Medical alert

Read any article about parenting with peanut allergies and you'll undoubtedly find instructions to get your child a wardrobe filled with PEANUT FREE warnings in bold-face print, or at the very least a medical alert charm. Am I the only one who looks at these things and feels like I'm painting a giant red bulls-eye on my forehead?
I got teased for being allergic to peanuts. I got harassed for it. Teachers smiled and brushed me off when I mentioned it in elementary school, and by high school they were no longer smiling and instead of the metaphorical brush-off I was getting a shove back towards my desk. Everyone's always acted like a peanut allergy was a shameful thing, so why would I want to brand myself and announce it to the world?
I wince internally whenever anyone stops me to talk about service dogs. I can't imagine a  lifetime of people asking me why I'm wearing a medical alert tag. Maybe I'm basing my expectations on small-town prejudice, but until I grow up and can move somewhere bigger that's my reality.
And have you looked at these charms? Attempt to buy one from Amazon and you'll get a sea of merrily dancing peanuts under the words PEANUT ALLERGY in cheerful print. Am I the only one who wants to vomit? Switch to Google and you'll receive a slew of links, most of which will offer to sell you a medical alert charm MADE FROM GOLD OR SILVER. Not only can I not afford that, I don't want my most expensive piece of jewelry to be the one telling the world what's wrong with me! That's not a respectable-looking lifesaving device, that's a piece of bling! And now I'm disgusted and freaked out and slightly nauseous and ready to give the whole thing up in favor of a nice game of Tetris, which is thankfully free of dancing nuts.
And where would I wear it? Around my wrist? I hate bracelets. In my ears? Okay, why are there even medical alert tags for your ears? Do EMTs know to check there? And what if you're wearing your hair down? Around my neck? Maybe, possibly, I could consider that, if I could find something not crafted from a precious metal and that didn't make me feel like I'd accidentally put on my dog's collar this morning!
It doesn't exactly help that I keep running into people who scoff at the idea that an ALLERGY could be a DISABILITY. It REALLY doesn't help that I was taught by these people until ELEVENTH GRADE, at which point I left the school district because my only other alternative was to passionately hate myself for daring to have this allergy.
Where was I again? Ah yes, hating on medical alert charms.
It all seems so complicated. I would want to keep it hidden, but how would that help me in an emergency? Would people know to look under my shirt for the charm I'd tucked out of sight? And why do I need to wear a charm in the first place when anyone can look into my purse and see two EpiPens and a dozen Benadryl tablets? It wouldn't be that hard to figure out what was wrong with me.
I dunno. I'm in no way a medical expert, just an irritated teen ranting on her blog. Don't opt out of one just 'cause of me.
Has anyone ever had a positive experience with one? And if so, where do you wear it?

Paranoia fuel

When I was growing up (is seventeen too young to use that phrase?) my classmates used to roll their eyes and tell me to stop being so paranoid. I read the ingredients on not only food, but on bottled lemonade and lip gloss and treats for my gerbil. And even when the label looked good I'd sometimes push whatever it was away, saying thanks but no thanks, I didn't trust it. Most of the time my classmates were probably right, whatever it was would have been fine for me. But occasionally I come across something like this, and that's enough to keep me cautious.

http://worstthingieverate.com/post/5218072222/so-this-isnt-actually-the-worst-food-ive-ever

Mishaps like that terrify me, as do the occasional stories about a whack job deliberately contaminating nut-free food or a family member attempting to prove that their cousin isn't REALLY allergic to shellfish.
Even with Poodleface, it's sometimes hard to face the world without fearing for my life.

