When Lucas was about 3, I had him enrolled two afternoons a week in this cute little neighbourhood program. On account of his allergies, the kind people in charge declared the space peanut- and nut-free, directly informing each parent (or nanny) to send only nut-free snacks for their little ones.

Not such a remarkable scenario today, but four years ago this type of directive was new to some.

So, there I was on the third day getting ready to exit when this mom came in with her tot, to whom Lucas had taken a shine. She’d looked up at the NO NUTS sign on the wall and, obviously unaware that I was the cause, made some remark about how ridiculous that was. Her son loved nuts and shouldn’t be told what he can or can’t eat. Without taking a breath, she went on to say that he is also lactose intolerant and that she has a mind to ask the program director to ban dairy products.

“So ridiculous,” she kept repeating. When her rant seemed to be coming to a close, I softly responded with feigned ignorance. “Could it hurt your son if someone else was eating dairy products in his presence?”

“No,” she said, “but he’s effectively allergic to it .… Anyway, I would never make it anyone else’s problem.”

A Name and Face to Allergy

“Ya, I wouldn’t either,” I say. “In fact, my son is allergic to egg, shellfish, mustard, kiwi and poppy seed, and I would never expect other parents not to send their kids with those ingredients. I mean, he’s only affected by those allergens if he eats them, so why make it other people’s problem, right?”

“Absolutely!” We’re like instant BFFs, united by our agreement over what’s right and good vis-à-vis those “ridiculous,” over-advocating, nut-allergic parents.

“But here’s the thing,” I said. “He’s also allergic to peanuts and tree nuts. These allergies are life-threatening and can be triggered by trace contact with his allergens. So it actually really matters what other people are eating, especially in his presence, which is why I ask for other parents’ courtesy on the peanut and tree nut matter, and why I don’t dwell on the other stuff.”

“Riiiight,” she says, while our two boys are playing dinosaurs on the carpet across the room. “I didn’t realize it was Lucas.”

Somehow putting a name and face to the meaning of the sign, and hearing my story while her daggers were down, transformed this naysayer pretty quickly. It also made her realize that different allergies (and in her case, intolerances) mean different things to different people.

Through past responses to this column, through the Toronto allergy group I run, and most recently from online feedback to an explosive allergy-denial article published in Chatelaine, I’ve come across a lot of dissenting views: non-allergic parents feeling put out and off by the needs of a few allergic kids, others who simply don’t understand or believe the severity of anaphylaxis, and many who’d like to dismiss we parents of allergic kids as hysterical freaks. But the most disturbing sentiment comes from the divide within our own allergic community.

Community Divide

Some parents whose children face other serious allergies aside from peanuts or nuts – like milk or egg – seem to be sour grapes about the strides made in accommodating peanut and nut allergies over the past five years.

Indeed, school anaphylaxis measures are not all about “the peanut”. This is why Ontario’s ground-breakingSabrina’s Law, for example, doesn’t call for school-wide bans but rather requires that principals develop school-specific strategies to reduce the risk of exposure to anaphylactic triggers (whatever they may be), communication of such strategies with the school community and staff training for allergy emergencies.

My younger son Judah was severely allergic to dairy until he was 2 years old and Lucas has a laundry list of allergies. So I get it. But what I also get is the strength of our allergic community when united – as illustrated by the numerous petitions that led to Sabrina’s Law or the lobbying begun on the Allergic Living forum that ultimately led to the education minister’s anaphylaxis directive in British Columbia or more recent local demonstrations such as the Walk to Axe Anaphylaxis and the hundreds of effective responses to Chatelaine’snegative article. The changes we’re able to bring about hinge on us working together as a food allergy community, toward the same goals. It isn’t about being for or against accommodations for one allergy or another, it’s about making school life safe and rewarding and normal – for all our allergic kids.

We can’t make our kids’ worlds allergen-free – in most cases it’s not optimal to institute large-scale bans of peanuts, milk or anything else – but it is possible to inspire policies and attitudes of tolerance, sensitivity and vigilance. If your anaphylactic child has a food allergy that isn’t being accommodated in his or her specific classroom, in several provinces and states you can make the case that this must be addressed. You now have a legal or at least government framework to draw upon in discussions with your principal or school board.

Let’s face it: we all want to rip the eyeballs out of anyone who threatens to put our children in harm’s way, and it can be hard to keep your calm when you feel somebody’s child’s needs are being given more respect than yours. But the most positive changes are made when we use tolerance, sensitivity and vigilance ourselves. A diplomatic approach to education and awareness is our honey. Everything else is for the bees.

