Our Allergy Story

I had always been vaguely aware of the potential fatal factor of food allergies. Growing up I had a cousin who was allergic to peanuts (he was one of the small percentage that outgrow them) and when we ran the youth group at our church I made it a policy that peanuts would not be allowed in the snack pool. I was trained in how to use an Epi-pen when we got our CPR certification and had a rough idea of what to look for in an anaphalactic reaction. 

When I became pregnant with our son, we prayed that he would not be allergic to any foods.

Will turned one and we began to introduce the various allergens that he hadn't been previously exposed to. For the first few months, he didn't seem to have any reactions; he loved eggs, he loved things with almonds in them, seemed to like fish, and never seemed to have any issues with milk, wheat, or soy. 

Whenever we gave him a peanut product of any kind, however, he turned his nose up at it. He didn't have a reaction that we could see, so we kept exposing him to peanut products in the hopes that we would avoid the allergic reaction. 

Will at 16 months - roughly when he was diagnosed with food allergies. 

Early that September, my teething toddler did not want to eat anything for breakfast. I tried all his favorites - eggs, oatmeal, raisin bran - nothing was capturing his interest. In a last-ditch effort, I made him a piece of toast with a very thin layer of peanut butter and jelly on it. 

He took a bite and then rubbed his eyes and face. Within seconds and before swallowing, he had three hives on the side of his face, a runny nose, and his eyes were getting puffy.

I reacted quickly because I knew what could potentially come next. I swept the toast out of his mouth and took the rest of it out of his hands and off the high chair. I wiped his eyes, his tongue, his face, and his hands three times. It was a Saturday, so I placed a call to the pediatrician's paging service and woke up my husband while I waited for the call-back as to what we should do. 

When we got the call, we were advised to give him a half-teaspoon of Benedryl and monitor him closely to make sure there would continue to be no issues breathing. Of course we had no Benedryl in the house because at less than 18 months, I didn't think Will was old enough or big enough to be able to take any yet. I drove as fast as I could to the pharmacy while Steve sat with Will and the phone on stand-by to call 911 if he needed to.

By the time I got back with the Benedryl, the reaction had mostly passed and was limited to just a runny nose. I gave him the dosage and waited with my husband to watch and make sure that our son, our small baby boy, was all right. 

That Monday we brought him in to see our pediatrician who advised that we should wait a couple of weeks and then introduce to peanut butter again in a small amount to see if there was a reaction. At that point, he said, we would pursue an allergist. This was an answer that didn't seem right to us, so we made an appointment with an allergist that came highly recommended to us while we waited and continued to avoid peanut products. 

A prick test showed that our little Will is allergic to peanuts and walnuts. We went home with a prescription for an Epi-pen Junior and an allergy action plan. 

Panera with peanut & treenut allergies? Tough one with a little one...

I'm a lover of peanut butter and walnuts. 

I was sad as I threw away jars of peanut butter and bags of walnuts. I silently mourned at the ice cream stand when I couldn't order maple walnut ice cream and got jealous the first time my husband came home and stripped in the basement to wash his clothes because he'd had a peanut butter cookie at work. I stomped my feet internally when we realized we couldn't go to our favorite sandwich shop anymore because they had maple walnut scones in the wide open on their sample table. That first Christmas when the Reeses peanut butter trees came out and I couldn't have my annual indulgence because Will was always with me. 

Then one day, my heart changed. Because really, when you realize that these seemingly harmless foods could mean potential death to your child - it has to.

I realized that I could become an advocate for my son and for others with potentially fatal food allergies. I could use my influence with our family and friends to raise awareness of what it's like to manage food allergies and how they could help keep my son and others like him safe. 

15 million Americans manage and live with food allergies. I say "manage and live with" and not "suffer" because anyone who knows Will knows he is far from a suffering child. In fact, everyone I've ever met with a food allergy is not exactly someone that I would say is "suffering". They live happy lives, they play, they laugh, they enjoy lots and lots of different and delicious foods. 