Teachers who don't believe in allergies

I was diagnosed with peanut allergies at the age of three. My earliest memories involve clutching my favorite stuffed cat while my mother gently drills me on food safety rules. To me it seems amazing that there could be people in the world who doesn't believe that food allergies can be deadly. But, apparently, there are. And one of them taught at my middle school.
Although the problem had been going on all year, it all came to a boil at the end of the school year. I refer to it as the Week from Hell, and it's probably one of the reasons my parents decided a service dog was in order.
I'd always admired the teacher a little. She wasn't afraid to get down on our level and partake in our immature (and sometimes dirty) jokes, and she usually had the last word. I liked her. We all liked her. And she kept a bowl of candy on her desk for us.
Unfortunately, about half the things in the candy bowl had "peanut" in the name. I asked her if she could give the class a candy that didn't have peanuts (I have an airborn-triggered allergy, so it was a problem when people ate these things in class) and when that didn't work I asked if she could set aside some peanut-free candy for me. Both times she answered with a lack of eye contact and a few murmured words about us all being equal. Since she was the teacher, and significantly taller than me, I backed off and let the matter drop.
In the last month of school I had a fight with a boy in the class, and in retaliation he would greet me every day with a wide grin and a statement about how he was going to make me eat a peanut-covered something-or-other. He thought it was funny, but I was afraid he might actually do it, or at least bring along a peanut-covered prop to drive the point home. I told the teacher, who laughed, placed her hand on my shoulder, and told me he probably liked me. Then pushed me firmly back towards my seat when I tried to explain that what he was saying was the same as a death threat. I told her twice more, which only made her direct me to my seat with more force while the boy watched and smiled wider. I was beginning to think she wasn't so cool after all.
Nothing academic really happens on the last few days of school, so they're basically just these times we have to show up and sit around watching whatever movie the teacher could manage to relate to the subject matter while staring at the clock and willing it to move faster. I hate last days even more than most kids because teachers feel the need to bring food, which usually means I end up watching the movie through the window out in the hallway. So I was really happy when the teacher approached me after class with six days of school remaining and asked me what sort of candy I could eat. I rattled off a few brand names, told her to check the back for the word "peanut" in bold letters, and dashed off to my next class thinking she wasn't so bad after all.
On Monday she handed me a box of Gobstoppers, one of the candies I had named, and told me to take my seat for the movie. And then she pulled from behind her chair a large bag of peanut butter cups and began to pass them out to the class.
I got up and asked her if I could leave. She told me absolutely not, go sit back down. I wasn't sure what to do. I hadn't been in a situation like this before; most teachers knew enough to let me leave, if not because they believed in my allergies because they didn't want to face my wrathful parents. It was possible I wouldn't react, but it was also possible I could go into shock, an experience I really didn't want. I decided I'd ask again if anything happened.
I didn't even have to wait two minutes for something to happen. My neck and wrists itched like crazy. I'd dragged my nails down my neck so hard they left scratches before I even realized something was wrong. I asked again if I could leave, sure she'd say yes, but she only told me off for pushing a closed issue. So I sat on my hands and hoped nothing else would happen.
Another two minutes and I was coughing uncontrollably and my throat felt tight. It reminded me of the time in fifth grade I'd gotten my necklace caught on my chair and snapped the string with my neck when I stood up. I got up and walked out, doing an embarassed walk of shame down the hallway as students in the classrooms I passed looked up at my loud coughing. The school nurse gave me Benadryl almost as soon as I walked in the door, and she let me stay in her office for the rest of the period. I told my parents what had happened and they called the school about the teacher. The next day I didn't really want to go back to her class, but I figured no matter how angry she was with me, at least she wouldn't make me sick again.
Then she made me sick again, opening a new bag of peanut butter cups and passing them out with a warning to me to stay put. I cried a little and decided that today I wasn't going to have a reaction, and if I did I wasn't going to let it show. But five minutes later I was doing the same walk of shame.
The next day, Wednesday, I stuck my head into her classroom, spotted a bag of peanut butter cups, and refused to go in, electing to spend the period sitting with my arms crossed in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the main office. By now I was starting to have smaller reactions, mostly minor skin rashes, from touching the doorknobs and railings all around the school. This teacher was giving peanut butter cups to every one of her classes, and they were going out and contaminating the school. I was miserable and I was on-edge. Enough so that on Thursday I refused to go to school. There were only two more days. What could be the harm in calling in sick?
Apparently there was a lot of harm in it, because everyone insisted I go. My parents made a compromise with the school and I spent the last two days in a storage room in the office, getting strange looks from the kids I passed in the halls on my way to the bathroom.
I had nightmares about that teacher for weeks during the summer, and at ninth grade registration I discovered she'd moved up to the high school and was teaching another one of my classes. She went on to make me sick six more times, passing out peanut butter cups at every opportunity and at one point scheduling a cooking activity. Fearing that she would take advantage of this new opportunity to poison me, I begged my parents to let me stay home that day. By this time they hated the teacher as much as I did, and they let me do it. I went on to fail her class, which she self-righteously told me was because I love to find excuses for my poor performance, although I think it was because I spent her classes fearing for my life.
I've wondered for years what she thought she was doing. My father says she thought I was trying to be more powerful than her by using my allergy as leverage and she was proving to me that I wasn't and couldn't. My mother just says she's not a nice person. From my point of view it felt like she was, at worst, trying to kill me, and at best trying to torture me a little.
I dunno. Has anyone else had a teacher like her?

