That’s what we call it. The day Wit had a anaphylaxis reaction to milk. The day God spared my little boy. The day I will never forget.
All I wanted to do was have a little break from nursing this baby who ate every 2 hours so I could cook dinner. My dear friend was over and offered to feed him some formula I had bought.
The chicken on the stove, I remember her yelling to me that he was spitting up. The minute I entered his room and saw him I knew something was wrong. He had only had an ounce of formula. Immediately he began to puff up, and I had a feeling we didn’t have time for 911.
I threw Mia and Sadie in the car, while my friend held Wit, already having a hard time breathing.
Thankfully we live almost across the street from a hospital, because by the time I got there Wit wasn’t crying anymore.
As I drove like a crazy woman in 5 0’clock rush hour traffic I remember thinking I am losing my baby. I wasn’t crying. I was calm and focused; not until they had given him epi (3 in an hour to calm the reaction) and they were intubating him did I lose it as I cried like a baby calling my mother to tell her what had happen.
Once we made it to the hospital I knew he would be OK. A feeling of peace ran over me, but the 12 minutes from when I went back into his room to check on him to the car ride, to arriving at the ambulance entrance banging on the doors for someone to come help my baby, I live those moments over and over again in my head. My heart begins to race just now thinking about them. 12 minutes.
At the time we didn’t know milk was the culprit. It was the fear of the unknown. Knowing is so much better, but it is only the beginning.
If you eat a piece of cheese and kiss Wit he breaks out in a rash. He has horrible eczema. I carry an epi pen with me everywhere we go.
Sometimes I start to panic as I think of how he will ever be able to eat out, hang out with friends without his mother monitoring the food being consumed, and attend college one day where there is pizza everywhere!!!
Yes I know there is a SMALL chance he will grow out of it, but I pray every day he will. Either way my heart has been stolen by a sweat little boy name Whitman, and I thank God for the guardian angel he sent that day to protect him.