The Last Supper

I am out for dinner with all of my family. We are celebrating Father’s Day.

Everyone is speaking amongst themselves. The younger kids are talking about their new high scores on Fortnite, while the adults are discussing their week at work.

Suddenly, the waiters arrive with many, many plates. The entrees have arrived.

Yum …

The procedure is the same, I ask the waiter if any of the entrees have any nuts at all. The common reply ‘no’ is received. Perfect. I get to eat all the scrumptious food!

I start on one dish and it is amazing. Everything is melting in my mouth and all the flavours are popping. I commence the second dish and once again it is so soft and it has a delicious taste. My second mouthful feels different; my throat feels funny as though someone is slowly trying to scrape down the walls of my oesophagus. I drink some water and realise the situation.

Something is not right.

It has happened many times before, so I begin the procedure.

  1. Take antihistamines
  2. Wait for them to start working

Why aren’t they working? My throat makes it hard to swallow, including my own saliva. My heart is racing and multiple thoughts are running through my mind. Why is my immune system so stupid? Why do I have this? Why aren’t I normal? When will it stop?

3. Notify someone of my symptoms

“Mum, I don’t feel so good.”

4. Get air, if possible

We go outside of the restaurant. My mum, aunty and grandma follow behind me. I sit down but it doesn’t feel any better.

5. Administer the EpiPen

“Mum, just give me the EpiPen. Please.”

She fumbles with the packaging and doesn’t remember how to use it. I try to explain but it comes out in non-cohesive sentences.

Eventually, she takes it out of the packaging and makes sure that I am ready. I nod approvingly.

*stabs Epipen into my thigh*

1, 2, 3

*takes EpiPen away*

6. Wait to get better.

Breath. Breath. Breath.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

Breath. Breath. Breath.

Didn’t die.

It has been nearly a month since that episode and I still haven’t recovered.

Food is now something that I am very waring of, whereas, before it was a beautiful part of my life.

Everything that I consume now, I suspect it to hurt me. I no longer trust others or myself. I am scared of eating newly cleaned fruits and vegetables.

It is driving me crazy (and hungry), yet I can’t seem to fix it.

Only time will tell.

Breath. Breath. Breath.

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