It is a scary reality that food allergic people and their caretakers live with, however, that a bite of the wrong food could close their throat, constrict their breathing, and send them to the emergency room in an ambulance - something that happens every 6 minutes in the US. It makes beach outings, dinners out, birthday parties, playgrounds - all things that are normal - a nerve-wracking experience sometimes. 

Growing up and learning how to manage his allergy.
He always reminds me "Mom, no peanuts or treenuts!" when we go out to eat.

I have become the mom that asks the other moms to make sure their kids don't have peanut butter sandwiches at playdates.

I have become the mom that carries an Epi-pen everywhere - even when I have the non-allergic child - just incase. 

I have become the mom that dives at other people's kids at playgrounds when they eat a granola bar and come near my son. 

I have become the mom that prays for treatment that can desensitize people from food allergies. 

I have become the mom that writes blogs to help raise awareness of what it's like to live with food allergies and how others can be a support and a help.

And there are, by the way, simple things that you can do to help those with food allergies.

Does your kid have a peanut butter for snack or lunch at the playground? Make sure they sit still while they eat it. Wipe their hands and face thoroughly before releasing them to play again, and wipe down the table where they were sitting. 

Does your kid go to school or daycare? Help them understand the importance of hand washing. Help them to understand the importance of staying in one spot while they have their lunch to make sure that allergens don't spread. Make sure the teachers are creating an environment that's safe for everyone - even if your child doesn't have food allergies themselves. 

Help to raise awareness by sharing blog posts like this one or other posts about food allergies. Talk to moms of kids with food allergies to learn what it's like and how you can help. 

Learn how to use an Epi-pen incase a friend's child has a reaction while they have stepped away to the bathroom or to care for another child.

Protect your own allergic children by working to educate them, make sure you bring safe foods with you everywhere you go, and become their strongest advocate.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I say it takes a village to protect them as well. Learn what you can about food allergies and become a part of the village.

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Other posts I've written about food allergies include...

Will's First Made Up Super-Hero - A story about when Will protected me from peanuts & treenuts

Cookie Recipe - A recipe for "I Can't Believe It's Not Peanut Butter" cookies; they use sunbutter and are delicious!

Food Allergies & Walt Disney World - Our experience at Walt Disney World resort dealing with food allergies. A MUST READ if you or someone you know with allergies are heading to Disney!

Allergy Party Guide for the Non-Allergy Crowd - How you can work to put together a party that will keep those with allergies safe. Includes helpful tips for buffet setting and how to keep little ones safe from potential allergens.

When the Arrival is Different

It seems that there's a month, a day, or a week for everything these days. National Siblings Day, National Hot Dog Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day, Wear Green Underwear Day... well, that last one I made up.

Maybe it exists though.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that April is National C-Section Awareness month, and while I'm not usually one to really line up in solidarity or support or whatever of these sort of things - this one is very near and dear to my heart. 

Both of my children were born via c-section.

Me pregnant with Will, 3 years ago yesterday, just about 38-39 weeks.

Even though I've said that out loud dozens of times, somehow typing it in the context of this post just made me pause and choke up a little bit. 

When we were pregnant with my son (and yes, I said "we" - my husband suffered through the pregnancy and don't kid yourself ladies, your spouse suffered too), I remember distinctly having this feeling on my heart that it was going to end in a c-section. God knows the whole story, the whole picture, and even though I sat through birthing classes and took notes and practiced breathing and did all my kegels... He was emotionally preparing me for what the end was really going to look like. 

At my 39 week appointment, I found out that the swelling I had been experiencing was due to a sudden spike in my blood pressure. I didn't have pre-eclampsia, but it was still alarming; I had put on 25-30 pounds in 3ish weeks, all water weight. After two non-stress tests and an overnight urine collection (that was fun), we were induced on our due date. 

