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“Lyn, call 911,” I said, positioning the injector next to Grayson’s thigh with a shaky hand.
“Already ringing,” she replied from the other side of him.
“Here we go. Hold my hand.” I wasn’t sure if it was for his comfort or mine, but my stomach turned as I pushed the pen against his thigh and held it for ten seconds. It was the longest ten seconds of my life.
“The ambulance is on the way,” I heard Lyndi say as I released the pressure on his leg and drew the EpiPen away.
“Ow!” Grayson moaned, leaning forward, his head falling onto my shoulder.
I fell back on my bum, pulling him off his chair. My heart pounded in my chest as I cradled him in my arms and rubbed his back. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine, honey.”
Lyndi went over to the door and opened it, unlocking the screen door so the paramedics could come right in. Then she came back over to us and crouched down. “How’s he doing?”
His breathing felt weird to me, but I had no experience with this and no clue whether or not it was normal after getting the drugs. “I don’t know.”
“Lemme see your face, sweetie,” Lyndi said, dipping her head so she could get a better view. Concern lined her face as she met my eyes. “Maybe we should lay him down?”
I did as she suggested, thinking she was probably right since a big part of this was the person with the allergy not being able to breathe. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t curled up against my chest, giving him more room to breathe.
Petting his hair, I leaned over him, searching his face for any sign he was feeling better. The EpiPen was supposed to fix him, wasn’t it? Why did he still look so weak? Was that normal, too?
Seconds later, I heard the wailing of the approaching sirens. “Oh, Gray, hang in there. Help is coming.”
“Okay,” he whispered. He was conscious at least, but barely.
Paramedics swarmed our house, so Lyndi and I scrambled off the floor and out of their way. We rattled off what happened and what we’d done to help him, and they put him on oxygen while we talked.
“There you are, little man,” one of them said, smiling down at him. “That helps, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, the oxygen mask on his face clearly doing something to help.
Another paramedic turned to me as they prepped to move him. “Good job with the EpiPen, but you saved his life by calling 911. Sometimes with severe allergies, the adrenaline shot isn’t enough to stave off anaphylaxis. The oxygen mixed with the epinephrine usually does the trick, but we’re going to take him over to the hospital to be safe.”
“Of course, yes, do that. Can I ride in the ambulance with him?” I asked.
“Yep.” Then he turned to Lyndi. “You can follow in the car if you want. We can only let Mom come in the ambo.”
Neither of us corrected him, we just dashed for our purses and phones so we were ready to follow them out the door. Before I left, however, I thought it might be a good idea to know exactly what had been in the cake that had caused this reaction in Grayson. I zipped into the kitchen and pulled out my phone, taking a photo of the ingredients list from the bottom of the plastic container.
In the ambulance, I held Gray’s hand and forced myself not to cry. What had I done? Zac had trusted me with his kid, and I’d let him down. Worse than that, I’d letGraydown. He needed to be able to trust me as much as Zac did, and I’d failed him tonight. And that hurt even worse.
With shaky hands, I called Zac.
He answered right away. “Hey, love. I was just about to call you. I’m at the ER with Trevor, and he’s going to be fine.”
“Good,” I said, meaning it. But I swallowed, feeling like I needed a miracle to make it through this conversation without throwing up all over Gray’s little hand in my lap. “But, Zac, you need to come back.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone immediately sharp with worry.
“I checked the ingredients, I swear, but I gave Grayson some cake and it must have had some kind of nut product in it.”
There was a loud bang and I flinched, imagining him having hit a wall or thrown something. “Did you use the EpiPen? Is he okay?”
“Yes and yes, he seems to be. We called 911 right away, and they gave him oxygen. We’re on the way to the hospital now.”
A scratchy sound came through the phone, and then I heard his muffled voice telling someone he had to leave. Jo, maybe? Ugh, I felt terrible. Thankfully, Trevor was okay, but still.
“Okay, I’m heading to my truck. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me when you get there and let me know what they say,” he barked into the phone. Even in the loud ambulance with its blaring sirens, I could tell he was running. “And Layla?”
