Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Losing Lent

I began this season of Lent with lofty goals – 30 additional minutes of Bible-reading per day, and a dietary-makeover along the lines of the Daniel Plan. (A whole-person health plan created by Pastor Rick Warren and friends – check it out.) I was cutting out all caffeine and sugar, as well as doing a 10 day dairy and gluten detox. The first couple of days I was pretty grumpy without my morning coffee, but I was really enjoying all the fresh fruit smoothies. The extra Bible reading was good too – I had interesting reading plans by Nicky Gumbel and Eugene Peterson. After one week I was going strong.

Suddenly everything else fell away when I had to rush to emergency with my seven-year-old. He had an allergic reaction at school and needed adrenaline, antihistamines and steroids. The first couple of hours were tense and gut-wrenching. When he was stable the doctors told me that Jude would need to stay in the hospital for 24-48 hours. After he finished work, my husband came to stay with Jude so I could run home and pack an overnight bag with some clothes and things to keep us occupied.

When I left the hospital I had been caffeine, sugar and dairy-free for seven days, but now I was in crisis. It had been a few hours since the ambulance ride, where I watched my son’s oxygen mask kick in and the injection of adrenaline subside. My fear had created a massive rush of adrenaline of my own, now I was crashing and fading. I was exhausted. I needed to keep it together and not only stay awake, but stay brave and strong for my seven-year-old who could’ve died that day. I wanted a coffee.

I had a quick decision to make – do I continue on my elimination diet, trying to stay gluten & dairy-free while eating at the hospital cafeteria for the next few days, I’m sure I could find some carrot sticks, or do I call it a good seven days and leave it for now? My weak will was certainly leaning toward scrapping the whole thing, at least for a coffee, but I prayed “God, please sustain me. Let me know what to do.” I sensed Him saying “set it aside.”

I wearily, intentionally and gratefully went to Timmy’s to get a latté. Okay, I had a couple of Timbits too. But I didn’t have 12. I didn’t scarf down a box of donuts or buy a dozen chocolate bars. I decided not to throw the baby away with the bathwater. ‘Cause I’ve done it before. I’ve been at this juncture – one slip up and I abandon the whole thing. I plan to exercise, then miss two days in a row. Ah well, might as well forget exercising at all.  I promise to write in my journal every day. A few days go by and I toss the journal behind the bookshelf. Baby. Bathwater.

As I sipped on my coffee and thought about my decision to cease my detox and diet plan, I realized this had nothing to do with Lent. Yes, it was about God – I wanted to upgrade the temple He gave me and honour Him with my actions. But it wasn’t about Lent. The detox part was really about looking for hidden food allergies. Even the 30 minute Bible plan was something I committed to do for the month of March, starting four days before Lent. These changes to my behaviour were on the surface Lentish, they intersected and overlapped with Lent, but that’s not why I chose to do them.  I didn’t spend time with God in prayer about what to do for Lent, I just did what I was going to do anyway. What was the point in being Pharisaical about my plans when they weren’t even God-ordained? Was I just cleaning the outside of the cup?

 So I got my caffeine fix with a little less guilt, grateful for the setting aside. I even giggled a little when breakfast for my seven-year-old arrived in the morning, complete with a cup of coffee. (He was happy to let me have it. After a night on a lumpy cot with one eye open, I was happy for the kick start to the day.) The mostly sleepless night gave me ample time for prayer, and I had good Bible-reading time while Jude ate his breakfast.

But there was a nagging guilt, small, slightly tugging at the corners… why didn’t I trust that God would be my strength? Was I too quick to hear what I wanted from Him?  Was my will so weak? Did I go to Him in prayer right away, or worry first? I pondered all these things, and brought them before the Lord, wondering if I had just “lost” Lent. But maybe I had just found Lent in this self-examination. Of all the traditional disciplines of Lent, self-examination has probably been the hardest for me to embrace.

So now, as Jude and I are back at home, and I know that whatever I do or don’t do for Lent, I do it for God and with God. So I am spending time getting to know myself, asking myself the hard questions about my faith, my fears. And as I patiently, coaxingly wait for the answers, I am thankful that in almost losing Lent, God is helping me to find myself.  