I wasn't even a little dilated. The word my OB used was "pristine" to describe my cervix. 

24 hours passed and I still hadn't started contracting. I was barely dilated. The pitocin drip was started. After several more hours my water still hadn't broken; it wasn't until my OB threatened to force the issue that my water broke on its own around hour 36. An hour later I had my epidural. By hour 48 I was still only 4-5 cm dilated and it had been about 8 hours since Will's heart rate was recovering post-contraction they way that it should have been. 

50.5 hours later, Will received his official eviction notice. 

I was wheeled into the OR and I was scared. I had never had a major surgery before and even though God had been preparing my heart for this since the first time I had heard my son's heartbeat - I was still scared. I'm not sure if it was the chill of the OR, the anesthesia/morphine mix, or my nerves that had me shaking so badly on the table... probably all three. 

My husband just kept whispering Joshua 1:9 in my ear while squeezing my hand, a quiet and calming reminder from my teammate: "Be strong and courageous, God is with you... be strong and courageous, God is with you..." 

At 11:08 AM that day, Will was born.

In the recovery room with my little man Will.

I didn't get to push. He wasn't placed on my chest for immediate skin to skin and he didn't get his first milk against my bosom until about an hour later in our recovery room. 

I wasn't the first non-medical person to hold him. The first glance I got of my son was two nurses holding him towards me while they rushed him to get cleaned and warm and washed up. And while I am SO glad that Steve got the opportunity to be in the room while he was getting prepped and washed and got to help the nurses and give them his name...

...for about two years, there was a part of me that always mourned my textbook, perfect birthing momma moment that never happened. 

In my story and in every story I've heard of a first c-section, no one ever says that they wanted it to be that way. Even though God prepared my heart and I knew in my gut that it would be my story, a part of me was really looking forward to pushing, to having that moment of messy baby on my chest right out of the birthing canal. To have Steve cuddle into us and put his arm around me and our son and to have that be our story.

Instead my story was a cuddle on my net-covered head while I awkwardly held my son on the OR table for a brief moment until I was ready to be moved. 

A new baby and my first major surgery all in one day.

I couldn't stand up and change those first meconium diapers of grossness that they tell you about. Steve got the pleasure of changing those. It was almost 2 days before I was able to stand up over Will's crib and 3 days before I had the confidence to pick him up out of it myself without dropping him. Walking to the bathroom and showering were pains worse than the contractions before I got my epidural. 

Daddy and his firstborn son snuggled up in the hospital.

Two years of mourning what wasn't. My friends were having their babies and coming home and while they were sore, they weren't under the same doctors orders I was of no lifting and not being able to drive. They didn't come home with scripts for narcotic pain killers. They didn't have scars across their abdomens, a reminder of those moments I had yearned for and missed out on. 

It didn't matter that God had prepared my heart. I wanted normal. I forgot for a minute that my son was a miracle that wasn't supposed to happen, and mourned the loss of my textbook delivery that I knew wasn't to be.

When I was pregnant with Evie, even though our doctor said I could be a good candidate for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-Section), we decided that the blood pressure and induction process were too great a risk and that we would opt for the c-section again. 

I'm glad we did. My blood pressure spiked again, this time a week earlier at just about 38 weeks and with proteins indicative of early pre-eclampsia. One week and one day before our scheduled surgery date, we found ourselves scrambling to get a place for Will and mentally prepare ourselves for the arrival of our daughter a bit sooner than we thought. There as no deliberating about whether or not we should induce; because I had already chosen surgery - surgery was the answer.

It was as my doctor and I made the decision for Evie to come early that I finally found the peace from the guilt and sadness I had been carrying with me from Will's delivery. In that OR as Evie was delivered, I wasn't scared anymore and I wasn't upset as I heard her cries, watched her get cleaned and wrapped, and that first awkward hold with those bright eyes was my beautiful moment instead of a guilt-filled one.

Welcoming baby Evangeline to the world... chubby cheeks and all!

