This Is Not How It Ends(19)

I swallowed the lump in my throat, the ache that made it difficult to speak, and focused on the journey Jimmy—and Ben—were about to take.

The stack of files in front of me beckoned—patients on the schedule, puzzles to be solved—while Liberty’s voice filtered through the air, dusting away the unease. She was poring through Jimmy’s medical history, making note of the allergens confirmed by his physicians.

I admired Liberty’s commitment, but NAET wasn’t an option for all. For some, it was a final act of desperation, despite its controversial nature. And listening to Liberty explain it through the walls, describing how kinesiology, or muscle testing, flagged allergies and sensitivities, reminded me of its complete hokeyness.

“Anybody with severe allergies tends to have lower-level allergies that raise the histamine level in the body. When Jimmy eats peanuts, for example, the histamine level is already so high it triggers anaphylaxis. If we treat the lower-level allergies, we decrease the histamine levels, making his body less reactive to peanuts.”

Ben asked about the lower-level allergies.

“Jimmy has them,” Liberty said. “Their reactions haven’t been as severe as the big three, so you probably ignored them. He might’ve had a sneeze, some mild itching, or a headache. No cause for alarm.”

I heard Jimmy. He raised his voice, excited to share information with Dr. Scott. “Remember that day at the park, and I told you I was itchy from sitting on the grass?”

Ben must have been tracing the boy’s history. “He’s had some reactions, but they’ve always been mild. Perfumes give him headaches. Frequent congestion. Could that be allergies?”

“You betcha,” Liberty said. “We’ll test Jimmy on the fifteen foundational vitamins and nutrients and treat him for those he’s allergic to. Once he passes each test, and this can take months, then we can move to eggs, peanuts, and gluten. The big guys.”

Next came the million-dollar question. “How do you desensitize him?”

“I’ll get to that,” she said. “First, let’s complete the testing so we know what we’re dealing with. Jimmy’s going to hold some vials in his hand and I’m going to push down on the opposite arm. We’ll know if he’s allergic if the arm weakens.”

It reminded me of the day I’d come home and tried to explain Liberty’s treatment to Philip. He’d laughed. A hearty snicker that chipped away at my excitement. But soon he’d perked up and narrowed his eyes with interest. He’d reached for my hands and told me to do whatever it was that made me happy—even if it meant boarding the crazy train with Liberty Scott. I hadn’t even told him about the treatment.

“You mean there’s more to this silly sorcery?” he had asked.

There was, and Jimmy and Ben would fall under Liberty’s spell, just as I had.

Okay, it was ludicrous in theory. Treating the lower-level allergies meant holding vials in my hand, anything from spices to peppers to papaya. The more bottles we fit in my sweaty palm, the more I questioned what the heck I was doing. But I’d suspended disbelief in a dark room where Liberty told me to relax and take a nap. How was I or any sophisticated human being supposed to believe that these nontraditional treatments would redefine my body’s chemistry? But I complied, and after the snooze, I was relegated to a specific diet for twenty-five hours.

Philip had eyed me curiously after my first treatment, calcium, when I’d entered our kitchen carrying a bag of allowed foods. I was embarrassed to tell him I’d be eating pasta and chicken for breakfast, that any milk or milk products were unacceptable. Knock yourself out and read the ingredients of your favorite foods. Twenty-five blissful hours of retraining my body to accept these morsels rather than resisting. Liberty provided a list of foods and products I couldn’t even touch while submitting to the desensitization phase. Without the support of medical research, it was illogical and highly implausible to think this treatment cured allergies, but I complied. For nine straight weeks. And lo and behold, it worked. I avoided the fundamental minerals and vitamins found in most every food. All for the love of almonds.

Jimmy might have to be treated longer. There could be foods or ingredient tests that he wouldn’t pass in the allotted time, and then he would have to repeat the treatment and dietary restrictions. We would wait and see. But I’d be happy to know he attended a field trip or summer camp with other kids. It was worth the time and hours of deprivation.

The door opened, and Jimmy came sprinting down the hallway. I called out to him, “You ready?”

He nodded, and I led him toward the first step in testing: hand washing. “You need to take your shoes off first,” I said. He dropped the bright-green Nikes by the door outside Liberty’s office and grabbed my hand. It surprised me, and a tingly rush slipped through my fingers. Turning on the faucet, I surveyed his reflection in the mirror, wondering what his mother looked like. Did he have her lips? Her nose? Who was the woman who got to love this little guy?

“You doing okay?” I asked.

“No more needles.” He smiled. “A good day.”

“You know, I used to be allergic to almonds.” What a stupid thing to say to a kid who’s practically allergic to air. He was focused on lathering his hands and didn’t look up. I went on. “It was scary. And hard sometimes.”