Our boys attend a local summer camp which is great on several levels. They get to see a lot of their school friends, swimming is a big part of their days and since they are little fish, they love that and more then anything they are not simply sitting home watching TV while my husband and I work.
From time-to-time camp will throw in an extra special event or visitor that the kids enjoy. Recently, the local fire department visited. The kids got to check out the fire truck and hang out with the firefighters and EMTs for a bit. Our oldest came home so pumped about the visit. Apparently he asked some of them if they remembered him because they had been to our house so many times. They have, in fact, been to our house twice. I’m not sure that constitutes “so many times” but here we are. And now I’m sure all of camp thinks the police, fire and EMTs are at our house all the time for various, unknown reasons.
They did actually remember him (or at least they were kind enough to say they did) which put him over the moon. Meanwhile, my mom brain was still stuck deep in the land of, “great, now everyone at camp thinks that we are constantly needing to call the fire department to our house.”
Those two visits were for vastly different reasons. The first was now two years ago. It was the end of our son’s first year at kindergarten. It was a Sunday night which was moving along as any other benign Sunday does. That was until minutes after our son finished dinner. Nothing fancy. Pasta and some of his favorite, cherries. Both of which he’s had dozens of times previously. Dinner had come to an end and I was upstairs tidying up. Our oldest came up to me and wanted to take a bath because he was itchy. He was scratching incessantly which made me pause. As an allergy parent, you’re never not on edge and cognizant that reactions can happen at any moment. I explained to him that because he was that itchy I couldn’t actually put him in the bath because the hot water could actually make him itchier. Increasing body temperature can actually elicit a stronger allergic reaction, so unfortunately for him, that request was denied.
I picked him up and brought him downstairs. Once in the kitchen, I sat him on the counter. Another of the unfortunate aspects of being an allergy kid is almost being on display at all times. One of us always has an eye on his face, his skin, what he’s doing, whether he’s sneezing (another one of this big anaphylactic tells). From the time it took me to get him down the stairs and onto the kitchen counter, his face had somehow gotten redder. Within less than a minute, all around his mouth was breaking out in hives. I immediately got him a dose of Benadryl which, depending on the level of reaction, can stop it in its track and alleviate the need for epinephrine to be added to the mix.
Pause at this point in the story and rewind three days. I was on the end of a phone call from school telling me that my son was sneezing and itching and his face was swollen while he was standing in the school office, not in the nurse’s office. I explained that that was anaphylaxis and he needed his EpiPen immediately. I won’t go into all the sordid details of that story. That’s for another day. But did you know that the flavor blasted part of flavor blasted goldfish is a sprayed on cheese product? I didn’t then but certainly know now. That’s the type of mom guilt you never get over. He had an anaphylactic reaction at school that was managed about as poorly as you could manage a life-threatening allergic reaction. My husband and I both saw what that reaction did to his system just 72 hours earlier and what it took for him to recover from it.
Back to the kitchen counter. We had a decision to make as we watched him spiral. I had given him the Benadryl and we waited probably about three minutes as things continued to digress. Benadryl was not halting anything. His symptoms were continuing to worsen. I made eye contact with my husband he simply said, “Do it.” We both knew we had to stop this reaction in its tracks and the only way to do it was with epinephrine. This was a first for all four of us. We’ve practiced and read and learned but had never done. I lifted him off the counter and walked him to the living room, grabbing the EpiPen on our way. I flagged for him that we needed to do his EpiPen and he was calm for about half a second before he recognized that it meant he was getting a shot and then his panic visibly set in. My panic had set in minutes ago but was hidden deep down so that he was none the wiser.
I had him lay down on the couch as soon as we made it to the living room (our house is not a mansion by any stretch of the imagination but that particular walk from kitchen to living room felt incredibly expansive). He was trying anything to resist the fact that he was going to get a shot. My husband and I had to hold his arms and legs to get him the much needed medicine. Not a good feeling as a parent.
Then it was a matter of playing in my head all the things we’ve learned and practiced. Remove cap. Orange to the thigh, blue to the sky. Upper, outer thigh. Inject through clothes. Hold and count. Call 911. Go to the emergency room. It felt like having practiced fire drill safety a million times but never needing to execute on those drills. But this was real. Not a drill.