This was to be my story. God had prepared my heart for it, and it's OK that this is my story. 

My children were born healthy. I survived the deliveries. I am not convinced that would have been the story of my first pregnancy if it had played out "naturally". 

My friend that wrote her post acknowledging C-Section Awareness month and sharing her story noted that c-section mommas are - among other things she said - brave. 

Brave. 

I never really thought of it that way. But I guess it's true. Brave people look at a situation that could be full of fear and they conquer it. 

When I think back to that first surgery with Will, lying in the OR... I can tell you that the last thing I felt in those moments was bravery and courage. I didn't feel strong. I felt exhausted, I felt scared.

My husband was the brave one that day. He found himself in an OR with his wife on the table praying that his unborn son would be okay and healthy after 8-10 hours of his heart rate not recovering properly. He had to hold himself together while I had my eyes closed just praying that God let my son be OK and trying not to lose my mind. 

He was the brave one. 

I had no courage. I had to have God give it to me. And He did. But it wasn't mine, it was His courage and bravery I had that first delivery. 

With Evie, I was much more confident. I was much more "Let's conquer this thing, bad blood pressure will not win!" and determined. I wasn't scared that day. That day I could argue I was brave. 

"Be strong and courageous, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Will meeting his baby sister for the first time. 

It's the 27th of the month and it's taken me this long to be able to write this post. There are so many emotions that come up when I think through the births of my children, as is the case with so many moms out there. Everything I've read about the reasons for this month existing is to bring awareness to the rising rates and how we can avoid them and head towards a target c-section rate... and I think that looking at it in such a sterile way bypasses the hearts of the women who have had c-sections and are thankful for the surgery.

I am grateful for the doctors and their expertise and judgment. While they never said that we were in a life-threatening situation, I know it wasn't an ideal one and I know other moms who most certainly WERE in life-threatening situations that they - and their babies - would not have made it without having emergency c-sections.

I would say that I am sufficiently aware, and I hope that most other people are too. I am glad there is a time to highlight this though, and I hope that others feel the freedom that I now feel almost 3 years after the birth of my son.

My scar is no longer something that I look at with sadness or guilt. When I see my scar now, I see the pathway my beautiful children took to get into this world. I see the wisdom and skill of doctors who think of the best interest of women and babies day in and day out.

I see the bravery of my husband, I see the growth of bravery in myself.

I see our family.

I see love.

I see God.

Our little family - January 2015

Hard Work?

Three years ago this month, I weighed 225.6 lbs and felt terrible. I was lethargic, didn't enjoy physical activity (but was reminiscent of when I did as a kid), and ate too much food - too much of which was poor quality.

Three years ago this month, Steve and I made a commitment to change our health & our lifestyle. I now reside in the 145-149 range, 75-80 lbs lighter than I used to be. I ran in a 5K last year and hope to do at least one more this fall. My blood sugar levels have stabilized and neither Steve nor I have any cholesterol issues any longer. I dropped from a size 20 in denial (I wore an 18 out of protest) to a size 10, sometimes an 8 depending on the article of clothing. Three years later - I'm still not at the ideal weight that my doctors would like to see me at ultimately, but I keep working at it even though I am at a plateau and my doctors are generally pleased with where my health is at. Steve and I feel fantastic.

A question we're commonly asked: What's your secret? How did you do it?

In the age of the obesity epidemic & millions of quick-fix/short-cuts to losing weight, we decided to give it a whirl the old-fashioned way and see if doctors were full of crap or not. We changed our diet habits and started to exercise. As the pounds started to melt off, we celebrated small milestones (200! 175! 150! Holy crap I weigh less and look better than I did in high school!) and kept plugging along. We've been through periods of counting every. single. calorie that has gone into our bodies and now know the secrets to resetting our bodies after a vacation. We go to the gym 5 days/week at least and just recently bought bikes to get out and ride after work and on the weekends. Through commitment and hard work, our lifestyle has completely changed - completely for the better.

