The Only Thing Wrong with the EpiPen is the Needle!

Over the next several Saturdays I will be sharing the stories of some of my wonderful readers out there. A peanut allergy affects everyone differently and I want this blog to represent that fact.

Today we have Alexis from "Taking the Lid off the Sun" sharing a story that reminds us that sometimes its OK to laugh at ourselves when it comes to PA.

Alexis and her PA son, Lucas

Want to see me hyperventilate? Just show me a needle that is designed to pierce human skin, then sit back and enjoy the show. This must have something to do with the inordinate number of shots I received as a child. We lived out of the country off and on, and I have vivid memories of being pulled down the hospital hallways, screaming and writhing in anticipation of the dreaded needles.

Just mention the possibility of a shot, even now, and my eyes involuntarily well up with tears. I’m 40 years old, people! I should be over this already, right?

Here’s a lovely piece of irony for you. My son, Lucas, was recently diagnosed with a peanut allergy. The diagnosis followed a very scary dash to the emergency room after he shared a bite of a peanut trail mix bar with someone – I won’t mention names – who is not me, but who is also Lucas’ parent. I know, I know… it could have just as easily been me.

So, here’s where the irony kicks in. I now have to carry an Epi-pen at all times. As we all know, this is a shot I have to administer to keep my child from dying, should he ingest a bit of peanut. I squirmed my way through an explanation by the allergist of how and when to use it last month.

Then we had to see the nurse, who had us practice on ourselves with a needle-free cartridge. As I sat there squirming, with tears falling down my cheeks as quickly as I could wipe them, the nurse looked at me blankly and said, “You’re not good with needles, are you?” She added that the needle is pretty thick, like a sewing needle, and it’s long, too! Heartless woman.

And if I have to use it, God forbid, then in addition to jabbing my poor little child with a long, thick needle, I have to hold it there for ten seconds and then pull the whole, long thing out. No, it doesn’t retract on its own.

I know, I should be thankful that we found out now, and that we have the ability to treat him instantly should we have an emergency. And perhaps this is one way for me to finally get over my insane shot phobia, and I could, theoretically, be thankful for that, too. But it’s going to take me some time.

This post was originally published on Alexis's blog on July 8, 2008

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