Take me to Cloud Cuckoo Land.

I don't like to talk a lot about my oldest son's food allergies. 

After watching the Lego Movie approximately 16 times, I have decided that I might just be a little bit like Princess Unikitty.

"Any idea is a good idea except the non-happy ones. Those we push down deep inside where you'll never, ever, ever, EVER find them!"

Girl, I can SO relate!  And, hey, I like living in Cloud Cuckoo Land.   HAPPY THOUGHTS!!! POSITIVITY!!  No frowny faces!  No bushy mustaches!   I'm there!   If I don't think too hard about his allergies, all of those thoughts don't bring all of the feelings up to the surface. But, the summer brings lots of reminders of living with allergies- cookouts and picnics and playdates at the park and block parties galore- not to mention the annual trip to the allergist.  The poking, prodding and the dreaded waiting for the results.

So, last week I woke up and I just had this feeling that "today was going to be the day." 

The day the allergist letter comes in the mail.  

(dun, dun, duuuuunnnn. . .)

Even though the doctor says to give them 6 weeks and the appointment was just about three weeks ago, I could feel it.  The letter was coming.

Sure enough, when Philip was upstairs putting his laundry away and I ran out to check the mail and there it was.

My hands were shaking a bit when I opened it.  The allergist had given us some hope this year, citing that allergies to multiple foods were statistically very rare and he was doubtful that Phil would show a continuation of his allergy to eggs and tree nuts in addition to peanuts as he had in the past.

I unfolded the letter and scanned the numbers eagerly, looking for that magic zero somewhere.  My heart sank, all of the allergies were still there.  Still avoiding all peanuts, tree nuts and eggs.  Retest next year.  IgE levels, blah, blah, blah, business, business, business, numbers. Really, no change to our lifestyle, but I didn't want to have to tell my sweet little boy the news.  I went inside and puttered for a minute when I heard him from the stairwell.

"Hey, Mommy, did you get distracted?"

"No, buddy, I'm on my way.  I just had to check the mail.

Hey.

Your letter came today from the allergist."

"Oh?"

"Hey, Philly," (I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.) "you didn't outgrow any of your allergies.  

The numbers are all still there.  

I'm really sorry. . .

I was really hoping that you would outgrow some."

"Yeah, me, too, Mommy."

I could tell he was trying to be brave, but his eyes were starting to well up with tears.  He was biting his lip and looking away, and his voice was starting to shake.  I put my arm around him as we sat there on the staircase.

"Sweetie, how do you feel about it?"

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"Sad.  I feel sad, Mommy.  It's just that eggs, eggs are in everything!  They are hiding everywhere.  I . . .I was just was really hoping I could outgrow it."

Underneath his sadness, I could also sense his anxiety.  Even though his nut allergy is so, so much more severe, the eggs are his first concern, because they are, as he puts it, "an ingredient."  You can't see it, smell it, or taste it to know the egg is there.  Plus, it is an ingredient in just about everything delicious Phil loves. . .cake, cookies, pancakes, muffins. . .the treats at basically every celebration everywhere.  And no matter how yummy and fabulous your mommy's egg-free baked goods are, Phil is old enough to know that he is different.   He has to wait for his special treat, ask questions, be on alert.  He handles it so well, but being different isn't always easy, and even at 7 he knows as much.  His eyes have welled up before asking me why he has to be different, and it breaks my mama heart.

As we sit on the steps, my arm around my sweet oldest boy, my heart is sad, too.  I have learned to live with the anxiety. . .that constant, underlying, on-edge feeling when we are any place new, any place with food, and place with people who don't know us, or, EEK!  All three.  I have learned to deal with the anxiety by being vigilant, being prepared, educating Phil and just praying to God to protect my sweet son.  Phil has many guardian angels right here on earth watching out for him, and for that we are so blessed. Daniel is his number one guardian angel and protector, and who better to look out for you than your brother and best friend?   But even though I can manage the fear, I was surprised by the sadness.  The sadness is new- I didn't have it when he was a baby or a toddler and he didn't understand the severity of his situation.  Just since he is older, and now he is starting to understand the weight of it.  He "gets it".  He has feelings about it, and when we talk about it my heart just absorbs all of those feelings.  His pain is my pain, his sadness. . .mine.  I guess this is what being a parent is all about.

But, being different teaches him important lessons, too.  He's wise, compassionate and insightful, and also the biggest little optimist I know.

"Well, Mommy," he says, as his voice starts to transition from wavering to chipper. . ."there's still a chance I can outgrow it, right?  Maybe next year!"

"Right Philly!" (even though I am not so sure, Princess Unikitty is going to jump right on board with that.)

"And you know what, maybe someday there will even be a cure!  And then you won't even have to worry about it at all."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"That would be great!  Now," (pointing at the swim trunks I have been holding in my other had this entire conversation) "are you going to go put Daddy's swimsuit away or what?"

"Yes,"

I laugh,

"let's go."

I reach out and feel his trusting hand in mine.  I clutch it as we go up the stairs, holding on just as tightly to the hope that things will be okay, and someday, yes, someday. . . they might be EVEN BETTER.  

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future

Jeremiah 29:11

Yep. I can hold onto that.

Allergic.