"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean. Matthew 23.25-26

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. Luke 11.9-10











Thursday, March 13, 2014

Dread

The dread. Every mother has it. Some have it stuffed so far below the surface that they rarely let themselves feel it. Some let it run wild, colouring every moment with worry. Some have found a nice balance of healthy fear and relaxed trust.
Every moment your kids are out of your sight there is some level of fear that something bad will happen to them. When they are at school, at a friend's house, at the park, at hockey practice. There is a split-second alarm when the phone rings. What if something happened to my child? Like the fear of the phone call in the middle of the night... What if... What if...
My call came on Tuesday. 
...It is my husband - the school just phoned him. His first words are "He is okay." Meant to calm my worry, my heart leaps into my throat as he explains, "They had to give Jude his epipen. He had a reaction but he is okay. Go to the school. The ambulance is on its way." My worst fear... anaphylaxis.
Should I go straight to the hospital? What if I miss the ambulance? I don't want him to ride in it alone...I know the terror of the throat closing, breathing thick and strained. I know the fear of the needle - the injection of the adrenaline. I know the power of the adrenaline - shaking, heart racing. Fear on top of fear. He is my son. Only seven. The thought of him going through this pierces my heart.
I race to the school, park my van behind the fire truck and run into the school. He is surrounded by medics and staff, seeming to all talk at once. "He was so pale." "It was an accident." "He asked for his epipen." "He was so brave." "We're taking him to the hospital." "He asked if he was going to die. “I’m sorry." I just want to take him in my arms and hold him forever.
In the ambulance they hook him up to a bunch of machines. They check his oxygen saturation level, blood pressure, temperature, other things I'm not sure about. As we hurry to the hospital, I try to swallow my panic, I remember the other ambulance trips... the last one with Jude was longer - two hours to a larger hospital when he was almost intubated to treat his extreme asthma attack. The first ride was with his older brother Sasha, as he struggled to breath after eating eggs at age two. I try to refocus, listen to the paramedic.
She explains that the reaction seems to be in his upper airway - he ingested particles of the peanut that triggered the anaphylaxis.  He needs the oxygen mask and Benadryl, but he is out of the initial danger of anaphylactic shock.  I explain his medical history – hives and vomiting when he accidentally eats eggs or dairy. His asthma. Eczema. No, he’s never eaten peanuts. Yes, he always carries his epipen, inhalers and Benadryl.  
We arrive at the hospital. Jude is calm - his heart has stopped the adrenaline-induced pounding. The oxygen mask is helping his breathing relax. He tells me he prayed. I promise him he is not going to die. 
We stay in the hospital overnight. He is okay. He gets a two doses of Prednisone and another prescription for when we are discharged. He needs to be medicated and monitored for 72 hours, as there is a chance of a second reaction.
Eventually I hear the whole story. One of his classmates had a puffed wheat square made with peanut butter in her lunch by accident. He didn’t touch the square, he wasn’t sitting near it. His throat started to close and he asked for his epipen. His face was pale and his eyes were glassy. As scary as this incident was, there are positives:
I am thankful that he has a healthy fear of his allergies. He knows he can die because of a peanut. (A would-be aunt neither of us had the pleasure to meet died of an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts.) But now he has survived a reaction, and knows he doesn’t have to die if he uses his auto-injector and gets to a hospital.
I am thankful that he knows the allergy protocol. The teachers said as soon as he began to react he stayed calm and asked for his epipen. He knows when to ask for his inhalers. He always wears his MedicAlert bracelet and asks about ingredients before he eats anything.
I am thankful that the school reacted quickly and correctly. They did not hesitate to administer the epipen, and they called 911 and my husband right away. They have a no-nut policy that they do their best to enforce.
I am thankful that this episode will bring about more awareness about allergies. It is something our family is all too familiar with, but there are lots of people who need to learn and keep learning about the dangers of food allergies.
But the dread is still there. His allergy is so severe that he doesn’t even need to touch a peanut to have a reaction. It is scary that what is healthy to some is deadly to him. Peanuts are a poison that parade as food. Same for me, same for Sasha. None of us know when our time on earth will end, but the three of us, and millions of other allergic individuals, know that our time could come disguised as dinner.
So I read labels, ask questions, pray, tell my kids to keep vigilant, trying to reduce the danger and the dread. And I ask you to do the same. To keep my dread down. And to keep Jude’s hopes up.