My Mother In Law Called Me While I Was At Work And Said

The Desperate Race

My mother-in-law called me while I was at work and said, “How fast can you get an EpiPen to your daughter? What’s wrong with my girl?” I stepped out of the conference room, already knowing something terrible had happened. Sydney’s voice was shaking as she explained.

Nomi’s fifth grade class was on their nature walk field trip in Riverside Woods. She’d eaten something at lunch and was having a severe allergic reaction. The nearest ambulance was stuck behind a jack knifed semi that had closed route 47.

The backup routes would take them 45 minutes. The school’s first aid kit somehow didn’t have an EpiPen, even though it was required.

I was already running to my car while she talked. My hands fumbled with the keys as I calculated distances.

The woods were 20 minutes away if I drove normally. I could make it in 12 if I broke every traffic law. Nomi’s emergency EpiPen was in my glove compartment where I always kept a spare.

Sydney kept the phone on speaker so I could hear what was happening. In the background, Nomi was crying and scratching at her skin.

The sound made my foot press harder on the gas. I’d never heard her in that much pain before.

Not when she broke her arm on the monkey bars. Not when she needed stitches after falling off her bike. I blew through a red light, narrowly missing a pickup truck.

Sydney was describing Nomi’s symptoms to the 911 operator on another phone. Hives spreading across her entire body. Swelling in her face and hands.

The itching so bad she was drawing blood with her fingernails. 10 minutes to the woods parking lot. That’s what my GPS showed as I swerved around slower cars.

But I knew the trail to the meadow where they held the nature walks. Another 15-minute hike through rough terrain.

25 minutes total. While my daughter’s throat could be closing. Cydney’s voice got more panicked.

She says everything’s getting blurry. She can’t see right anymore. The mucus situation was getting worse, too.

Sydney tried to stay calm while describing how it was pouring from Nomi’s nose faster than they could wipe it away, like her body was trying to expel whatever poison she’d ingested through every possible route.

The teacher was using up all their tissues and napkins. I took the exit for Riverside Woods at 60 mph.

The tires screamed as I barely made the turn. Behind me, I could hear sirens.

Either someone had called in my reckless driving or they were heading to know me, too. I prayed it was the second option.

The parking lot appeared ahead. I skiitted to a stop sideways across two spaces and jumped out with the EpiPen clutched in my sweaty hand.

She’s having trouble breathing now. It’s getting worse. Sydney’s voice through the phone sounded distant and tiny.

I could hear Nomi wheezing in the background. The other kids were crying too, scared by watching their classmates struggle.

The path split, and I took the left fork toward the meadow. My shirt was soaked with sweat. A branch caught my face, leaving a stinging cut, but I didn’t slow down.

Each second Nomi couldn’t breathe was potential brain damage. Through the trees, I finally saw them. A cluster of kids in bright fieldtrip t-shirts surrounding something on the ground.

I crashed through the underbrush yelling that I had the medicine. The circle parted, revealing Nomi. Her face was swollen beyond recognition.

Eyes squeezed shut, lips blew. The wheezing had stopped, which was worse than hearing it. Sydney was on her knees holding Nomi’s hand while the teacher tried to keep her airways open.

I dropped beside them and ripped the EpiPen from its case, pulled off the safety cap, jabbed it into Nomi’s thigh through her jeans, holding for the full 10 seconds, even though my hands were shaking.

The click of the mechanism engaging was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Nomi gasped, a real breath, then another. The blue faded from her lips as oxygen returned to her blood. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, but aware.

The swelling would take longer to go down, but she was breathing. But we needed to find out what caused this.

The paramedics had found another route. They burst through the trees with a stretcher and proper medical equipment, started an IV, gave additional medications, checked her vitals, which were stabilizing.

As they loaded Nomi onto the stretcher, the paramedics started asking questions about what Nomi had eaten.

Going through her lunchbox, that’s when Sydney froze mid-sentence, she pulled something from the bottom of Nomi’s backpack, a sandwich bag with homemade cookies, the kind another parent might send for sharing, but these had a note attached in childish handwriting.

“for Nomi from your secret admirer.” Sydney looked at me with wide eyes as she read the ingredients listed below.

Peanuts, tree nuts, shellfish extract, like someone had specifically crafted a poison designed just for her.

The paramedics were almost to the parking lot with Nomi. They didn’t know about the note. Someone had tried to kill my daughter.

I grabbed the paramedic’s arm before he could close the ambulance doors and shoved the cookie bag with the note into his hands. My words came out in a rush about someone deliberately poisoning my daughter with her exact allergens.

While he stared at the ingredients list, his face changed completely when he saw peanuts, tree nuts, and shellfish extract all listed together.