Oh, The Mirth Inspired By A Single Phrase!

Though I’ve always loved to write, as a child I refused to keep a diary, or write anything that spoke of my feelings. I had a fear of doing so, in case anyone actually read it. The written word is far more easily used against a person than the spoken word, a phenomenon that has often puzzled me over the past few decades.

Sure, the written word stands as its own proof. It’s hard to deny that you said something if a document exists to prove otherwise. And that’s what I was so afraid of all those years ago. That someone might take my innermost feelings and use them against me, a fear that is not entirely unfounded, though it does seem a lot sillier now than it did then. What was the worst that could happen? I wish I’d known then what I know now: that what exists inside most people’s minds would sound equally crazy. And equally normal.

And, of course, people did it anyway, whether I wrote the words, spoke the words, or simply wore the words on my face like the open book that I am.

But I grow older, and bolder, and I’m not so afraid of words. Quite obviously. However, now I ponder the strength of the written word. Why is it that when something is written down, it is so much more powerful than if it is merely spoken?

And why is it that some people have the idea that if the words are written, they must be truth? In fiction, the story must be “true” if it is to be believed. That is, it must summon from our minds the ring of truth, regardless of how fantastical it may be.

But in fact, in boring old fact, in written works of documentation, merely writing the words on a page does not make them true. And pity the fool who thinks he can fool me that way.

Nevertheless, I wrote certain words that have inspired someone else to write certain other words, and while not all of those other words hold the ring of truth, the actions they necessitate further my goals quite nicely. And in a battle such as this one, it is not the maneuverings of each soldier that matter as much as which army is triumphant.

It would not be prudent for me to share the exact document that summoned these musings, as much as I wish I could spread the mirth for all. Laughter, as you well know, is said to be healthy, and I regret that I must withhold such medicine from you, my loyal readers. But I decided I would share these thoughts, as a sort of commemoration of my long-term relationship with words. They have been enemies, they have been friends. They have been whispers on a wind, and screams into an abyss. Sometimes they are my weapons, and sometimes my defense. And, on days like today, it is with joy that I behold the useful tools they have become.

It's Like I'm Famous!

So I've been just typing away at my little blog, entertaining my friends and family overseas. I forget to post a lot, and then a friend emails me and says, "Hey, post!" so I do.

And all this time, I've had FANS! There are whole bunches of people who find the trivia in my life so fascinating that they are eagerly checking to see if I have a new post! Oh, it's water-cooler time, for sure!

I'm flattered that you all find me so interesting!

Anyhoo... Since I have your attention:

All that crap you're hearing? All those rumors? Seriously. One of my faults is that I always think the best of people, even people who truly don't deserve it. It's especially sad for me, since, because of that, I'm so frequently disappointed by people. I have to say, it surprises me how many of you are willing to think the worst of me at a moment's notice. Would I seriously say nasty things about people on a blog that (in spite of an anonymous accusation that I am "hiding behind" my blog - that irony is too precious to NOT share it with you) can be read by every single English-reading person with internet access In The Entire World? Yeah, and I also demanded a 200 meter peanut-free perimeter zone around both the school and my shop last year, making it impossible for any shop in town to sell peanut products, and impossible for any travelers to drive through town if there was so much as a Snickers in their car.

People, I couldn't come up with that kind of crap if I tried. The person who did should be applauded for her creativity and imagination. And then be made to immediately begin using her talents for good, rather than evil.

Ditto the "nasty" comments. Is it nasty to tell you that I cried? Is it nasty to tell you that we got a lot of phone calls?

Yeah. I don't think so. But if you all keep chattering away about it amongst each other, pretty soon you'll have me drowning puppies and plotting against the government. Trust me when I tell you that I don't have that kind of free time.

And when I started to hear about all these "nasty" things I supposedly wrote, I was concerned. For about ten minutes. Because as far as I knew, I hadn't written anything nasty. But maybe my perception was off? I've spent the day showing people what I actually wrote - completely unmodified, not a comma changed (I think, if you haven't learned anything else, you should have learned by now that I am nothing if not honest). I've had people laughing, and suggesting that I publish the post in a newspaper, and every single person, without exception, has said that there isn't a nasty word in there. It is, by all accounts, a silly story about a horrible week.

So the person who greeted me with a cat's bum mouth in the bank? Every person is entitled to his or her own opinion, absolutely. It's a human right. I might caution you, however, that if you're basing your opinion on rumors rather than facts, you're only going to make a fool of yourself, not me. How many of you actually read the post, and how many of you just heard other people talking about it?

But hey! As long as you're entertained! Because let's not forget, that's what a blog is all about.

Let's talk about important stuff now. Leander had the beginnings of an anaphylactic attack last week. Wouldn't you find it more interesting and fulfilling to read about our frantic dash to the hospital than to do your laundry? Or to write a letter for Amnesty International? Or to crochet a chemo-cap for a cancer patient? Or to knit a little jumper for those poor African AIDS babies? Or maybe you could make a casserole for a house-bound neighbor or relative? Or clean out your pantry and donate some canned goods to that scheme run by the school's chaplain for Christmas boxes to disadvantaged children? Or just sit on the floor with your own child and a box of crayons and doodle some pages for him or her to color in?

Oh, never mind. You know you're going to just sit there and keep reading this page. Hey, I might mention YOU in here.

At bowls last Thursday night, during the presentations, Leander, outside, started to cry. Not so unusual in itself: a lot of crying gets done in a house full of boys. But he has a special undertone to a cry that I couldn't begin to describe. I can only tell you that when he hits that barely perceptible tone, I pay attention.

