by Cheryl Schoonmaker
It started as an itching sensation on my tongue and the roof of my mouth. My throat started to swell. I swallowed my spit a few times, taking inventory of the situation. It was getting hard to swallow. Soon, it would be hard to breathe. That meant my lunch contained a poison deadly to me: peanut oil.
When I arrived at the emergency room, they ushered me in immediately. Five or six doctors flocked around me with needles, breathing apparatuses, and monitoring devices. They shot me full of antihistamines, adrenalin, stomach acid medications, and steroids. The doctors murmured. They were worried. My recovery was taking longer than it should have. My allergy had gotten worse. But finally the wheezing began to fade. I could breathe easily again, physically at least.
Because of the threat of relapse, I was kept overnight for observation. I wanted my pajamas. When I was a kid, I had Wonder Woman pajamas. I wanted to be Wonder Woman with the background music and the spinning and bullets bouncing off my bracelets. I wanted to be impervious. I also, however, wanted to be Princess Leah. She was spunky but more of a victim and I couldn't decide if I wanted to be rescued or rescuer.