Some days, this whole deal is one giant game, messing with my head. With the exception of our first real reaction, which ended up being a positive, and one trip to the grocery store, this week was pretty awesome. It was the kind of week I had expected, unlike the week prior where we were all sick. Last night, in fact, I did something rare. I went out. I trusted a babysitter with my kids (by “trusted” I mean that she was someone used by a friend of mine whose children also have food allergies and I spent the entire night texting the sitter, to the point where she began copy and pasting, “yep, they’re doing great.”) and went out for a friend’s birthday. Until 2:30 am. Truly, I am too old for that, evidenced by my all day recovery process.
I took it easy, mostly just exhausted since we were up by 6:30, and the kids and I walked across the street to an outdoor mall where they played on the playground, then we went to lunch and did a little shopping. In total, we spent 4 hours walking around outside on a beautiful day. Today was perfect.
I really can’t explain what happened next. My thought process was to take a nice, relaxing bath and go to bed early. In reality, I sobbed in the tub to three songs on repeat. (Home by Philip Phillips, All of Me by John Legend and A Life That’s Good by the cast of Nashville, in case you are curious.) As much as I told myself I would not feel guilty about a night out, I think I did. Not for my kids’ sake, but for my husband’s. He has had his world tilted upside down with his family gone, and since our house sold, he’s temporarily living with his mom. After moving more times than I can count, I can truthfully say it is easier to leave than to be the one left behind. I feel for him.
Tuesday will be three weeks since my husband left and went back to Arizona. In October, we will celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary and in all that time, until three weeks ago, we had only spent three nights apart. This is a big change for us now and when I return home with the kids, there will be change again as we look for a new home. Add to that running two businesses, one of which is new and still trying to get off the group, while supporting a family he doesn’t even see.
We all have a role to play in this OIT journey and his is tough, too, even if he isn’t the one physically here and dealing with the day-to-day. I cried tonight because I miss him. I cried because he wants to be here and can’t.
Every tear, I would cry one hundred times over to get our son to a point where he can live without fear of coming into contact with a common food that could kill him. I am grateful and say a prayer of thanks every single night that we have this opportunity to make my son’s life safer.
I’m even thankful for his first reaction.
You already know I’m crazy, so just hear me out on this… 15 minutes after his night dose, his third since we doubled it on Monday, he began clearing his throat and sighing deeply. A couple of little hives popped up on his face. I texted Dr. Jones and let him know and he immediately responded that if anything else happened, to call him right away. I gave my son cold apple juice which seemed to help his throat and within an hour, all symptoms were gone without any action from me. I let him go to sleep and advised the doctor all was well. None of his doses after that yielded such excitement, but that is when it hit me: we are at roughly 1/200 of a peanut. My kid is SUPER allergic. His body hated it, but overcame. Every day we are doing this, he is SAFER.
All things considered, I wouldn’t change a thing. Some days are going to be awesome, like today and all the days this week, and some days are going to be so hard I want to quit. But I won’t quit. There’s a sweet six year old depending on me to make this happen for him. He wants a peanut party when he gets home and I’ll be damned, he’s earned it. We all have.