"Strawberries Wild for Laura." The happy young high schooler behind the Jamba Juice counter placed my smoothie on the clean surface. I grabbed my drink with a slurred "thankyou" and jogged out to my car. I was running late for my friend Mackenzie's senior dinner. Every year our tiny Christian high school hosted a family potluck for seniors and their families during the week before graduation. Potlucks are among the more dangerous environments for someone like myself who has life threatening food allergies. However, it was worth the risk of being around potentially deadly food in order to celebrate Mackenzie's graduation.
My heart was already pumping fast because I was running late, but a sip of my safe smoothie cooled my nerves. I checked my clock at least ten times during the five minute drive to my old high school. The parking lot was already full of anxious parents and soon to be graduates. I parked on the street next to the back building. With my full purse in one hand and Jamba Juice in the other I jogged to the main entrance. I slowed to a walk as other parents and students trickled towards the only entrance. The warm June air was stuffed into the main hallway and every person who entered the building packed the heat in tighter.
Even though the gym doors were all open, people seemed to force the stale air into the dark gym as they walked in, and the heat refused to leave on its own accord. The staff kept as many of the overhead lights off as possible to help with the heat. The room was decorated exactly how it had been two years previously for my own graduation. Blue and white plastic tablecloths covered the tables moved from the nearest three classrooms. The same dollar store centerpieces were evenly spaced through the rows. The same squeaky uncomfortable folding chairs were lined up on either side of the tables.
I found a seat next to Mackenzie; I was here as her sister. This family only event was not open to friends, but none of the staff would kick me out. The teachers were in their usual spot, manning the food tables as parents brought in their salads, casseroles, and desserts. They all greeted me warmly when I first walked into the gym. The tables were already full of homemade dishes by the time I had sat down with Mackenzie. One bite of any of these anonymous dishes had the potential to kill me. I swallowed thoughtfully as I took a sip of my cool pink drink. The refreshing flavor of strawberries and banana fought away the stifling heat of the dark gym.
"It looks like almost everyone's here," the principal directed the attendant's attention
to where he stood at the front of the gym, "If you will all please find your seats, I'll open us in a word of prayer. After a moment of shuffling and squeaking of folding chairs, a hush settled over the gym. I bowed my head as Mr. Cochran gave thanks for the plentiful food and the opportunity to celebrate the graduating students with their families.
I stayed in my seat when my table was dismissed, taking a few more small sips of my drink. I wanted to make it last through everyone else's dinner. I watched everyone around me begin to eat their meals full of a variety of ingredients. That green bean casserole might have soy sauce in it. I could see the nuts sprinkled on top of that salad. Did people ever put peanuts in lasagna? I took another sip of my Jamba Juice, aware of every ingredient. I managed to extend the life of my smoothie to some point during the dessert time so I didn't look terribly lonely eating nothing while everyone else around me enjoyed nut brownies or peanut butter cookies.
Once most people had finished eating their desserts, the principal asked the first parents to come up and share pictures and stories of their graduating child. Somewhere around the fourth set of parents I noticed that I had some difficulty swallowing. I took a rather dry swallow to make sure; my throat was definitely swelling. I pulled my full thirty-two ounce water bottle out of my purse and took a sip. The water went down, but not as easily as it should have. This was a possible symptom of an anaphylactic reaction.
Anaphylaxis is a fascinating medical phenomenon. It's somewhat unpredictable, and if this was a genuine symptom, I could be dead in a matter of minutes or hold on to life for several hours without medical intervention. I needed to identify as quickly as possible whether this was a genuine allergic reaction or not.
I felt my face flush as I took inventory of other physical symptoms of anaphylaxis. I tried to slow my breathing to prevent an unnecessary panic attack. The tops of my ears were my first indicator; during my last few anaphylactic reactions my ears had felt like they were on fire. They were only tingling now; that could be purely psychological. Maybe my ears were tingling in anticipation of a reaction that wasn't going to happen. My next key indicator was blotchy patches below my ears and on my scalp. I couldn't see my scalp or my ears to know if they were blotchy right now though. I couldn't go to the bathroom to check now; Mackenzie's parents would be sharing soon and I didn't want to risk missing her big moment. I took another sip of water.