So why am I telling you this? 

Recently our good friend John gave his first sermon and in it he talked about faith. I was pumped for him; he serves in the youth ministry alongside us and I knew his energy would lend for a great message that morning. In the middle of his sermon, he started talking about today's Western Culture looking for immediate fixes and how when people want to lose weight there are those who will work for it with diet & exercise, and then there are those who will sit on the couch watching TV using one of those contraptions that are supposed to give you a six-pack while you do nothing.

Then he said this statement that has stuck with me since Sunday:

"Jesus is NOT an 'Ab Zapper'!"

This has stuck with me all week because it felt like God had grabbed my head and pointed it up at John at that exact moment. I realized with that statement that too often I approach my relationship with Jesus much as our culture tends to approach dieting. I have my salvation, I rest in that... but maybe too comfortably. I don't always follow the spiritual disciplines the way I should... sometimes I forget to rely on Jesus as the leader in my life and instead trust myself. Sometimes I am not good at communicating with Him through prayer, and I'm going to openly admit here and now that I am terrible about keeping up with my scripture readings.

I need to be approaching my relationship with Jesus with the same drive, desire, and discipline as I approached weight loss. Until I have the same habit-changes in my spiritual life that I now have with my weight change lifestyle, I need to be engaging in habit-changing behaviors that point me on the path that gets me closer to Jesus. And like I was able to have Steve as a partner when things got tough in weight loss, I look to him to encourage me in my spiritual disciplines as well - and vice versa. At the end of the day, I will not see the kind of deep relationship with Jesus that I know in my heart that I long for if I do not chase after it hard all the time.

At the end of the day, I have no good answer to the question "why haven't I been as disciplined in my spiritual journey as I was in my weight loss journey?". I have only myself to blame for that, I know what it takes to have hard work & perseverance pay off in a big way. I need to stop facing my relationship with Jesus like most of America faces the prospect of attaining a healthy lifestyle. After all, spiritual health is a big part of total health - arguably THE biggest.

I'm SO Not a...

For years and years, I always said "I am so not a runner."

I remember very clearly when I was in drum corps and we'd have to do laps around the school. I was almost always the last one to finish, and while the encouraging cheers and good-jobs from my corps-mates were nice - it always felt awkward to be last. I never participated in track & field days, and the one time I did was the 50-yard dash. I got a ribbon for 4th place... out of 5. I'm pretty sure the 5th kid tripped.

So needless to say - I always said I am so not a runner.

Sometime last year I decided I wanted to give running/jogging another try. I don't know what moved me to this decision, but I put on my sneakers at the gym and got on the treadmill. I alternated between 2 minutes walking and 1-2 minutes jogging at first, and felt great. Over time, I took that walking/jogging routine outside when I could and at the beginning of the year I made one of my 2010 goals to state that I would participate in and complete a 5K race. Somewhere in the middle of April or May I realized that if I was going to do this, I needed to take my feet outside and get used to jogging on pavement (it's harder - I think - to run on pavement than a treadmill because the latter offers less resistance and helps you move).

Then we bought a house, and for a while exercise in general - never mind race preparations and getting used to jogging on pavement - went by the wayside.

The last couple of weeks I've made sure that once per week I get outside and literally pound the pavement. I've discovered three things doing this:

1) I need new sneakers if I'm going to be running outside. The ones I have are... well... they're good for using an arc trainer or dancing in a Zumba class, but they're getting a bit worn for running.

2) The more I run outside, the better I've gotten. I push myself a little bit harder each time, and I'm getting further. Last week I did 2.12 miles in 29 minutes, this week I did 2.25 miles in 30. It's improvement - and I like it!

3) I'm (slowly) becoming a jogger. Not sure about "runner" yet, but I think I could get there at some point.

