“Well, I’m 7-and-a-half and I still haven’t had my 6th birthday party,” was the leitmotiv of Marigold, especially after being asked to empty the dishwasher. There were daily reminders; Tristan chord tensions were palpable.
Arriving home on a Tuesday morning in a taxi at dawn, after a night of public vomiting, feeling woozy, clutching an unmarked brown paper bag containing five small blue pills could at once, seem like a night out well spent. Or, on the other hand, signal the return home, after another night in a crowded emergency ward in the midst of a global pandemic, hooked up to a drip after an unexplained anaphylactic episode, that again, took my breath away.
Welcome back! Catch up with all the nonsense from part one here.
Do you glow when you eat a tomato? That’s what I was trying to find out so was very eager to hear back from my allergist with my latest results.
One afternoon at the beginning of Jan 2019, I answered the call that changed my life.
“Hello Louise, your results are in”
“Great, what am I allergy to?”
“Can you say that in English because I swear you’re saying that after 3,5 years of very restrictive eating, a few cross contamination episodes which landed me in hospital, an irresitable love of interrogating restaurant chefs, and a whole lot of faffing about regarding the interpretation of food labels, ARE YOU NOW TELLING ME I AM CURED? I DO NOT HAVE ANY FOOD ALLERGIES, I AM ALLERGIC TO NOTHING?”
“What about tomato or wheat, cooked or raw?”
“Go eat pizza if you want”
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???? CAN YOU EVEN CURE YOURSELF FROM FOOD ALLERGIES? I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THIS BEFORE, ARE YOU A REAL DOCTOR?”
“Your immune system has now healed and I can’t detect anything in your bloodwork; you’re fine.”
“I thought I hated you, but I love you”
“Do you want a picture of me for your wall or latest medical magazine cover, this is amazing.”
Turns out, he was correct. I went home and tested myself by eating tomato sauce, just a few drops. No reaction. I ate a crumb of bread. No reaction. We ordered pizza. No reaction. Over the coming weeks, I re-introduced all my forbidden foods, all of which came up with no reaction. Not even a single scratch.
Oh, and didn’t I eat for Sweden! Making up for lost time.
“Would you like a cinnamon bun?”
“Yep, make it two!”
“Want a cardamom bun”
“Jesus, of course I do, hand them over”
“Darling, should I get pizza on the way home?”
With gleeful abandon, for 2019 and the first half of 2020 I ate grains with joy, with a side of tomato salad.
Well, until this happened. Since, nearly dyings, I’ve gone back to a restrictive diet, with success I might add, as I haven’t had much of a reaction since. But not knowing really what the cause of my reaction in May was, every time I eat, I feel like I’m playing Russian roulette. Will we end the night with Netflix or a trip to emergency?
But Friday is the BIG DAY. I have an allergist appointment including a skin prick test and the works – with a new allergy clinic as I refused to go back to my original allergist. I can’t wait to sort this all out, and to find out, if I am once again a scientific miracle, or if I’ll be given an epi-pen and orders not to eat anything but apples.
More to come.
However, midsummer 2020 was very low key; mona corona. There were no mass gatherings, traditional dress, or dancing around a 20-foot penis - oh those were the days. The frog dance leaped a year, the organised fun set aside, and for something completely different, the sun was shining.