It's Just Nuts

One pistachio.

That's all it took to wreak complete and total havoc on Oliver's body last Thursday.

I was eating pistachios for an afternoon snack, and he asked if he could have them.  I thought about it for a second, and told him we could try it.

It's at this point in telling the story that I've seen, several times, the slight raise of an eyebrow.  So far everyone has thought better than to question my judgement out loud, but the sentiment is there.  If anyone chose to actually say something to me I'd just say, "Go ahead, judge away.  Until you've lived a day with my child, the credibility of your opinion on this subject is nil.  You try telling the boy with five healthy, typical brothers, that this thing he's interested in trying is just one more thing on the mile-long list of stuff he can't touch with a ten foot pole.  You look at those brown eyes and tell him that it's not worth trying, just in case.  You aren't there at birthday parties when he's eating a sandwich and lollipop instead of pizza, cake, and ice cream, and you weren't the one who had to finally explain to him that he's not going to be able to eat like his brothers just because he reaches a certain age, which is what he had thought all along, that he just wasn't old enough yet.  You have no idea."

So yes, he's severely allergic to peanuts, and that may seem to rule out pistachios as well.  Except that pistachios are actually a tree nut, more closely related to pecans and almonds, which we've found (by trial and error) that Oliver can tolerate.  So in my mind, it was worth a try.

He took one pistachio, ate it, looked at me and said, "I don't think I should have eaten that."  He knew that quickly.  His lips began to swell right before my eyes and he told me his throat felt hot and it was hard to swallow.  I raced for the benedryl and watched him drink two teaspoons of the liquid down as though he were trying to swallow a horse pill.  By the time we got to the emergency room he was wheezing, and his body was unrecognizable from his neck down to his knees, where the hives raged so out of control that they were blending together into one enormous, hideous patch of disfigured skin.  His cheeks were bright red, his eyes full of fear, and the first nurse to see him yelled frantically for a pulse ox machine.  An epi-shot to his stomach and an IV pump of more meds than I care to recall later, and the symptoms began to subside.  He lay on the gurney, in a tiny hospital gown that I hope to never again see one of my children wearing, and drifted off to sleep.  I was left to my thoughts as he recovered.

I recalled the exchange I had had with one of the doctors.  She was trying to establish a timeline of events and said, "Okay, so he was eating the pistachios --"  I cut her off, telling her, "He ate one pistachio."  "One pistachio?" as she looked down at my ailing son.  The absurdity of it seemed to ring with both of us, and at the same time, as his mother, the fragility of life hit me.  One silly pistachio. Without prompt and skillful medical care, it had the potential to take the life of my son.

Most mornings I can't predict where the course of the day will take me.  Some days I'm more surprised than others.

Good Friday - 2011

Once again, we were sick on Good Friday.  In fact, what had been a pretty classic flu for the rest of us, has developed into pneumonia for Isaac.  No wonder he spent Easter weekend in a lifeless little heap.  He's on antibiotics now, and hopefully the road to recovery too.  Prayers for my little sweetness are appreciated!

So on Good Friday Mr. Smith just worked in the morning, since we were all planning on going to the Stations of the Cross at church.  Once it became clear that we wouldn't all be going, Mr. Smith insisted that I go alone.  He knew how much I had been looking forward to it.  As I was walking out the door, Oliver decided he wanted to go with me, and I was so glad!

Our parish does a beautiful service of the Stations at noon on Good Friday, with reflections and music, and the kids from the youth group act out the Stations as we pray through them.  It's quite beautiful and moving, and I can't help but tear up every year.

We had Hot Cross buns, for lunch rather than breakfast, since I didn't start making the dough until 10:00 am or so :o).  They were delicious either way.  I'm still conflicted about having such a treat on a day of fasting and abstinence, but a tradition is a tradition.  The children enjoy them, and they're exempt from fasting anyway, and it's a good lesson for us grown-ups to only eat one instead of the three or four I would have liked to have eaten ;o).

We had a simple lentil soup and bread for dinner.

We also started the Divine Mercy Novena as a family.

Mr. Smith and I always watch The Passion on Good Friday evening, and this year was no exception.  However, with all the ups and downs of The-Week-of-Illness, I was wiped out, and am sorry to say I didn't even make it to the scourging.  Sleep was calling, and I gave in.

A Lent-ish Lent

Dear Mr. Smith,

I'm feeling... deflated.

This is the 7th straight day of sickness in the house.  Seven days of fevers, runny noses, coughing, complaining, lethargy.  Cleaning up unmentionable yuckiness when someone didn't make to where they should, cleaning it up again, and again.  Administering medication, ginger ale, cold washcloths, and love.  Seven days of waiting for the other shoe to drop, then watching the first one drop again, and then both shoes dropping over and over again.  Day seven of hoping this is the last of it, then realizing it isn't, and coming to terms with the long road ahead.  And it seems there was hardly a reprieve from the last round.

Many bodies make for long recoveries.

All this illness has made for an interesting Lent.

I had visions of reflective prayer, self-examination and diligent work, which all would have resulted in a deeper spiritual reality... and a super clean house, to welcome Jesus again at Easter.

Oh I've been praying alright.  It's just that it's been less of the rosary-in-the-peaceful-quiet-of-the-adoration-chapel variety, and more of the Lord-please-help-me-get-through-this-day variety.

Which, come to think of it, is actually kind of Lent-ish, isn't it?

I mean, what is Lent?  It's a period of fasting and penance.  A chance to prepare for the Crucifixion, and Resurrection, of our Lord.  A time to take up our cross, to test our strength and our faith.  To unite our suffering with Christ's.  To pray, to abstain, to give; and in the process, remember how much we need Him.

I've done that.

So maybe this Lent has been just what it should be.

Thoughtfully Yours,
Mrs. Smith

How We're (not) Celebrating

Warning:  The following statements may fall into the category of TMI.

Peyton started heaving his insides out on Tuesday overnight.

He continued most of the day yesterday.

I didn't do much St. Patrick's Day prep.

By this morning he was feeling much better.  I was able to run out and pick up a few things for shamrock shakes and limeade (and popsicles for Peyton), hoping to pull something festive together.

Then, this afternoon, Isaac's insides presented themselves to me on a silver platter.  (actually, on the kitchen floor.)  And about a dozen times over since.

I did start the day wearing green.  But that was at least 4 shirts ago.

More importantly though, our St. Patrick statue made it to our home altar, and we managed to read our St. Patrick books.

And in an effort to be grateful for ALL things God puts in my life (I am reading One Thousand Gifts, after all), I am finding things to thank Him for, even in the midst of unpredictable illness:

• for the ability to care for my children, and do it well
• for so many tummies that are healthy the vast majority of the time
• for humbling me to serve them, and, therefore, You
• for a safe, clean, comfortable home in which to endure illness
• for a husband who comes home and takes the baby so I can eat dinner with two hands
• for the slower pace and low expectations that come along with a sick day
• for my washer and dryer
• for faith...that a new day will come, and it will all be okay

So it isn't what I thought it would be, but it is good just the same.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, and blessings to you!

Is it Spring yet?

I don't even know how to define it anymore.
There have been running noses,
coughing,
throwing up,
terms from doctors like flu,
no, bronchitis,
or pneumonia,
more coughing,
and today,
more throwing up and...
a fever.
My kitchen counter
looks like
a pharmacy counter.
It has been weeks,
and weeks,
since I could say we were all healthy,
and still,
no end in sight.