Traveling with a service dog (and a peanut allergy!)

Poodleface and I just returned from a vacation with my parents, which got me thinking about all the different things I do to be able to travel.
First, the service dog aspect:
Collapsible kennels are wonderful for dogs that are crate-trained. My only complaint with them is that they're supposed to twist into little mesh frisbees for easy storage, but more often than not they need to be wrestled with a bit first. Still, even when they're being disagreeable they still fold completely flat, so when they won't twist they can just be tucked under something.
Rawhide bones are a wonderful distraction for an active dog on a long car trip. They can spend hours chewing one. Like the kennel, the bones also have a downside in that they can leave threads of rawhide on the car seats, but it washes off pretty easily.
A service dog license is essential if you're going to be staying in a hotel. Most hotels are very nice about accomodating dogs, but earlier this year I learned that a few are more strict when a clerk told me sternly that it was a crime to pretend a dog was a service dog and asked me if I wanted to rethink my statement. I showed her Poodleface's license, which she took away to photocopy and later show to the manager in case he decided to pursue legal action against me. I didn't hear anything else about it after that and I was very glad I'd had the license with me.
Some people also prefer to bring collapsible dog dishes, I suppose because they're easier to store. Personally I prefer to use my regular ones when traveling because they're easier to clean. I also carry a chihuahua-sized dish in my purse to give my dog water instead of the collapsible one I had previously tried using. It has to be refilled more but is also easier to dry, which keeps the contents of my bag from smelling funny.

And now, traveling with peanut allergies:
Microwaveable cups of instant maccaroni, coolers, and tupperware are your best friends. Bring lots of hand wipes.

People with allergen detector dogs can eat at restaurants if they so choose, but I personally try to avoid restaurants whenever possible. On one memorable occasion Poodleface rejected three different sandwiches that were brought out to me over the course of an hour before I caught on and asked, "Are you putting these on the same plate?" On another occasion I was told I had ordered that food and I wasn't getting a refund on the word of a dog. And then there are the strange looks I get from other diners when I stand up and invite my dog to sniff my meal. As someone who bows easily to peer pressure, I find it uncomfortable.
But I have had good experiences with Poodleface at restaurants as well. In bigger cities no one seems to care what you do with your dog, whereas in smaller towns, like the one I live in, everyone wants to know just what you think you're doing. I once ended up sitting at the table next to a kindergarten teacher who had had several students with peanut allergies, and we chatted the entire meal about accommodations.

From what I've seen, traveling with a service dog is just like traveling with a small child. You need to pack them a meal or find some way to provide one, you need to keep them entertained, and you need to find them a bathroom. (Or a patch of grass. Whichever.)