Growing up, my mom always told me "If you don't laugh, you'll cry."  Mom and Dad taught me by example to look at something stressful or sad and just try to find the humor- from the simple things like turning a botched crock pot spaghetti recipe into a 20 year running joke, to the more profound things dressing my grandpa is his favorite Hawaiian shirt and tucking his autographed picture of Charro in his casket at his funeral.  Laughter makes everything, from embarrassment to grief, better.

However, when Phil was first diagnosed with life threatening food allergies at age 16 months, I have to admit it was really hard for me to find the funny. That day at Riley Hospital for Children, clutching my sweet, kind, smart, red-splotched, itchy and vomiting firstborn son, it was hard to wrap my mind around how I was going to find the funny in this.  I had failed my son.  He had had these allergies for how long now, and I had just ignored the symptoms, brushed them off as just the way Phil is. . .oh, that Phil.  He's just a gagger, that's why he throws up so much!  I look back at pictures of his red, splotchy, tormented skin and I think. . .how did I not notice?  But your firstborn child is perfect.  No one can tell you otherwise, right?  Oh, he's just a little itchy, that Phil!  I am sure he will grow out of it!  The truth of the matter was that Philip had severe allergies to peanuts, tree nuts and eggs.  Now, not only did I need to worry about normal mommy stuff that we first time mommies all obsess about like developmental milestones and nutrition and taking turns and sharing and sleeping through the night and potty training, but, oh, yeah, by the way your son could die pretty much anywhere from normal food that people eat all the time without thinking twice about.  No big deal, right?  I felt like the walls were closing in.

I stayed strong at the hospital for my little boy, I stayed strong in the car (and also said a thankful prayer that it wasn't a milk allergy since milk was his favorite "food"), I got home, put the boys down for a nap and started going through my kitchen cabinets. . . and the tears began.  Wow.  Everything was poison.  POISON.  It's like finding out your house is full of loaded guns and you didn't even know it.  Contains nuts.  May contain tree nuts.  Contains traces of peanuts.  Processed on shared equipment with eggs, peanuts and tree nuts.  I started making piles- food pantry, give to friends, throw away.  It felt good to purge.  I pulled myself together. I called Paul at work.  We talked.  I made grilled cheese.  We bathed the kids, put them to bed, I grabbed the keys and headed to Meijer.  When you don't know what to do, just keep moving forward.  My first trip to the grocery post diagnosis was both terrifying and incredibly annoying.  Reading every package, with one part of my brain thanking God for food labeling laws and the other part of my brain cursing people for loving nuts so much.  For Paul and I, who lived on a steady diet of peanut butter and fried egg sandwiches, a major lifestyle change was in order.  The next few weeks were full of trips to the library, searches on the internet, reading blogs, painfully long trips to the grocery and chatting with friends. I had to educate myself as much as possible. One day at a time, keep moving forward.  I couldn't allow myself to think too far into the future, and I still don't. One day at a time.

Even taking it one day at a time. feeding Phil seemed overwhelming.  I mean, he still needed to eat 4 or 5 times a day, right?   His allergies had caused him to have a fear of food in addition to normal toddler picky-ness.  I cringe when I think of the foods I fed my trusting baby, imagining how awful they made him feel.  I felt like all I was feeding him now was cereal and macaroni and cheese. . .I felt so limited.  I felt like a bad parent.  I felt like I had failed.  Then, Paul suggested I sit down and make a list of all of the things Phil COULD eat.  I still have that list.  It made me feel better then, and it makes me smile now to think of all the things we have been able to add to it.  We get magazines from Catholic Relief Services all of the time, and we just so happened to get one the day after I made that list.  Every magazine is filled with the faces of women and children who struggle to eat, or even have clean and safe water to drink.  Any time I feel like feeding my family is overwhelming, I think of those faces.   The women who have to send their children to bed with hungry bellies.  Who have to pick through trash, or sell their bodies to provide for their families.  Meanwhile, I prance down the aisle in a grocery store full of food.  Yeah, my son can't eat everything.  But I can give him everything he needs.  For that, I am deeply grateful.

Over three years later with the benefit of time, perspective, and experience everything seems much more manageable.  The fear lingers, but I can't let it grip my heart.  DO NOT BE AFRAID, God says.  In some aspects, this allergy diagnosis has really been a gift.  We have seen the true love and care our friends and family have for us in the amazing consideration they have shown for Phil.  What a blessing they are to us.  We have learned to appreciate the things we can have instead of the things we can't.  I have learned to be assertive, which is FAR, FAR outside of my comfort zone.  But when my child's life is at stake, I ask for the strength and grace to swallow my irrational fear of inconveniencing any other human beings and just think of the one that God gave me to love and protect.  We worry less about the other first-time parent things, because, hey, he's alive and he's happy and he's just doing great!  And, we have finally learned to laugh.  Especially thanks to our second son, Daniel, who I think was born just to bring us this gift.  Consider this conversation between my children at age 2 1/2 and 3 1/2.

Phil: Sir, I am allergic to peanuts. And eggs.

Daniel: Did you say penis??

Phil: Nooooo sir. PEANUTS. PEANUTS. 

Daniel: Oh, penis and eggs. OK, got it.

Phil: PEANUTTTTTTTTSSSSSS!!!

Daniel: Yeah. Penis. Penis and eggs.

How can you stress with a brother like that?