Today was D-Day for S at the allergist. We got there 15 minutes early for her 1:30 appointment. I would go through the blow by blow of every single minute, because every minute seemed like three hours. I love our allergist and his staff, I really do, but an appointment there is for-ev-er. After getting weighed and measured and BP'ed and pulsed, they took her in for a breathing test where she blew out cartoon candles on a computer monitor. She then went back and had a breathing treatment from a chubby penguin nebulizer. After finishing, she was told she would have another test in 25 minutes. That ended up being like a buck twenty five, but who's counting. They then gave her a paper gown, 25 minutes later they came in with scary stuff. I took pics, but they are not cooperating this evening. S got a bit stressed out and I don't say I blame her. When the boy had his testing, they did four at a time in a grid and he has sixteen total scratches...so he had four panels of four scratches. This poor girl got not 4, not 16, not 20, but 72 individual scratches on her back. It was torture to watch. Luckily we had the ipad and Duck Dynasty to watch during the waiting time. When they came back to check the progress and found that nothing had reacted, they decided they needed to do further testing. So they did basically nine TB skin tests on her upper arm area. More Duck Dynasty. This time we had some reaction. Indoor/outdoor mold. Then the second breathing test came, this time having her be the big bad wold and blowing little pig houses down. She was over the cuteness, really. So after three hours and 45 minutes, we were told she has developed asthma and had this allergy, but the two together didn't really completely explain the anaphylaxis. She now has to keep a food diary of any food that might make her feel weird. Hypochondriacs unite! She'll have a diary full. I kid...kind of. So armed with a prescription for Singulair and a rescue inhaler to be used before running or dancing, we made our leave and went merrily to the Steak and Shake for a "You are the most patient pincushion kid ever" reward shake. I'd like to say I feel better about the whole situation, but I don't. I kind of feel worse. No real answers to the big question. So here I sit at dance, watching this beautiful creature dance through the pain and frustration of the day, I get teary. Her life is not hard like some. She has a lot going for her. But when you see fear and pain and anger and frustration and can do nothing to help, it is tough. We'll just pray that this was a one time freak event and that the meds will clear up any extra crud hanging around. I'll just caution her not to drink any large amounts of water tonight...with all those pricks, she might leak like a sieve.
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