In the news

I like to keep up-to-date on allergy news, as I'm sure most of my readers do also. (My readers? Who am I kidding? I just started this thing, I don't have any readers!) I just read this article on CNN, and I have to say I'm impressed. News articles usually only mention food allergies if someone is dead or someone was bullied, but this one also talks about the discrimination and social stigma. http://www.cnn.com/2011/HEALTH/08/16/nuts.allergies.exclusion/index.html?hpt=he_c2

I don't know if any of you have ever felt excluded or have been told you're over-reacting. I certainly have. I got so tired of the strange looks and the occasional speech on how I'm over-the-top, don't know what I'm talking about, and people like me are what's wrong with the world, I changed my dog explanation from "Allergen alert dog" to "Medical alert dog." It's a bit of a lie, I know, because it makes most people think of epilepsy or diabetes. But then again, I'm probably never going to see that random woman from the Wal*Mart checkout again, and this way I won't have to spend the next few minutes attempting to prove both my disability and my sanity.
In the article they talk about subtle, or not so subtle use of nuts to purposefully exclude of someone with allergies. I've been there. They talk about authority figures causally stating that someone's right to snack is more important than someone else's safety. I've been there, too. They talk about family members giving unsafe food to an allergic child, either because they were careless or because they honestly believe the child's parents are paranoid. Sadly, I've also been there.
Although allergy bullying and allergy deaths are absolutely important issues, it was refreshing to, for once, read an article that admitted the problems aren't all in what's safe and what isn't. Sometimes the problem is exclusion.

School

Schools struggle with food allergies. It's a fact of life. It's difficult for them to coordinate with the cafeteria ladies, the recess monitor, the teacher, and all the parents who bring in snacks for the parties, all so one child will be safe. Schools have a bad habit of implementing semi-workable policies inconsistently in the hopes of appeasing the parents, which really doesn't help anyone. It's a big part of the reason my parents decided I needed a service dog, which taught me something else about schools.
Schools struggle with service dogs.
Most schools have seperate classes for students with special needs, but it's hard to find a school that will admit that an allergy might qualify as a special need. This meant that I was still held to the same standards as the other students, despite the fact that I was now responsible for a dog. One problem was gym. Everyone was required to have at least one gym credit, which I had no idea how I was going to get. With allergies like mine I could have a reaction from playing contact sports with someone who'd popped a mouthful of M&Ms before class, not to mention that it's kinda against the law to let a service dog out of your control in public, which meant that I couldn't simply tie my dog to the bleachers during class. In light of both those things, I asked my counselor if it was possible the school could forgive my gym credit. She didn't even consider it before saying no.
Another problem was the stiarcases. Even I didn't know the stairs were going to be a problem until the first day of school, when I was halfway up a flight of steps, jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of other students and with three textbooks on my back, and someone stepped on my dogs foot. Really, there's no way I can see to make a high school staircase dog-friendly. So I went to the principal and asked if I could use the elevator, which was conveniently open to anyone with an ankle sprain or a large science project to deliver. I thought it was a reasonable request, but once again it wasn't even considered. All my limbs worked, so no. I used the staircases for another two weeks, in which two more people stepped on my dog, one person accidentially kneed him, and some poor girl caught her foot in the leash. Then my dog hurt his back trying to jump down out of my dad's truck and the vet gave me a note saying my dog shouldn't take the stairs for a week. After the week was up I quietly continued to use the elevator, expecting at any time to be called on it but willing to risk detention for a few days of not worrying about my dog being accidentially kicked down the stairs. Apparently no one cared enough to stop me because I used it for the rest of the year, several times in full view of the principal. I'm really not sure what was up with that. Maybe my mistake was in asking for permission in the first place?
What I thought was the most avoidable problem, which some of my teachers refused to avoid, was the seating arangement. When I sat in front of people they had to step over my dog to get out of the row. It was uncomfortable for everyone, dog included. But when I sat in the back of the row there was no reason for anyone to even get near my dog. So all my teachers had to do was move my seat to the back of the room and no one would have to worry about stepping on my dogs tail (which happened) or tripping over my dog (which happened) or hovering, paralyzed by a dog phobia, while begging me to get up and move my dog so they could go sharpen a pencil (which happened.) But out of my seven teachers, only three would move my seat. The other four either told me sternly that we already had a seating chart, or told me that they didn't see why I even had a dog in the first place.
The most irritating dog-related thing my school did, however, was refuse to tell the student body why my dog was even there. My parents and I went in to talk to the principal before the school year started, and asked him to say a few words explaining my dog. We laid out for him what we thought everyone should know, and he assured us that he would take care of it. Then, at the end of his welcoming speech on the first day, he finished by saying that this year there was going to be a "very special pet" in the hallways. It wasn't exactly helpful.