That's right. I said it. I'm becoming a runner/jogger. When I got home this morning from my jog/walk - I was sweaty. My muscles were tired. I was breathing heavy. But it felt GOOD. I had a flashback to when I was at the hospital in back in high school to get a stress sprain on my ankle looked at and the doctor asked me if I was a runner.

"Psh. No," was my flat response.

He looked pensive. "Huh. Wow. People with internal tibial rotation* usually are good runners. You should try sometime, you might be surprised."

Well... Doctor-whose-name-I-can't-recall... thanks. You were right, and I am surprised that I actually enjoy my time outside with the sun on my face, iPod music in my ears, pushing myself to jog a little bit further between each period of walking. More importantly - thanks for reminding me not to write myself off, think I can't do something, and underestimate my own capability.

I CAN do it. I WILL do it. I AM doing it. 

 I'm SO becoming a jogger.

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*Side note: Internal Tibial Rotation is a condition I was born with that makes my lower legs (tibias) turn in. I wore corrective shoes for a while as a kid. Pay attention next time you see me walk, I bet you notice now that I pointed it out.

Balancing the Diet Budget

Those that know me personally know that about a year and a half ago, I started out on a journey to lose a whole mess of weight. So far I've lost about 65 pounds and have another 20-25 left to go; I have to say that I feel the best I have ever felt.

Part of this process has been recognizing certain things about how I eat and how I have eaten my entire life. To this point, the biggest focus of my diet has been calorie restriction. This means that I have not paid a ton of attention to what I eat but instead have just been eating a heck of a lot LESS of it. This combined with exercise has drastically helped me to lose the first 65 pounds. It's also taught me a lot about foods that are better for you than others as well as the fine art and smart practice of reading food labels. I've learned what appropriate portions look like (as in an actual serving of pasta instead of the American idea of a serving) and how to cook just enough for one or two people. It's been a great experience.

All of that said, there are several things I have NOT been paying attention to in this process - namely the amount of fat, sugar, sodium, and cholesterol I have been taking in. Then yesterday I had a rude awakening when I was looking over my Livestrong for the day. My sugar count was as 399% of my recommended for someone trying to lose 2 lbs/week at my current weight.

That's right... sugar count at 93 grams. And look at how low my fat & cholesterol are! Bad - you betcha. That was before dinner which was Chili Mac... which surely would have raised some of those low numbers, but more sugar surely would have been added in the pasta and chili.

Needless to say - this was the slap in the face I needed. My family has a history of diabetes and so a reduction is necessary for me to stay healthy long term. My diet is not terribly well balanced - clearly - so some changes need to be made in order for me to get on the track I want to be on.

I immediately went through the list and found the heavy hitters for sugar and thought of ways that I could lower my sugar intake. The biggest culprit was the yogurt I was eating. The prepackaged, preflavored yogurt I had yesterday offered up 29 grams of sugar - which is over the recommended for my pre-exercise calorie limit! By going to the store and buying plain yogurt, fresh strawberries to mix in, and flavoring it by adding vanilla & cinnamon I decreased the sugar count to 10.1 grams - a 19 gram reduction! Another heavy hitter is the granola bar that I chose for myself this week; it offers up 13 grams of sugar per serving. Next week when I'm out of granola bars, I'll be switching this out to one serving of nuts instead (probably almonds or cashews - yum!).

Here is what today's totals look like after adjusting my almond milk (unsweetened vanilla instead of sweetened), switching the yogurt, and making sure the sugar count in my lunch was under 10 grams:

This is before dinner, but as you can see I'm about 35 grams down from yesterday - which is a positive move! My sodium is pretty darn high, but that's due to the can of soup I had for lunch today (gotta love the high sodium in canned soup... or something... chug chug chug the water!). Next week I'll be making further adjustments to raise the low and decrease the high, but overall as I move into the homestretch of my weight loss I'm excited to be balancing my diet and becoming more and more aware of the things that I eat.

What do you do to keep your diet balanced?