Allergy in the News: Air Canada Ordered to Offer Nut-free Zones.

So, it’s Grade 2, not Grade 1, not kindergarten – just a not-so remarkable year in Lucas’ continuing grade-school education and our family’s life-long allergic journey, which regardless of the grade seldom goes without drama and extra-special attention.

Last year, when Lucas was entering Grade 1, there was more hype than The Who’s first “final” concert tour. Figuring out how to deal with recess for the first time, having Lucas move among several classrooms instead of just one for the first time, staying a full day for the first time and later even for lunch, these were all conversation pieces for the copious meetings I was afforded with the entire school workforce. New systems had to be devised, anaphylaxis action plans revised, staff members advised. Everyone was on high alert and eager to meet our special needs.

While Lucas wasn’t the first peanut- and nut-allergic student to graduate to Grade 1 or to enter this school back in kindergarten, it seemed I was the first and only parent to command such vigilance and attention to detail. This included: the placement of every EpiPen so that Lucas would always have two within reach, the protocol for supply teachers, the plan for field trips, the personalized letter to parents, the training of each employee and the widely distributed allergy action plan, customized to the T.

So what’s extraordinary about this school year is actually the lack of drama and extra-special attention – there’s a kind of been-there-done-that attitude that even I find myself experiencing (did I just say that out loud?).

Maybe this relative calm is a milestone in its own right. The truth is there’s nothing much new this year, except a bunch of new classmates and a new teacher. I still got to have my requisite pre-school meeting with the principal and key staff to train on Lucas’ allergy management. But this year there was no hysteria, less fear of the unknown and more familiarity with all the players and processes.

And even more amazing, it seems, the attention has been diverted to the new allergic entrants – allergic families who are commanding a piece of my special-status pie. And I couldn’t be happier. Well, not happy that these young families are saddled with the burden I know too well, but definitely relieved, comforted and thrilled to have the company.

I know of at least two anaphylactic newbies in the school and at least one of their parents – who I’m already in close contact with – is an advocate like me, maybe even more neurotic (did I just say that out loud?).

In addition to all the painful emotions I’ve experienced as an allergic parent and one-woman allergy committee, was the stark feeling of being relentlessly alone in my plight. But now for the first time since Lucas began school, I have the promise of partners – post-Sabrina’s Law parents who understand their rights and are looking to do whatever it takes to create a safe environment for their anaphylactic kids.

I consider myself among the first of this generation of allergic parents, parents who aren’t afraid to speak up and out. Before Sabrina’s Law, back when public schools in Ontario were not legally required to train their staff on auto-injector use and to work closely with allergic parents to create customized allergy management programs for their anaphylactic kids – parents were equally concerned and anxious about their children’s life-threatening allergies. But they were simply not inclined to demand special consideration from the school or the parent body. I’m told from my elders that they felt they had to tread lightly, that everyone thought they were over-protective, exaggerating, even obnoxious.

Parents of food allergic kids had no respect or claim to the special needs category, at least no more than the next parent who tried to pass a no-sugar-in-the-lunch-bag policy for fear of hyperactivity and childhood obesity. Lumped in the same category as new age mothers and fathers, pre-Sabrina’s Law parents felt they had little recourse but to suck it up and pray for the best.

When Lucas entered JK three years ago, Sabrina’s Law had just been enacted and there was no question that I would capitalize on my rights to work with the school to come up with a fully integrated allergy management plan for him, while ensuring the staff was properly trained.

But over these past few trailblazing years, I have stood alone at my small community school. Again, not because there were no other allergic kids, but because there were no other allergic parents stepping up for the cause. I envied members of my allergy education group who would talk about the solidarity among the allergic parents at their schools. I loved and yearned for the positive energy and change they were able to affect as a unified front. Little things like handing out Chapman’s popsicles at the end of the year on what they designated Allergy Appreciation Day – an opportunity to thank everyone for their efforts to keep their allergic kids safe. Somehow, doing something like that on my own didn’t have the same appeal. And frankly, with all the policies and procedures I’ve helped create, all the work it takes to keep my school nut-aware year after year, all the solo efforts .… I’m exhausted.

So, I’m sorry to say it, but bring on the new allergic kids and their advocating parents. Bring on my team. It’s about time.