My heart was pounding now because I had more difficulty taking this second sip of water. I could hear the blood pumping through my ears and told myself they felt warm because my heart was beating faster, not as a symptom of anaphylaxis. I forced myself to breathe regularly and think through the situation calmly. This might not be anaphylaxis, I thought; my ears tingled in response to the lie I was telling myself. I would have to take action soon if my mind couldn't stop my body's response to an unknown allergen. I spent a few moments reasoning through my situation in an attempt to slow the bodily reaction. This shouldn't be happening; I had Jamba Juice, not any of the unknown foods from the potluck. My smoothie was from a safe environment in order to prevent an allergic reaction.
I still remember the first day I ever tried Jamba Juice. I walked in with my mom and we questioned the innocent girl at the counter about their sanitary procedures. She walked me through the process of adding ingredients and how they were kept carefully covered to prevent cross contamination. She even told me how standard procedure required all employees to wash blenders three times before using them again. Jamba Juice was supposed to be safe; potlucks were the danger. Despite this precaution I had taken to avoid an allergic reaction, I couldn't deny that my throat was abnormally swollen.
Mr. Cochran invited Mr. and Mrs. Crawford up to share their pictures and embarrassing stories of their oldest son; I was still struggling to swallow. "Bob's childhood went by so quickly," Mrs. Crawford reminisced, and I wondered how her memories of a childhood that passed so quickly could take so long to recount. I was pretty sure that my whole life passed through my memory with every painful swallow. "We're so proud of you, son; we know you'll go on to do great things." I needed to do something, but I was unable to leave my seat. Mackenzie's parents were next.
I subtly reached down to my purse and found my worn out Benadryl bottle. I always carried the plastic carton full of pink pills as part of my emergency kit ‒ epi pen, inhaler, and Benadryl. I popped the lid off as quietly as I could and slowly tipped the bottle, keeping the rattling of pills to a minimum. I popped the lid back on once I had two neon pink pills in my hand. I slipped the bottle back into my purse still trying to stifle the telltale rattle and placed the two free pills under my tongue. Benadryl pills taste terrible, but I knew that partially dissolving them under my tongue would get the medication into my blood stream faster than swallowing them straight away. After a minute I washed the remainder of the pills down with a big gulp of water. Taking the antihistamine should slow the swelling down, and hopefully even decrease it. I had sixteen ounces left, and I my struggle to swallow only seemed worse after half an hour of sipping the first sixteen ounces. My hope was secure in the benefits of Benadryl; I should be swallowing normally in a matter of minutes if this was a minor reaction.
I had finished the rest of my water bottle by the time Mackenzie's parents finished sharing their photos and stories. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fiddling with my empty water bottle. The Benadryl was failing me. I still couldn't swallow normally, and I needed to keep water moving down my throat or it might close up forever. This was more than a minor reaction. I was on my way to a full blown anaphylactic reaction.
I managed to slip out during the next family's moment of glory. I fumbled with the lid on my water bottle as I hurried down the hall to fill it in the kitchen sink. I gulped down a few ounces and refilled the bottle to the brim before returning to the dark, stuffy gym. I walked calmly and slowly, remembering the nurse's stern reprimand after my major anaphylactic reaction in kindergarten. "You shouldn't have run to the bathroom!" She had yelled, "Movement pumps the allergen through your blood faster. Next time don't move. You don't want your heart rate to increase and make the reaction worse."
Obviously, I wasn't frozen like the nurse would have wanted, but I also still telling myself that I was not having a full blown anaphylactic reaction. The tingling in my ears increased as the lie passed through my mind. Frustrated that my ears and throat were out of my control, I willed my heart to pump slower, to slow down the reaction that was shutting down my body. I returned to the stuffy gym and sat down next to Mackenzie. She gave me a concerned look, but I brushed it off as I whispered, "I just needed to refill my water bottle." She was momentarily appeased.
