to E/R.
3. Age six- Vinny eats toffee with almonds. Lies to family and says allergy was caused from COOP bread. Mother throws fit at the COOP and threatens to notify the local media. Gets them to install allergy signs on all foods. (yay)
4. Age eight- Vinny’s best friend makes him a sandwich with “nutty bread” containing “almonds, hazelnuts, walnuts and Brazil nuts.” After Vinny complains of a burning sensation on his tongue, Eric comes and injects Vinny with epi-pen, but Vinny spends the night in ICU and needs a ventilator. His entire body is covered with hives.
5. Age ten- Vinny’s home from school because of a cough. He makes a frozen dinner with vegetarian ravioli, not knowing it contains walnuts. He takes one bite, says, “I have that nut feeling.” After we read the ingredients, mother gives him epi-pen and rushes him to the E/R.

I called in at work, spent most of the day in the E/R and ICU watching Vinny get poked and injected full of Benedryl. He says his vision is blurry and that he feels weird. All I can think of is what his life will be like as an adult–when his father and I am not around. When he’s negotiating his own life–no mother or father policing his decisions, looking for dangerous foods. I start to cry.

One Way to Negotiate When You Lose a Dream

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

Dear readers: I have not fallen off the edge of the earth. I have been so busy at my day job, that I have not been able to work at what I love–creative writing. At least I can say I have a job in my field. But, I’d like to share why I work in marketing and communications instead of teaching, which was my dream.

When I received my MFA in creative writing 11 years ago, I was sure I would get a teaching job “just like that” mostly because I’d wanted to be a teacher since I was nine, and wasn’t that enough? I taught through my graduate programs, and took every teaching class that I could. And I was so passionate. I loved my students.

I did land a teaching job for a year, and I loved it. It was at a university, with 24 first-year students in English Composition and Rhetoric and Persuasive Writing. For one 17-week course, I designed the curriculum around gun control (pro or con) so the students could really delve into one issue. We watched Bowling for Columbine; they wrote annotated bibliographies; they presented their thesis statements before their classmates for critique; and we also watched Heathers.

One of my students vanished before the annotated bibs were due. “Missing Student” didn’t send me an email, she missed more than the allowed five classes, and I figured like so many others before her while I was a teaching assistant, she would simply fail. Let me interject: I hate to fail students. My heart is bigger than my red pen. When I first started teaching in 2000, I called students at home when they missed class. (Feel free to laugh.) By 2005, I’d learned that you can’t save every student, and you have to let them make their own decisions.

Fast forward to week 15. The rough draft of the term paper was due–an analysis of Bowling for Columbine in which each student took a stance for or against gun control and used scenes from the movie and other research as evidence. We were about to get started when in walked Missing Student. I shook my head and wanted to say, “I’m sorry. Why are you here?”

She asked to speak with me. She handed me a rough draft of her term paper: Stem Cell Research. Forget she’d missed the limit of classes, the annotated bib, and the thesis statement presentation. Missing Student started crying in front of the entire class, told me she’d been having a rough time and couldn’t I just let her come back. In 2000, I might have said yes. But in 2005, with the university policy hovering above my head, and my new convictions, I said no. And I gave her an F.

Weeks after the semester ended, my boss called me at home and said Missing Student’s mother phoned him, saying, “Why can’t my daughter receive a No Pass instead of an F?” My boss asked me to change the grade. I said no. I was following the university’s policy–any student with more than five absences and a zero in any other section of the course received an F. He said, “Come on.” I said, no.

The following fall, I walked into the bookstore to see what courses I was teaching. Zero. My knees buckled, and I almost started crying. I was told that “Enrollment was down.” But my peers from grad school still had their sections. And they also still teach at that same university now.

After working as a secretary for a year, I landed a job as a copy writer at another university. The pay was more than what I had been making as an adjunct, and I received full benefits. For nine years now, I’ve been working as a marketing and communications specialist. I write creative nonfiction and poetry in my spare time, and I’ve had a few teaching gigs at a community college. (Which I love!)

My father’s dream was to be an astronaut. But he had poor eyesight, asthma, allergies, and sought full custody of my brother and me after a bitter divorce. He apprenticed in shoe-repair and made a good living fixing shoes and crafting leather. Did he love it? No. But he smiled a lot, had a great sense of humor and was one hell of a good father. He’s often my inspiration to keep plugging along.

Just One Bite–Pondering Serious Food Allergies

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 2 Comments

With my father, just one bite of fresh fish, and he said he felt his throat closing. With my younger brother, just one bite of a walnut cookie, and he said he felt like he had worms on his tongue. And now, with my son Vinny, just one bite of some nutty bread, and he said, “My mouth started burning.”

