Growing Up With Allergies: A Personal Memoir

A Childhood of Constant Illness

When we were small, my brother and I were sick all the time. Fortunately, it was nothing so serious that we were hospitalized, nor did our family have to significantly alter its lifestyle. Still, it seemed that we were constantly congested, with wheezy coughing fits and runny noses.

Our mother was not a person who panicked. She did not rush us to the doctor, even if one or both of us had such severe nasal congestion that we complained, "I can't even breathe outta my nose." We had elaborate bedtime rituals of Vicks VapoRub being massaged into our chests. Our mother boiled pots of water and we took turns breathing the steam, tented under big bath towels.

Our mother believed that diet played a crucial role in good health. My brother, two years younger than me, was not yet in school when I was in first grade and had to take a lunch box every day. If he had been in school with me, at least I would not have been the only one in the cafeteria with an alfalfa sprout sandwich on nine-grain bread. I watched with envy while other kids unwrapped Twinkies and Little Debbies and all sorts of other wonderful treats our mother said were not good for me and would not help me get well. I ate an apple a day — and perhaps it did keep the doctor away — but I still felt crummy most of the time. I was sure that, in some way, a Twinkie would actually help me feel better.

A Dangerous Reaction and a New Diagnosis

During the winter of that first-grade year, my brother and I developed raging earaches. We had to go to the doctor for that. We were prescribed a drug derived from penicillin. It cured the earache, but almost killed me. I am told — for I don't clearly remember — that I broke out in huge hives all over my body. I must have been quite sick, because I do remember the expression on the doctor's face when my mother rushed me back to her office. I stayed home from school for a while. I remember that my fingers were so swollen for a time that I could not even hold a crayon.

When I recovered, and our parents could once again think calmly and clearly after that frightening experience, it occurred to them that, with the allergic reaction to penicillin, there might be other allergies too — ones that were making my brother and me sick all the time. We went to our pediatrician, who referred us to an allergy specialist.

Living With Food and Environmental Allergies

Allergy scratch tests are quite horrible when one is only seven years old. The doctor made a series of pricks in my arms and introduced various allergens. Where bumps developed, allergy was indicated. My brother, a real trooper at age five, had a few bumps, indicating he was allergic to dust and feathers. My parents bought a new vacuum cleaner and replaced down pillows with foam-filled ones. He was also allergic to wheat, which was a greater problem — although not so much for my mother, who relished the challenge of preparing wheat-free foods at a time when there were not many gluten-free products available at regular supermarkets. That problem was solved.

Not so for me. My arms looked like a stretch of bad road, with a series of bumps and blotches. I was allergic to milk — which is also in butter, cheese, and ice cream — and to corn, which is in almost everything else. I was also allergic to a long list of environmental elements: dust and feathers, as was my brother, but also grass and tree pollen. And because the fates are cruel, I was also allergic to chocolate.

The good news was that, with changes to our diet, my brother and I started feeling much better, with fewer runny noses and bouts of coughing. The bad news — other than the fact that I was still being served alfalfa sandwiches — was that I had to go for regular allergy shots.