The Tales of a Professional Hockey Player

Chapter 38: Allergist

~Eleanor~

I didn't sleep at all. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was afraid that Ophelia would have another allergic reaction and that no one would see it, so I got up from the chair I had up my "bed" in and checked up on my daughter who was fast asleep in her crib. Ben didn't sleep either. He didn't even try. He spent the night alternating from pacing around the crib to sitting on a folding chair. The nursing staff sent us some oatmeal for Ophelia's breakfast around seven this morning and I had to fight with Ben to give it to her.

"She has to eat, Ben, and she's not allergic to oatmeal. I fed some to her every day for the past two weeks and she was fine. If she doesn't eat, she'll start crying and you don't want that, do you?" I know using the crying argument was low because it meant touching the vulnerable part in Ben that hates to see his daughter be unhappy or uncomfortable, but I knew it would work. And it did. He refused to feed it to her, but he let me do it while he went to the cafeteria to get us some toasts.

I understand where he's coming from and why he feels responsible, but it was not his fault. Like I told him last night, no one could have known Ophelia would suddenly become allergic to eggs. We still aren't sure eggs are what caused the allergic reaction, but what else can it be? He didn't give her anything else. The one thought that makes shivers appear down my spine is the memory of the many times I fed Ophelia eggs while I was alone with her. The first time was when she was six months old. I had just started to introduce solids in her diet and eggs were recommended. I never stopped after that. It wasn't the thing I fed her the most, but I still gave her some at least once a month so she could develop her taste. I got so scared yesterday morning. I don't know what I would have done if I would have been alone with Ophelia. I didn't know what to do. I felt so helpless, like I couldn't do anything to save my child. I felt dumb too. What parent doesn't recognize an allergic reaction? When Ben said she was choking, I instantly believed him. I didn't even think about an anaphylactic shock. It's when the 911 dispatcher asked me to check in Ophelia's mouth for the thing blocking her airway and that I found nothing that I knew we were wrong. My head went into overdrive. What if thinking she was choking made us lose precious time or made us do something that aggravated her state? I don't know what I would have done had that been the case.

We are both still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, neither of us wanting to leave the hospital to go get some new clothes at home. We don't have our cellphones, wallets, identification papers. We don't have anything except the pajamas we're wearing. When I heard the sound of a plate falling on the floor, I got out of bed immediately. I put on my pink pajama pants and threw on a grey sweatshirt that actually belongs to Ben before rushing down the stairs as I heard Ben shout my name. He's wearing a grey t-shirt and black sports shorts. Ophelia is the only one looking presentable in her two-piece unicorn long-sleeve shirt and pink leggings.

"One of you should go home to get a change of clothes and some food. It'll be a while before the allergist gets here," a nurse told us about twenty minutes ago. It's now past three in the afternoon and no one came to see us about our appointment with the allergist. I know we are not a top priority since Ophelia has been fine since receiving care but knowing it could happen again because we still don't know the cause stresses me out. Ben and I looked at each other when she said that, and we both knew that none of us would actually leave.

It's six-thirty pm when the allergist finally knocks on Ophelia's room's door. Dr. Allan Price is younger than I expected. He looks not a day older than thirty-five with his perfectly styled brown hair and the baby-blue button-up shirt he's wearing under his lab coat. It's when I see such young doctors that I wonder what people think when they see Will enter the exam room. He's only twenty-six and Will always looked very young. Do people think he's qualified, or do they underestimate him because of his lack of experience? Anyway, my doubts about Dr. Price's qualifications are soon dismissed. He walks in the room and immediately introduces himself to us before shaking Ben and I's hand. He then sits on a stool next to Ophelia's crib. When he turns to face us, he has his doctor face on. I know the doctor face, it's the same face Will had before he saw me when I visited him at the hospital for the first time in BC. I grab Ben's hand to gather the courage I need to have this conversation.

"According to Ophelia's blood test, we can confirm that she is allergic to eggs. Her level of immunoglobulin E antibodies to egg protein was really high even if she was exposed over twenty-four hours ago. If you two want, we can do what we call a skin-prick test during which we place a small quantity of liquid containing the egg protein on her arm and we wait to see her reaction." Immuno what and skin-prick what? I shake my head to try and make sense of the words the doctor used. The only thing I am sure I understood was when he said that Ophelia is allergic to eggs.

"But if you know with the blood test, why should we do the skin thing?" I turn to face Ben. It's the most intelligent question I ever heard him ask and I am glad he chose this moment to ask it.

"Think of the skin test as a second opinion. The skin test confirms what the blood test tells us, and we'll have the result twenty minutes after performing the test, so you won't have to spend another night here." I notice the look he gives me when he said that. I know how he pictures us. He sees us as the broke couple who decided to have a baby even if we don't have the money or the resources. He probably imagines us living in a shithole apartment and not having any jobs. All of that because we're wearing old pajamas. First impressions can be wrong and I hope I can prove him how wrong he is about Ben and me.

I look at Ben and he shrugs. "I guess doing it wouldn't hurt," I end up answering.

"Perfect, I'll go get the things I need, and we'll proceed."

Turns out, it did hurt. When explaining the test, Dr. Price had omitted to say that he has to prick at the skin with a metal probe to let the liquid penetrate the skin. He also didn't say that Ophelia's skin would turn bright red and puffy. And he conveniently left when she started crying her eyes out because of how much it hurt. A nurse came back to administrate some medicine and to give us the discharge papers. She also gave us an appointment with a nutritionist who will come to our house to give us some tips on how to live without eating eggs. She is set to come next week.

We enter Ben's house at half past eight. The only thing I want is to go take a shower and then to bed. But the mess I see when I walk in the living room only pushes my bedtime. Thankfully, Ophelia fell asleep in the car, so Ben only carries her upstairs to put her down in her own crib. I start cleaning up the mess left by the broken plate in the meantime.

"Shit," I hear as Ben hurries down the stairs. I am too afraid to ask what went wrong this time, so I just look at him with wide eyes.

"It's Saturday," he simply answers. I almost drop the broom I was cleaning up the floor with.

"Oh shit." 

Saturday? What is on Saturdays? Anyone have any guesses? ;)