I turned my attention back to the current set of parents sharing about their graduating student. "Hannah was always a curious child," a mom's tender voice captioned the picture of a seven year old digging in the mud. I caught sight of my own mom's best friend, Darcie, with her family. Darcie had a daughter graduating this year; she also had a son my age with the same allergies as me. She also was a registered nurse. Darcie had been my emergency contact on every important form since I was six. I took a long sip of water, almost feeling the walls of my throat touching. Even though I still couldn't swallow right, I could breathe a little easier knowing that Darcie was in the same room.
I took another sip and prayed that I would be able to swallow easily by the time I finished these thirty-two ounces of water. I shifted in my seat, impatient for the next family to finish. Parents always talked forever about their graduating students. By the time I finished the second thirty-two ounces, there were still nearly one third of the parents left to share. After drinking sixty-four ounces of water in just over an hour, I needed to stop in the bathroom before refilling my water bottle again. The only girls' bathroom in my tiny high school was connected to the makeshift locker room. I sat on the lonely bench in the tiny room and took a slow deep breath. It might be easier just to stay in here and not make a scene while I die, I thought to myself. I didn't want to die in the gym with all those families celebrating next week's graduation ceremony. I would feel horribly rude gathering my belongings and marching out of the gym while some set of parents shared the moving story of their child's first steps. The locker room seemed like the best option. It occurred to me, though, that I would be even more embarrassed to have someone find my dead body in the bathroom after this happy family celebration. That might be even more rude than walking out on the event. An involuntary swallow reminded me that my throat was still swollen and I needed to refill my water bottle.
I stopped in the kitchen and filled my bottle with cold water before returning to my seat next to Mackenzie. She gave me another concerned look and this time I made a dismissive comment about the heat. I glanced at Darcie's family again. If I couldn't swallow by the end of this thirty-two ounce dose of water, I would make my way through the tightly packed chairs up to where Darcie sat, calmly tell her that I was having an anaphylactic reaction, and ask her to escort me to the hallway to give me my epi pen and call 911. I would feel guilty the rest of my life for ruining this event for Darcie's family, but I recognized that it might be better to have a life to regret one embarrassing event rather than giving up now and dying in the locker room. It might be embarrassing to have an ambulance show up for me at this event to which I was technically not invited, however, I considered it more appealing than the alternative of someone discovering my dead body in the locker room. With each difficult sip of water, I mentally rehearsed the path I would take through the chairs to get to Darcie and what I would say to her. With each difficult sip of water, I was still conscious of the unnatural nearness of the walls of my throat.
My fervent prayers were decreasingly coherent as I begged God for the swelling to go down so that I didn't have to ruin this family only event for my friends. Mackenzie gave me concerned quizzical looks as she watched the water level in my transparent water bottle near zero for the third time in less than two hours. At the end of the event, all the graduates left the room to try on their caps and robes. I tipped my water bottle up as the graduates filed out and felt the last of my water run down my throat without the unnatural resistance that had persisted through the past two hours. I could swallow more normally. It wasn't perfect, but the swelling had gone down noticeably.
Parents took pictures of the lined up graduates in wrinkled blue gowns, and I wanted to cry tears of relief. The event was over, and I had survived without ruining it for anyone. The overhead lights were switched on to help with clean up; families leaving early took extra heat with them as they left the gym. Mackenzie found me amongst the madness of families gathering their leftover dishes and congratulating one another on raising such wonderful children.
"Are you okay?" She questioned me with a penetrating squint.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably because I hadn't told Mackenzie when I was in danger and ought to have received immediate medical attention, but couldn't help grinning now that I was recovering without the aid of an injection of adrenaline. "Yeah, I think I'm okay now. I was having a minor anaphylactic reaction earlier though."
"I thought so."
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