Within twenty minutes, Vinny was covered in hives. The babysitter called Vinny’s father Eric who rushed to the house and read the bread’s ingredients: walnuts, almonds, pecans. He injected Vinny with the Epi-Pen and drove him to the ER, calling me on the way. When I showed up, Vinny was still awake, high on the epinephrine, playing with the hospital’s Ipad. I called the babysitter’s parents, who are Vinny’s godparents. They came right over.

The doctor gave Vinny an IV of Benadryl, also put him on oxygen, because he’s a mouth breather, and gave him the nebulizer. Soon Vinny passed out. His entire body, even his head, was covered in hives. For us, it was two-plus hours of hand wringing before he woke back up, looked better, and was “out of the woods.” His godparents stayed with Eric and me the entire day, their eyes wide, their repeated phrase, “We never knew it was this serious.”

Vinny was admitted over night just in case. He is nine, and this was his fourth trip to the ER.

1. At one year old, Vinny’s grandmother fed him a chocolate chip cookie with walnuts. He threw up, broke out into hives, and Eric rushed him to the ER. That’s when we learned he was allergic to tree nuts.

2. In kindergarten, even though we told the teacher Vinny couldn’t eat food brought from other peoples’ homes, during a holiday party, he ate a chocolate chip cookie. It was right before Eric came to get him. Vinny threw up and broke out into hives. Eric gave him the Epi-Pen on the way to the ER. The next day I went to the school and raised a little hell with the teacher.

3. For Christmas when Vinny was 7, a friend bought me a basket full of candy, nuts and other treats. I threw just about everything away, save two pieces of toffee, which I had no idea contained almonds. Vinny ate a piece of toffee. He almost died that time, and Eric said it was all my fault. I suppose it was.

Each time Vinny goes into anaphylactic shock, the reaction becomes quicker and more severe. This last time I started thinking about his future. Eric and I can’t hover around our son his entire life. The doctor recommended that Vinny learn to give himself the Epi-Pen shot. He knows how. But would you want to stick a needle in your leg and hold it for ten seconds?

Only 1 percent of the population is allergic to tree nuts. My father, my brother, my son. Not me, Eric, my daughters. Being a parent is stressful enough without the added worry of a life-threatening allergy. Vinny’s godparents now understand the gravity of his nut allergy. They are kind and intelligent people. They even offered to pay part of the hospital bill.

Eric and I will continue to watch over our son as long as we can and encourage him to be an active participant in his own health. We keep telling him to read the labels, only eat food that comes from a package with legible ingredients, and no strange bread. Not even one bite.

Corn is a four letter word.

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ 1 Comment

Three years ago, I almost lost my son Vinny to his severe food allergy to tree nuts. He secretly ate a piece of toffee and lied about it. While his father and I sat in the E/R crying and watching Vinny sleep off his Benadryl/Epi-pen-induced coma, the doctor came out and said, “That boy needs to be under the care of an allergist.” Within the week, Vinny had an appointment.

We already knew Vinny was allergic to peanuts and tree nuts from an earlier blood test. But now we were requesting a food panel. They would only test for a couple foods, because of his potential for an anaphylaxic reaction. I agreed to be tested, too, to offer moral support. Turned out Vinny and I are both allergic to cats, dust, dust mites, and all the grasses, weeds, and trees that grow in Idaho. He’s also allergic to dairy and corn. I’m allergic to chicken, barley, malt, coconut, and corn.

At the time of the allergy test, I wore a size 10. I was still drinking beer, eating bread, fried foods, including chicken, you name it. I was running three miles a day several times a week and lifting weights. I looked pretty good and weighed about 160 for my five-foot-six frame. The allergist recommended a full elimination diet.

Later, I discovered that if I ate any type of food with corn in it, i.e., restaurant french fries (deep fried in vegetable oil that had corn oil) or enchiladas with corn starch, Heinz ketchup, gravy, within two days, tiny blisters formed on my fingers that opened up into full-blown eczema. And since I’ve taken corn out of my diet, I’m incredibly sensitive to its effects.

Corn is everywhere: dextrose, fructose, modified food starch, Xanthan gum, vegetable oil. I can’t eat at any fast food restaurants or fried foods at sit down places.imin

Vinny’s ten. He eats popcorn, which makes his skin itchy. He says he doesn’t care. The allergy will become worse with age. He cannot eat dairy. It gives him horrible flatulence and the runs. And as one teacher described his behavior after he dairy: he wilts like a flower.

The benefits of my food allergies are that I have been turned on to clean eating, and my body has shrunk four pants sizes. I’ve lost 30 pounds because of healthy eating! I have to watch every bite I put into my mouth, not because I want to lose weight, but because these foods I’m allergic to quite literally poison my system. The effects of chicken on me aren’t even worth discussion. Once you stop eating poison, your body loses inflammation. It’s that simple.

