It’s Off (Gulp) to Kindergarten

The start of kindergarten is bittersweet for most parents. On one hand, we’re excited for the new experiences that await our youngsters as they begin their school careers; at the same time, we mourn the passing of the baby years. How quickly they grow up.

I remember clearly the day that our first-born child, Julian, started junior kindergarten. It was 1998, and he was so proud to be going to “the big school”, carrying his new backpack and wearing the Elmo outfit that his grandmother had given him to mark this special occasion.

Me, I was ready to cry. Not just because JK represented a new milestone – my 4-year-old was growing up – but out of fear that he might have an allergic reaction at school.

Julian had been diagnosed with peanut allergy only six months earlier. My husband Victor and I were still getting used to the routine of reading food labels, preparing safe meals, and remembering to carry an epinephrine auto-injector everywhere.

Now, as our son moved out of our protective bubble and the watchful eyes of his babysitter, we had to advocate with more people to ensure that he would be protected at school where he would soon spend the better part of the day.

Our journey into the brave new school world began with registration. Victor and I met with the principal and the teacher to review some basic measures that would help to keep Julian safe.

Though we were reassured that the staff would do its best to safeguard our son, I continued to feel anxious every morning as I handed him over to his teacher, breathing a sigh of relief at noon when I was greeted by his smiling face at pick-up time. My son, meanwhile, loved his teacher and enjoyed his new friends and activities.

That first year was very difficult. Every time the phone rang I was afraid it was the school calling to say Julian had had a reaction.

Already stressed with the burden of trying to anticipate where food might pose a risk, my anxiety escalated when the mother of a peanut-allergic child said, in a judgmental tone: “I can’t believe you didn’t know peanut butter is often used as bait in mouse traps! Haven’t you asked the school to remove them?” What an irresponsible mother I was. How could I not know this?

As I added mouse traps to the growing list of what I thought to be high-risk situations, my own reality check began to set in. I started to question whether I was losing sleep over the wrong things. For instance, just how likely would it be for my 4-year-old to touch a mouse trap containing peanut butter and have a serious allergic reaction?

What seemed more productive than
stewing over “what-ifs” was minimizing
the risks at school.

I reminded myself of what his allergist had said: While anaphylaxis has the potential to cause death, fatalities are rare. What seemed more productive than stewing over “what-ifs” was minimizing the risks at school.

While casual exposure to peanut could be an issue, I realized that Julian’s chances of staying safe would increase if I focused more on two things. The first was conditioning him to follow key rules (no sharing food with others, always carry your auto-injector), and the second was getting the school to formalize its anaphylaxis plan, ensuring that staff were trained and that the school community was aware of the food policies.

I felt the school community would be willing to help as long as I asked for accommodations that were reasonable. To do this, I needed to calm down.

Victor and friends whose kids did not have food allergies acted as my sounding board on the school communications I drafted for the principal. With their feedback, I learned to write succinctly, and in a way that expressed the seriousness of anaphylaxis without scaring or turning people off with too much information.

My “reviewers” quickly pointed out where I needed to reconsider my expectations, reminding me that people would make mistakes; they would overlook things like “may contain” warnings on food labels as they weren’t accustomed to reading labels the way I did.

After Julian was not invited for a couple of play dates, and was un-invited to a birthday party, I learned the hard way that my explanation to other parents that “even trace amounts of peanut could be harmful” may have led to misunderstandings.

I had not put risks and precautions (such as having an auto-injector available) into context for them; I’d simply alarmed them. Some parents felt they could not keep Julian safe in their homes.

I realized how important it was to watch that my concerns would not scare people or douse Julian’s enthusiasm for the school experience. As he learned to take on more responsibility, and as the anaphylaxis policy became more entrenched, my anxiety lessened. Thanks to the support of the school community, Julian sailed through his elementary years and I came through with my sanity intact.

I must admit, though, that faced with the teen years (he’s now 14), my anxiety is peaking again. Anyone have any tips to calm down the anxious mother of a food-allergic teen?

Laurie Harada is the Executive Director of Anaphylaxis Canada.

Next: Working With the School