He wanted to go to the hospital. Immediately. That's not a request he ever makes, since he has a lot of needles stuck into him a lot of the time. He couldn't tell me what was wrong, and he wasn't showing any symptoms at all, as far as I could tell. But he wanted to go to the hospital, and my strongest belief on this earth is that
a parent needs to provide what a child needs, so that child can learn to identify and provide for his own needs when he grows up. If he wants to go to the hospital, he needs to know that I'll take him seriously, and that he should take his own instincts seriously.

We rushed to the hospital, and I said into the intercom, "Anaphylactic child! Please let us in!" Leander still showed no signs of anaphylaxis, but didn't feel well, and I wasn't taking any chances. His pulse was 136. The nurse (one of my favorites, who remembered me from last year when I brought Duncan in, suffering from serious anaphylactic shock due to a bee sting) was very thorough and attentive. Still no other symptoms, though she agreed that bringing him in and waiting there was the right thing to do. After a while, Leander's pulse dropped to about 100, and he got very sleepy. When we felt safe, we went home.

We saw our doctor yesterday, and he felt strongly that yes, it was the initial stages of anaphylaxis. He said his patients often report a sense of something wrong deep inside before there are any symptoms at all. On the way home from the hospital, Leander said to me that there was a boy at bowls who he didn't know well, and he thought maybe that boy had eaten something that wasn't Leander-safe. I don't think that's true (the boy is the child of a conscientious mother), but I like that Leander himself is trying to speculate the cause of his reaction. He didn't eat anything at bowls other than the ham sandwich I'd made for him (from ingredients he's had many times before). One of the most frustrating things about anaphylaxis is that we can't pinpoint exactly what caused it, and we can't say how close is too close, since testing that line would most likely be fatal. We just have to be glad that he was fine, that our healthy little boy is not in a coma, or worse. Those close calls are exhausting for everyone.

Two percent of children in our state are at risk of anaphylaxis. The Anaphylaxis Expert Working Committee recently discovered that the restrictions on children at risk give them a quality of life lower than children with rheumatoid arthritis or diabetes. Think about that for a minute.

Alan Carpenter recently approved, and committed $6.6 million to, all eight recommendations made by the Anaphylaxis Expert Working Committee. You can read about it here. And I hope a certain principal DOES read about it, and sees that it will be required of him to practice risk management for children at risk of anaphylaxis in schools. That's ALL children at risk - whether it's food, or bees, or whatever, risk management is required, and will be audited.

One of the recommendations is aimed at community awareness. I like to think I've done my part to raise community awareness. There are a lot of really supportive people out there, and now a lot more of them are aware of anaphylaxis. Sadly, the five percent of people who are complete fuckwits about it are usually the only ones who make a lot of noise.

Likewise, at least 90% of what you hear is a lot of crap. Trust me: my life is too boring for you to find it so interesting without a LOT of embellishment.

And while you're listening, let me tell you that I never, ever, not once did I demand that the school do ANYTHING AT ALL to protect Leander. I wrote on Eddie's enrollment form: It is imperative that Eddie not bring home any traces of peanuts because of his brother's severe allergy. The school decided to immediately put into place provisions for a risk management program, in order to protect Leander, who would begin school six months later. I can only fault them for letting people think I had demanded this. The school administration, rightfully, in my opinion, decided that the best thing for THEM, the best way to provide duty of care to ALL students, and to protect their teachers from a situation that could be catastrophic, was to put into place these policies.

Let me say that again: by asking parents not to send in peanut products, the school is not only protecting Leander, but is protecting the teachers and all the other children. When parents send in peanuts, not only are they putting Leander's life at risk, they are increasing the stress levels of the teachers and aides, who would be required to act in an emergency. If the teachers and aides are forced to think about this for a large portion of their day, they are less able to concentrate on their jobs, and less able to concentrate on all children equally.

Do you get that? Risk management helps protect everyone. Would you like your child to witness the horror of a classmate suffering anaphylactic shock? Would you like your child's teacher to be so obsessed with keeping one child alive during lunch times that she can't focus on all the other children in the room? What if it was your child's lunch that caused Leander serious injury? How easy do you think it would be to convince your child that it wasn't his or her fault? Why put your child in that kind of position?

That woman who made her kid bring peanuts to school, in spite of the fact that, as the child herself told me, she doesn't like peanuts? What would she say to her child if her little act of defiance had killed someone?

And I'll tell you what, if I hear ONE MORE TIME that crap about how kids with anaphylaxis "need to learn to live in the world," I might just scream. Kids at risk of anaphylaxis learn more about living in the world in their first five years than other kids do in their first fifteen. There are guns in the world, too. Do children need to learn to live in the world with guns? Should we just plonk a loaded AK-47 down on the kindy lunch table and tell them all not to touch it? A loaded gun is as dangerous to your kid as a peanut butter sandwich is to my kid. The only difference is that the bullet might MISS your kid.

We ARE teaching Leander how to live in the world. We're also teaching YOUR children how to live in the world. Your children are learning tolerance. Something a lot of you could stand to pick up yourselves.

I'm entitled to my bad days. And if I want to tell the world about them (or at least, the few people who are listening, by their own choice), that's my right. It's your right, too. Start your own blog. And if you've read all this and something has made you unhappy, don't complain to me; you've wasted your own time. A last thought: Every time you tell another person about this blog, you give me a little more power. Do you want to do that?

Thanks for listening. I really do, sincerely, appreciate it. Go do something useful now.