It was like any other morning. Snow falling in the brutal month of February. My mother, bright green eyed, swift blond hair leaning down to give me a kiss goodbye as I sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth. She quickly ran over to my dad, whispering in his ear as they both giggled. Dad was tall and built, and had identical blue eyes to my own. As my mom scurried out the door she yelled “be good for daddy today!” and as always, I gave her my biggest thumbs up with my crooked smile.

It was the day before my fifth birthday and I couldn't be more excited. As my dad walked slyly over to the table with my everyday breakfast, pops cereal with soy milk, I chomped away. Little did I know that it wasn’t actually what I had everyday, and my dad had made a mistake. There was regular milk in my bowl, instead of soymilk. He started to talk about what we would do today, because he worked second shift so I could spend mornings with him. Whenever he spoke I never seemed to listen to much, and always smiled and nodded. I think that’s because mom and dad just did it to each other. I saw my mom as a businesswoman, because she wore pant suits to work everyday. As he continued to talk, I took my last two bites and pushed the bowl with the spoon in it across the table to him. I ate the entire bowl within five minutes, not even. I was ready to go about my day, hoping down from my seat.

As my dishes were being taken to the kitchen, my hands flew up to my throat in a clutch and was itching all over. My eyes became puffed, red splotches all over my face, nearing my entire body. My nose was running like a track star crossing the finish line. Almost immediately I was falling over, dad rushing to catch me. I had gone into shock, chest closing as I was gasping for air. Tears filling my eyes, I could barely see as my vision blurry. Only seeing the faint look of my father’s bright blue eyes, as a tear rolled down his cheek. Scrambling to find his phone as I am laying limp in his arms, he dials the number to call my mother, holding me on his lap, epipen on the floor in sight. My dad was afraid to use it. Couldn’t bring himself to stab his daughter. Tears started slowly running from his face, and then quickly all at once. It would make sense, not wanting to bring harm to one you love, but it was actually the opposite in these circumstances as my body continued to shut down in dire need of the epinephrine running through my veins. I wasn’t a daddy’s girl, but we still had an strong bond. He started to blame the situation on himself, and was in more shock than myself. He could not bring himself to stab his dying, baby girl. As I was laying limp in his arms he was on the phone with my mother, choking on each word. Him being scared made me even more afraid. But, was I dying? I wouldn’t be able to tell. I couldn’t understand the words coming out of his mouth as he ended the phone call, as if everything was in slow motion… everything started slurring into one. The sirens blared louder and louder as they continued to inch closer. My mom ran towards me like there was no tomorrow. It all seemed to happen so fast… laid flat, put in the ambulance, sped to the hospital, hooked up to the seeming like hundreds of different cords. I can never seem to remember anything after these types if incidents, and I suppose that would make sense. Hearing the nurses call my name, asking if they could get me anything, or if I’d like my head raised- too much to even comprehend.

Thinking back on it, my parents were the ones who felt absolutely horrible and as a child I had no idea what was even happening besides the fact that I couldn’t breath and the darkness was creeping into my eyesight.

I would never think to blame anyone for my allergy to dairy at the age of five, and nor would I now. There were times in my life where I would cry relentlessly about how I wanted to have the allergy taken away from me, because I had a fear of missing out. Growing up and going to the doctors constantly, I was told I had the worst anaphylactic allergy to dairy that any of them had ever seen in their practice.  As maturity hit and I had understood this, I also recognized that mistakes happen, and they will continue to. It’s always important to be apart of the solution, and not the problem.