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.

Referee Mom - my perspective

It can be difficulty to watch our kids take centre stage, or centre ice. We find ourselves holding our breathe as we hope for the right note, the right line, or the right pass. It’s not that we will be disappointed or less proud if our child makes a mistake, rather we are taking on their self-worth – hoping that their often fragile egos are untouched by embarrassment or shame. I have seen my kids shine in their public appearances, and I have seen them stumble. I watched the crowd cheer and laugh as one son hammed his way through a school play. I heard the congregation gasp in horror as another son dropped the cross the first time he served as crucifer in church.

Hockey life is no exception. We want our kids to do their best and have fun, but our human nature craves that they do well in the eyes of others.  That they don’t mess up. It can be difficult to rise above this desire of the flesh and accept mis-steps and mistakes. The first time I watched my now 11-year-old son Sasha play in net I was a basket case. I was so nervous for him – afraid the shots would be more than he could handle. Afraid of what his teammates would think if they didn’t win. Afraid of what the parents would say if he let in a soft one. I was fiercely protective of his self-worth – I wanted him to know deep in his soul that his best was enough, that I would always be proud of him. Thankfully he is blessed with a healthy self-confidence and a fun-loving spirit. He stays cool under pressure. Last season there was lots of pressure – his team was strong and they won the provincial final in their division. The boys were very determined to come out on top.  But some of the parents were over the top. Some took these games of nine and ten-year olds way too seriously. I tried to bite my tongue and send up prayers for patience and mercy as I listened to adults berate children. I just about bit my tongue clean off when one of the siblings in the crowd lamented to her mother, “Oh no, Sasha is in goal today.” I can’t fault her - she was simply a sponge soaking up her parents’ attitudes and voicing their criticisms. It was a harsh reminder of how we shape and affect the attitudes and beliefs of our kids for better or for worse.

If I thought being a goalie mom was a challenge, I was hardly prepared for the stress of being a referee mom. The first game my oldest son Finn reffed was probably harder for me than it was for him. I knew he was prepared – he completed the officiating clinic and tests, he had played hockey for years, he watched games, read the Hockey News, memorized stats and discussed the game with anyone who would listen. He was fully qualified and ready to go. But I knew how referees were treated – I wanted to put him into a bubble to deflect anything that could potentially hurt him. Even if he made all the best calls, someone would be upset. I’ve watched and cheered enough minor hockey and NHL games to know that even the most trained and eagle-eye officials are taunted, jeered and blamed for bad calls, non-calls, biases and blunders.

My son was reffing six and seven-year-olds, hardly NHLers… maybe the fans would be more forgiving? Sadly not. During that first game I was treated to a rant about the poor officiating from one of the player’s grandmas, a woman I went to church with no less! When I am a hockey mom I am easier to identify – sitting with the rest of the team parents cheering on the kids. As a referee mom I am camouflaged – it’s not like I wear a black and white striped jersey and shout “Great call! Way to go ref!” from the stands. So there is no filter from the complaints and criticism. I get to hear it all. It can be heart-breaking.

As a minor hockey parent I, along with all the other parents, am required to complete an online course, Respect in Sport. It teaches the importance of good sportsmanship as a player, parent and coach. We are told that in no uncertain terms that we are not to rebuke anyone in the game – not the players, not the coaches, not the referees. But all this positive teaching seems to fly out the window in the heat of competition. Apparently kind and caring neighbours and friends turn into armchair officials and seem to forget all the lip service to fun and encouragement. The refs become targets. Even 13-year-olds. Many coaches and parents bully and berate officials for their call of the game. And guess what their kids learn to do? And the cycle continues.

So what are we to do? Well, we are called to live out our faith in thought, word and deed. Love our neighbour as ourselves. Acting with integrity, compassion and honour in the arena isn’t always easy, but it goes a long way to model good behaviour to those around us. The game can get intense, and I have certainly got caught up in the competition before. I’ve said some things I regret. But I try to treat others the way I want to be treated. More importantly the way I want my kids to be treated.

Sometimes I find it hard to justify my love for the game, with all the fighting, the poor sportsmanship and just plain lousy behaviour, on and off the ice. But there are moments – when a teammate skates by Sasha and taps his pads after he lets in a weak goal. When a coach genuinely thanks Finn for reffing a good game.  The big grins after a hard-won game.  The support of respectful, encouraging and passionate parents, coaches, players and fans. We can teach our kids to be positive role-models and honourable people, who play their best, have fun, and know how to forgive. We want our kids to grow up to be kind and compassionate, not critical or cruel. So to you all hockey moms and dads, and grandmas and sisters too, let’s commit to supporting a generation of hockey fans that love each other as much as they love the game. That is when hockey will truly be the best game you can name.

Happy Hockey Day in Canada!