Living with a deadly allergy is a life of anxiety, fear, avoidance, and constant, constant vigilance. I read ingredient labels, I constantly scan the environment, I don't eat out at restaurants with peanuts on the menu or in the kitchen. This allergy affects every aspect of my life, all day, every day. I would do anything to help cure, or treat this awful condition. And the Monday before last, I did.
After an entire life of strict avoidance, I intentionally ate applesauce laced with peanut protein for the first time ever. I did it for science. I did it to help find a treatment, and maybe eventually a possible cure.
I consumed 44 milligrams of peanut protein. This is the equivalent of a little less than an eighth of a peanut. I became violently ill and went into anaphylactic shock. Had I not been in the hospital, I probably would have died. I vomited. I had diarrhea. My skin turned beat red and my entire body burned from the inside. I basically had Ebola for three hours.
The good doctors and nurses emptied their entire arsenal of emergency medication into my muscles and veins and managed to reverse the severe reaction.
I had come back from the brink of death again.
I printed out a piece of paper. It had photos of nine people. These people were young, and all beautiful. All of them are dead. They all died from accidentally eating peanuts. Fuck this awful disease. Nobody should have to die because they got hungry and ate the wrong food. Nobody should have to live like this, either.
The excruciating pain of an anaphylactic allergic reaction is almost indescribable. My palms, the entire surface of my body itched. My skin swelled up with welts all over my body. I turned red. I felt my body burning. I felt my throat swell up. That was exceptionally terrifying. I felt two injections of epinephrine, one in each arm. They didn't feel like anything, tiny little drops on an agonizing sea of fiery pain. I tasted the crystalline salty ice of the saline solution the nurse injected into my veins on the roof of my mouth. The medicine affected my perception. I lost track of what was happening, lost track of conversations, I was so sick, and confused. I remember drinking ice water. It was nice and soothing to drink while my body felt that it was on fire. I remember the nurses going with me when I had to go to the bathroom. I was very happy about that. I remember getting up out of the hospital bed and wanting to run away from the pain. But I was trapped in this swollen, red, reactive body. And then I had a panic attack. Or maybe it was the anaphylaxis affecting my consciousness with a sense of impending doom. I think that I suffered the most during this panic attack. Fear. Terror. Blind panic. Looking down at my hands, I saw that my fingers were swollen like sausages and I became overwhelmed with dread and anxiety greater than that I have ever known. My ring would not come off my finger. I was trapped in metal, being measured by instruments, and the medical team kept pumping more and more medicine in my IV. I was initially very disappointed in myself, for letting fear take over. The compassionate nurse iced my swollen fingers, and tried to keep me calm. I was very grateful that she was there helping me. On reflection, maybe the panic attack was my brain's way of squirting out more epinephrine to help reverse the reaction. My face was red hot. My neck and back boiled. Red welts covered my legs. My asthma flared up and it was a struggle to breathe. I took a couple of nebulizer treatments.
I won that battle. I emerged victorious. I did the thing that I fear the most.
Tomorrow, I have another food challenge. I eat more peanut protein. It's cool. I got this. I have emerged from this experience with a deep intuitive knowledge: I already went through the worst case scenario: eating peanut protein and violently going into anaphylactic shock. I tackled it, and I nailed it. Even if the worst case scenario happens again, I dealt with it once. My medical team and I can do that again if we had to.
We won this battle. We are poised and ready to win the war.