Tuesday, September 27, 2011

My Magic Bag


As many of you are aware, I am nervous about heading out because of my peanut allergy. I don’t dare say anything to Mr. Man as he in his own world of worry: leg room, muggings, directions… so he has enough on his plate. I cannot tell my mother – she’ll just get it all mixed up and think I DID have a reaction, and upset everyone. So instead, I will tell you!

At times I get really excited. I booked us broadway tickets, and mapped out all of things I (and Mr. Man) want to see. It’s true, he did say I could take him anywhere…but I’ll include a few things I think he will like!

But I have this shadow that follows me. It sits on the edge of my thoughts, waiting. We have no control over what is planned for us, do we? It could all be taken away at any moment. A car ride, a fall at the park, a dark stranger. I need to stay safe for the kids. The kids need to stay safe. Mr. needs to stay safe. So I have this constant fight with myself to have a relaxing time, to put the shadow to rest and trust that everything will be all right. Mr. says that's why we believe in a loving God. I do not have to be prepared for the worst all the time.

Funnily enough, I got my results from my sleep deprived EEG last week. I am (or my brain is) “essentially normal.” Whatever that means. Aren’t we all “essentially normal”? Is anyone normal?

Based on today's and last day's blogposts, I guess the EEG doesn’t measure the levels of being a nutter. I am, with all of my worrying and stressing, "essentially," a nutter.

So here I am packing for my trip to NYC. In my magic bag I have three epi-pens, one new pair of pants, new groovy running shoes and insoles for walking, one camera, batteries and SD cards, US cash for taxis, various maps, updated VISA card, passports, other ID, sunglasses and hair elastics.

Also inside my magic bag is a small pocket filled with neurosis that I will pull out, shake, and replace whenever needed. Drama tends to follow me, but I think my magic bag can handle it.

So here I go, clutching my bag full of adventure on one hand, and leading my big, handsome Mr. Man on the other. What fun!

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Bubble Girl


One of the scariest things about having a food allergy is travelling. When I woke up with amnesia a few years ago, one of the things my mom would do was put on a movie to ease the tension. I had short term and long term memory loss, so watching a movie that had nothing to do with my real life took our minds off everything for an hour or two. One of them was called, "Bubble Boy". It was the stupidest movie ever, but I loved it. And it is how I feel a lot.

In the movie, a teenage boy is allergic to everything and so his parents keep him in a plastic bubble to protect him from having a reaction. Eventually you find out his mother kept him in there longer than necessary, BUT it was so amazing to me that a writer could understand that people like me are actually out here, living in an invisible bubble.

The bubble, for those of you who do not understand, surrounds us and stretches out to only those places where we feel safe from harm. For example: my bubble extends its curve to MacDonald's and Denny's and, presently, Montana's (not in the past), but does not even brush against Asian food places, church potlucks, or Dairy Queen. If I go into any of these places, the bubble will break and I may have an allergic reaction. So I feel I miss out on a lot, and it makes me nervous to try new things and new places.

So this returns me to my opening sentence. Travelling is hard. How much food can I pack in my backpack that will sustain me if I am in a place that only sells Asian food (i.e. I am never going to China)? If I have three epi-pens, we can speak the language, and have enough fare for a taxi, how much time does that give us to hail a taxi, and get through traffic to the hospital? And what if the hospital is full? What if they won't treat me because I'm Canadian? And what if they tell my mother? She'll NEVER let me go out again. Back in the bubble.

And what if they won't let me bring my home-baked, peanut-free, soy-free food with me over the border? What if? What if?

Then, three times in one month I have a freak allergic reaction to something right here, within my safe places. The first, sitting in a family member's chair: I broke out in itchy hives. The second, using the wrong chocolate coating: again I broke out in hives, and had swollen eyes. And the third, at a friend's house my eye started itching and swelling. Only one of those times did we know what had caused the reaction.

So, if I am reacting to unknown things within my small world anyway, why not risk it in the big world? I know the Big Guy's got my back. And those three epi-pens I ordered will come in handy. AND I'm married to the best insurance broker in the world so he's got my back, too.

And, maybe I'll just have to bake the border patrol one of my delish red velvet cakes so they let me take all of other baked goods across with me :)

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Destructo-Boy


There once was a young man who was ready to leave home. His father lovingly patted him on the back and handed him an envelope containing all the money he and his wife had put away for him over the years.

"We are so proud of you, son, and we want to give you everything we can to help you start out your adult life. But now that you are an adult, the first thing to do is pay back your debts as soon as possible."

And with that, he took the envelope, opened it and pulled out bill after bill, reciting, "This is for the dent in the car...the scrapes on the bathroom wall, the broken window...your mother's broken necklace...." He listed item after item until his son had paid him back for all the things he'd either broken or lost.

When finished, he lovingly patted his son on the back, handed him the envelope and walked away.

The bewildered boy who had been through such a change in emotions in such a short time, glanced down at the envelope to find one twenty dollar bill left for his future.

My son's alter ego is Destructo-Boy. I may have mentioned this before. It appeared when he was four-years-old and has taken over his brain. My sweet, tender-hearted little one has purposely pulled things apart, scissored up lawn chairs, exploded tubes of bathroom products, scratched walls, furniture, etc...having absolutely no reason to do so.

I like to think he has a scientific brain, with an overwhelming desire to see "what if?" "What if I stick my fork in the table and pull?" "What if I draw with permanent marker under the livingroom rug?" "What if I paint my sister's face with nail polish?"

Sometimes things happen by accident; I'll give him that. Once, as a punishment, I had him hand wash the dishes (one chore I despise). Unfortunately, the drying rack tipped over and three of my rarely-been-used wedding plates smashed on the floor. He burst into tears, and there was nothing I could do but sigh, hug him and send him on his way. It was, simply, an accident.

In fact, yesterday, with his brand new go-cart, he drove into the side of the house. Luckily, he only broke a large flower pot (one I really liked, mind you) but he was devastated and wailed uncontrollably. Again, I could only sigh, reassure him and send him on his way. Again, it was, simply, an accident.

Unconsciously, though, I was listing all the things he'd broken on purpose, including the couch cushion I had just found a few minutes before, redecorated in marker.

If he'd had any kind of inheritance, I thought, it would surely be halfway spent by now, only at age seven.

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