As soon as I was done counting, I picked him up while my husband called 911. He was in tears after the experience so I was working to comfort him. I was so concentrated on our oldest, which was of course necessary, that I didn’t realize our youngest was now pacing back and forth nearly in tears behind the couch. He had just witnessed his parents holding his brother down on the couch, while his brother was clearly upset in order to give him a shot. I immediately sat down on the floor with his big brother still in my arms. I let him know that we were not hurting his brother. Like him, his brother was scared and nervous about the situation. He also did not want to get a shot. But the shot was medicine that was going to keep his big brother safe. After a few hugs, he seemed somewhat convinced that everything was alright.
As soon as my husband was off the phone with 911, I ran around the house like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to throw stuff in my purse knowing that we had to take a ride to the hospital but not knowing what the process looked like when we got there. Within what felt like two minutes, there was an ambulance in our driveway and police at the end, directing traffic. I’ve never had to call 911, so I don’t know what protocol looks like but in my brain it was, get him outside and into the ambulance so we can go. In hindsight, they probably would have come in the house, assessed the situation and then helped me get him in the ambulance. But mom brain was in full effect.
After convincing him that he would most likely not need another shot, but with no guarantees given, I, along with a very fantastic EMT was able to get him in the back of the ambulance and strapped in for the ride to the hospital. I will never forget the graciousness and kind words of that EMT. He talked me through what was happening with my son as the epinephrine worked its way through his system.. Why he was cold and wanted to be wrapped in blankets. Why he was dozing off. That I made the right call as a mom and we did the right thing as his parents. That those decisions are not easy but I was being a good mom doing what I was doing.
Queue getting to the ER. Evaluation by a doctor. Only to be told that they did not think it was an allergic reaction at all. Meanwhile, seeing my son before epinephrine and within two minutes of injection, I have no doubt we made the right call and it’s also why the EMTs words resonate with me even more than they did on the ride to the hospital. And whenever I go back and question those minutes, I remember what he told me. That was our first introduction to the lovely folks who work for our town.
Our second visit was sprinkled with far less trauma but not no trauma. My husband and I were out for his birthday dinner when our babysitter texted us (which is a rarity). She asked if it was common for our fire alarms to go off without cause. It is not. She inspected the house and found nothing that would have set the alarms off. And because we trust her implicitly with our boys, we were confident that the boys were in good hands but of course everything happened right after bedtime so they were a bit shaken. We decided to grab the check and head home. Unfortunately, the fire alarms went off a second and third time before we were able to get home. Our babysitter took the boys outside and had them sit in our car while we called the non-emergency fire department line to see if they could head over and check out what was going on to make sure we weren’t missing anything. Timing was perfect and we made it home basically at the same time that the fire department arrived.
I recognized the EMT from the back of the ambulance as soon as he hit the top of our driveway. He recognized us as well and said hi to the boys while the firefighters went to check things out. I had thanked him in the ambulance, but made sure to express my gratitude for that evening again because it was far more impactful after our ER experience. The firefighters were able to identify a malfunctioning fire alarm which was definitely the best case scenario and worth the peace of mind knowing that there was nothing concerning going on behind the scenes. And as quickly as they had arrived, they departed and we got the kids in bed.
This is all to say that both our experiences with those that serve our community were incredibly positive and we are so thankfully for that. And whether all of camp thinks that the firefighters, EMTs and police of our town are frequent flyers to our house, we are so grateful for those two visits.
Jumping back to the conversation in the car with my son, he once again reminded me of how many times they were at our house and I politely reminded him it really was just twice. He also identified that the firefighters, police officers and EMTs had all been so nice and helpful. That they worked so hard and it would probably be nice if we baked them cookies. I couldn’t agree more. This weekend, we will be baking three sets of cookies to drop off to those that have been key in keeping our kids safe and healthy. Knowing my kids, they’ll want to make it a recurring event. There will be no pushback from me on that and they’ll always get my full support in extending our gratitude. Although, I’m still crossing my fingers that the next time we run into one of them it’s in the line at Dunkin and not a medical emergency at our house.
Too Much Laundry, Not Enough Wine 