When I go to barbecues, restaurants and gatherings with friends, some say, “Wow. I’m lucky. I’m not allergic to anything.” I’m like, “Really? Have you ever had a food panel done? How do you know?” Plus, I didn’t ask for this. A little sensitivity goes a long way, folks.

This Scary, Evil Dog of Mine is Still Just a Puppy

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

About three years ago, I started researching good family dogs. Again and again, labs showed as the number one choice. They didn’t howl, they could be trained easily, and if you worked eight hours a day (as I did) they could be crate trained. At the time, my son was six, and it was very important to me to choose a dog that would not harm my child.

gussypuppyI’d never owned a dog before. My father and brother are allergic to almost every animal you can name, so our family pets were a rooster named Sam (another blog post, perhaps) and a few rabbits. After I finished researching and decided on a lab, I visited our local pound. As luck would have it, they had two black lab/Newfie pups, 13 weeks old, and as cute as could be. I chose the feisty one who bit my finger.

Gus is an alpha male and stubborn. He’s been to obedience class. He’s learned sit, shake, lie down, stay, and leave it. He still pulls when I walk him. He barks when he meets other dogs, because he’s a big chicken and tries to establish dominance. He nips the dog’s ears and has been nipped himself. When people see all 5’4″ and 97 pounds of him, they freak out. I have been screamed at more than once by terrified folks at the dog park, dog swim, and off-leash parks. One man said Gus bit his son’s leg. It was a pencil-tip nip with no blood, and it was after the boy and the man screamed because Gus came running over to them.

Alas, as Gus moves into his third year, he still acts like a puppy. I’ve spent at least 500 dollars on gimmicks to make him behave. And I research constantly (which is what I wish everyone would do). When I say, “Walk,” Gus leaps like Rudolph the Red-nosed reindeer or humps our other dog Ginger. I’ve been acting more assertive with him lately, taking him on more walks–trying to burn out his puppy-like aggression. He is not a mean dog. I love Gus, and people who know him think he’s wonderful. He’s a lab and a newfie, for Pete’s sake. I chose him for his attitude. Maybe in my next life, I’ll choose a slug.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Make Whiskey Sours-If You’re Not Allergic To Barley

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment

gus_and_ginny

During summer people go crazy from the heat. My eighteen-year-old-moved out of my house with no job and no prospects because she wants to prove to me that she’s a grown up. The previous owners of my house lied about the broken chimney and now I have a rotted roof and mold growing in the attic. I had to pay $40 dollars to get my dogs out of jail after the dogcatcher found them, and another $50 to register them with the city so that if they escape again the dogcatcher “might” bring them back home and not the pound. Last week, a man and his two kids screamed when my giant Lab/Newfie ran over to them causing him to nip at one of the kids, leaving a freckle-sized mark on the boy’s calf. The father went ballistic. He refused to believe we had a current rabies tag, took all my information, and when the vet verified I was telling the truth he never even called to say it was cool. The good news–I’m a writer. And I will turn all of this into something hilarious.

Ladies and Gentlemen: The Scratching Stilloes

~ TheCobblersDaughter ~ Leave a comment
Dad and two kids
The Cobbler and His Kids

When my father passed away in 2012, one of my uncles brought over a DVD with home movies from the 50s spliced into one long film that we watched together. It was fantastic. I loved seeing my old man and his eight siblings when they were teens and younger, teaching my grandmother how to dance The Jerk, wearing their 50s’ style clothing, so full of life.

I need to mention that some of my family members are plagued by allergies–to animals, dairy, peanuts, fish, tree nuts, tomatoes,
wheat–you name it. I remember as a kid watching my grandmother sit at the kitchen table constantly scratching a patch of eczema on her wrist. I now know it comes from food allergies, because over the years I’ve developed my own; if I eat corn or barley, I get eczema on my wrist.

Watching the movie is poignant. My father, thin as a rail, sporting a pompadour and dress clothes, shoots craps in the hallway at his parents’ house with my uncle Louie, who sports an even swirlier pompadour. Every time my father, who’s about 17, throws the dice, he scratches his neck. Then his nose. Then his ear. His chin. He has asthma and allergies. Louie, as far as I know, has none.

My uncle Jimmy, who’s about six in these movies, has curly hair poking from beneath a cowboy hat. He is covered in eczema. He plays the banjo and sings as though nothing is wrong. He stops every few seconds to scratch his ear or his face or his neck. The show must go on!

My son Vincenzo is allergic to dairy and corn. His last name may not be Stilloe, but I think he can be part of our club. We’re both allergic to cats and are taking allergy shots, so maybe some day we can have a kitten. The good news is we are not allergic to dogs. And so we have Gus and Ginger, our adopted dogs. No word on their allergies.     VinnyandGussy