I’m not nuts – just allergic to them
FOR an estimated 240,000 people in Singapore, a meal out is a game of Russian roulette: They suffer from fatal peanut allergy.
I am one of them.
While the culture of dining out among young working adults seems to be thriving despite the recession, with no shortage of peanuts in Asian cuisine, my experiences have been dampened somewhat.
A sprinkle of peanut dust in popiah or a splash of groundnut oil on my noodles, and I embark on a potential one-way trip to the Accident & Emergency room.
Even a casual encounter with an errant nut can bring about a potentially lethal reaction – anaphylactic shock.
That is, the body massively overreacts to the ‘invading’ nut and rushes to shut off your airways. Your tongue, throat and face swell, and breathing becomes difficult or, in the worst case, impossible.
To halt the process, anyone who has the allergy generally keeps an Epipen (adrenaline injection) close at hand.
I first discovered my allergy at the age of three, when I was given six peanuts at a neighbour’s house. After one, my throat was on fire. But I had been taught to eat what I was given, so I finished them – then spent the rest of the day being violently sick at home.
It was not until I was 12 that my parents had me diagnosed for the condition, after the death of a young girl from eating a peanut made the news.
Today, six nuts would be the end of me – the allergy worsens after each exposure.
Even so, the fact that such an allergy could result in death seems not to faze people in Singapore.
Despite better labelling and increased awareness, it can still be a struggle to convey the seriousness of the allergy to doubters and restaurant staff.
When I eat at hawker centres or places where English is not well understood, I hand over a piece of paper I carry with me with an explanation written in Chinese and Malay, which is pretty effective.
But when I’ve called ahead to a restaurant and explained about my allergy when making a reservation, one chain, which assured me there were no nuts in my order, got it wrong. Twice. So I’m not trying again.
To cut out the risk involved in eating out, restaurants could teach staff about fatal allergies, and label menus clearly.
It would save many like me from this typical reaction: A waiter raises an eyebrow and smirks a little – as if I just asked for his phone number – when I tell him I am allergic to nuts.
The unspoken words rest on the tip of my tongue: ‘No! Not those nuts.’ And it won’t be such a hilarious cause of innuendo when I suffocate in the middle of the restaurant.
In fact, growing up with the condition has meant an awful lot of teasing. There will always be people who do not believe you have an allergy and think you are just fussy.
Trickier still are relationships.
If your boyfriend forgets that he can’t eat nuts around you, you may fall victim to the ‘kiss of death’, as I once did, from a guy who had just enjoyed a Snickers bar.
Needless to say, that relationship didn’t go beyond the A&E.
But I have learnt to adapt.
Instead of ignoring the jibes, I now realise that everyone I tell about this allergy is one more person in the know.
While there is always room for humour, if you meet people with a nut allergy, resist the urge to tease or call them fussy.
They are not nuts – just allergic to them.
Tags: Victoria Vaughn
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