Let's talk about service dogs!

Before I got Poodleface my biggest pet peeve was people who dramatically overuse the word "like." After I got Poodleface, however, my biggest pet peeve became people who really have no idea how to behave around a service dog.
For anyone who doesn't know, the correct thing to do when you see a service dog is to ignore it. Don't coo at it, don't try to make eye contact with it, and for the love of God, don't try to make it come to you. I assure you, its human needs it more than you do.
What you can do is calmly approach the dog's handler and ask them questions about the dog, such as, "can I pet it? What kind of dog is it? What kind of service does it do? Where was it trained? Which groomer do you take it too? Does it prefer regular rawhides or the ones with the dried meat in them?" Or any other question it might occur to you to ask. Some kinds of service dogs can be petted by anyone, but the vast majority are supposed to be ignored. It never hurts to ask.
The reason service dogs are supposed to be ignored is that giving them attention while they're working confuses them. The dog has two standards of behavior that it switches between depending on whether or not it is wearing its service dog gear. When it's not wearing its gear it acts like a regular dog, and when it is it calms down, stays close to its person, and doesn't seek out attention. Giving the dog attention makes it wonder whether it should be acting like a dog or a service dog, and you might distract it from doing its job. So hands off!

Introducing myself

I have to admit, I've never done this before. I'm not really familiar with the etiquette of writing a blog, so hopefully I'll figure that out as I go. Before I can blog about anything I guess I first need to introduce myself.

Hello. I'm a seventeen-year-old American teenager with brown hair, pale skin, an allergy to peanuts, and an allergen alert dog named Chuck and nicknamed Poodleface. Chuck was trained for me by a place in Texas. One of his trainers, who has her own blog http://istdogs.blogspot.com/ referred to me several times as Chuck's "forever girl," prompting my screen name, ChuckForeverGirl. 

Chuck is a white standard poodle who accompanies me everywhere as my service dog. Because of my severe allergies I can't touch anything contaminated with peanut residue such as dust or oil without suffering an allergic reaction, which is where Chuck comes in. His job is to quietly and unobtrusively sniff things and to then alert if he smells any peanuts. Unlike a drug dog or a bomb dog, Chuck doesn't alert by barking and scratching. He just calmly sits down (usually with a wag of his tail) and then points with his nose when I ask him to show me. 

My parents got Chuck for me when I was fourteen. I wasn't very happy about the idea of having a service dog, something I'll talk more about later. At some point someone told me that I was going to be an ambassador for peanut dogs and I should wear the title proudly, but I soon discovered it's difficult to be an ambassador to something most of the people around you don't think needs to exist. At the time I just wanted everyone to leave me alone. Now that I'm older I think I'm finally ready to be an ambassador, and to share my experiences if it'll help raise awareness. 

I suppose this blog is going to be similar to the blogs I've come across of mothers with peanut-allergic children, except that instead of only blogging about my allergy I'll also be discussing my service dog. My hope is that this blog will be a good resource or reference for others with dogs and/or allergies like mine.