When
my son was 18-months-old we discovered he was allergic
to peanuts. By the time he was 3, we were advised
by doctors that the most microscopic amount of an
ingested peanut would kill him; tactile sensitivity
was a given and “cross-contamination”
became our new catch phrase.
We
adjusted our lives to traveling longer distances
only by our own vehicle because of the peanut contamination
on planes and trains. We took to avoiding hotels
when traveling because no room could be completely
sanitized from peanut residue; my husband and I
would take turns driving and catching cat-naps in
rest areas until we arrived at our destination—always
that of another family member.
Dining
out was extremely limited; careful internet research
of menus and facilities, calling ahead to advise
them of the situation, question their ingredients,
preparation method, risk of cross contamination
and, upon arrival, ensure that the chef, manager,
hostess, and wait staff were aware we were on the
premises. We partook of no potluck meals, and heavily
scrutinized any get-togethers where children or
food was involved. We left birthday parties early—when
cake and various foods were offered because of the
possibility of those items having been prepared/manufactured
on equipment—or in a facility—that processed
peanuts.
Play
dates were allowed only in the homes of 1 or 2 non-allergic
families and really good friends who understood
the necessary safety precautions. We decided to
home school to afford us better control over his
environment. I did not want to become a hovering
parent, but I also knew that, whenever we would
leave the safety of our own home, he could not only
never be out of my line of sight, but he could not
be more than 15 to 20 seconds from me in distance…the
amount of time I need to administer an epi-pen to
counteract anaphylactic shock.
He
is now almost 9. Our lives changed in April of this
year when we were introduced to an extraordinary
being: “Remy”, a 3-year-old black Labrador
with a warm and loving personality and—what
I believe to be—a college-educated mind. You
see, Remy detects peanuts…before my son comes
in contact with them. The added security of Remy’s
companionship has allowed us to expand the horizons
of my son’s world. We still home school, but
Remy’s presence has enabled my son to engage
in more “hands-on” interactive learning.
She
has accompanied us on trips to NASA’s Kennedy
Space Center and Walt Disney World, and last month
on an educational journey up and down the U.S. east
coast. We not only felt safer visiting places like
the lighthouse at Tybee Island, Georgia, The Crayola
Factory in Pennsylvania, and Kitty Hawk, North Carolina,
but we actually stayed in hotels! AND we were able
to partake of their continental breakfasts, and
other fare at restaurants in the general area.
Between
Remy, with her peanut detection skills, and the
training personnel of the Southern Star Ranch in
Texas, new doors have been opened for us. Yes, they’re
small things to the average individual but, to my
son and me, they’re exciting adventures we
never thought he would be able to enjoy.
I know
I must remain cautious and alert; it is my job to
ensure my child’s health and welfare to the
best of my ability, and nothing can replace common
sense and careful observation. But to know there
is an added level of security—a layer of protection
that I could provide in no other way—has endowed
a confidence in both my son and myself that I never
knew we could experience.
My
son is still, of course, learning what to be aware
of in food and social situations, what to look for
on ingredient and warning labels, what he should
and should not do, should and should not touch,
to remain safe in a world where the most innocuous
and minute thing as a peanut could kill him. And
we have Remy now to help us with our vigilance.
