As you may have realised from my post about the prime ministerial debate, I suffer from an allergy to tomatoes and an intolerance to gluten and wheat. The difference between an intolerance and an allergy is that the first will make you be sick for a while, the second will kill you.
Last week (10th to 17th April), I was on holiday in Cornwall with my family, my boyfriend, and my brother's girlfriend. We were staying in a lovely self-catering place in The Lizard. On the Tuesday, we'd spent a day at the beach and decided to dine out for dinner. We went to the Halzephron Inn, a dining pub that is known for high quality food. The family had been there once before, in 2006, which was before I got my allergy but after my Mum had developed her nut allergy, and we'd been fine. When my Dad had phoned to book the table during the day, he'd mentioned the allergies but the people at the place hadn't said anything.
We arrived at the Inn and asked for our table. The woman behind the bar, who was obviously in charge of everything, asked us to tell her, once again, what allergies we had. I listed them, along with the severity, and she went off to see what was suitable for us from their menu. I was expecting her to come back saying 'well you can't have the X, but you can have Y, or we can do Z but without the sauce'. However, she came back and promptly refused to even serve us because we were too risky. Bearing in mind this was in the middle of the Inn, in front of other customers, this was very embarrassing. I quietly said I understood and decided to go home and have a spud.
My Mum had other ideas, and said we were quite cabable of choosing our food and determining what risk we were at. The woman said again she couldn't serve us, and that we should have phoned in the morning so they could have done special food. We pointed out that my Dad had phoned earlier and no concerns had been raised then. We eventually sat down and had dinner, but we had been made to feel like freaks. We've never been refused service at a restaurant before, and felt this was unacceptable. We also felt that it would have been better if the woman had quietly taken us to one side and said 'i'm really sorry but chef says our particular menu tonight isn't safe for you'. As it was, she practically yelled about our problems to the whole pub.
My Mum and I have decided never to go back to the Halzephron Inn again, so I'm posting this to warn anyone with an allergy about a place that doesn't seem to want our custom.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Prime Ministerial Debates and Me
If you live in the UK then, unless you've been in a hole, you can't have failed to notice it's election time. You also probably know about the three 'leaders debates' that are occuring on television, one having been broadcast on ITV last Thursday. Tonight it's the turn of Sky News, who's debate on foreign affairs is being held in Bristol, where I happen to live.
A few weeks ago, whilst playing God of War III, I got a knock on the door asking if I'd like to attend this debate. I said yes please, that would be very interesting, and proceeded to answer several questions about my political opinions and wether I was an axe-weilding illegal immigrant. By virtue of being unemployed and a Lib Dem supporter, I was duely selected for the carefully balanced audience, having signed to say I wouldn't boo or hiss, stamp my feet, or throw things at the three leaders.
So, why am I not there right now, being bored out of my skull whilst sound and lighting make sure we don't all look and sound like the tired, dissolusioned mass of public we really are? Well it has something to do with a small, triangular yellow box I have to carry with me absolutely everywhere and which could potentially save my life.
To put it bluntly, it's because I have an allergy.
For the past three years I have suffered from an allergy to tomatoes that's so severe I cannot even walk past an Italian restaurant without coughing my guts up and having my eyes water like someone's just shoved an onion in my face. If my boyfriend decides to eat something with the dreaded red death ball in it, I can't kiss him until he's washed his mouth out. Eating out is such a nightmare that I just don't do it. Whilst I was on holiday in Cornwall last week, my mother and I (she has a nut allergy), were refused service at a pub restaurant because we were too complicated to cook for. I also have an intolerance to wheat and gluten, and might as well walk around with the word 'freak' emblazoned onto my forehead.
The yellow box I mentioned earlier contains my epi-pen. An epi-pen is a spring activated injection of adrenaline that I have to jab into my upper thigh should I suffer from an anaphalactic shock. Such an allergic reaction is so severe that it closes your windpipe, causes your organs to go into shock and shut down, and could leave you in a coma or kill you completely. The adrenaline keeps your heart going until the paramedics arrive.
What has this got to do with the leaders' debate? Apparently, carrying a tube with perhaps the biggest needle you will ever see in your life into a room containing three potential prime ministers is not a good idea. When I recieved my ticket for the debate and read the restrictions that said I'd have to leave my handbag in a completely different building and go through an 'airport style' search, I got a bit worried and spoke to the company who'd organised the audience recruitment. After a lenghty discussion with the woman about what exactly an epi-pen was and why I couldn't just leave it at home, she checked and came back to say I'd have to give it to an 'audience handler'. I said this wasn't good enough. After all, they could be across the other side of the room, or even taking a piss, and it's not like I can wave for help when I'm choking to death. I suggested I put it in a plastic wallet and plopped it under my chair. Eventually her colleague phoned to say actually I couldn't even take it to the debate venue. It would have to stay with my handbag in another building.
I promptly told them to shove the debate up their bottoms.
These sort of debates have never taken place in the UK before, and the chances of me being able to attend another one are extremely remote, but I do not understand why I should have to sit for hours feeling unsafe and worrying about what the person next to me had for lunch just in case I might use my medication as a weapon. The phrase 'second class citizen' gets thrown about way too much but, in terms of provision for people with allergies, this country is appaling. Places are only just waking up to the fact that not everyone can eat everything, and that's only for wheat and gluten problems, and even then it's not that good (wheat free does not mean gluten free, starbucks and costa). You cannot prohibit people with certain conditions from taking their medication with them. I'm not talking about a paracetemol in case you get a headache, I'm talking about asmathics, diabetics, and people like myself, for whom this medication can mean the difference between life and death.
It's probably for the best that I don't have Sky News, because I wouldn't watch the debate now if I did. They weren't prepared to accomodate me, so why should I give them my time?
A few weeks ago, whilst playing God of War III, I got a knock on the door asking if I'd like to attend this debate. I said yes please, that would be very interesting, and proceeded to answer several questions about my political opinions and wether I was an axe-weilding illegal immigrant. By virtue of being unemployed and a Lib Dem supporter, I was duely selected for the carefully balanced audience, having signed to say I wouldn't boo or hiss, stamp my feet, or throw things at the three leaders.
So, why am I not there right now, being bored out of my skull whilst sound and lighting make sure we don't all look and sound like the tired, dissolusioned mass of public we really are? Well it has something to do with a small, triangular yellow box I have to carry with me absolutely everywhere and which could potentially save my life.
To put it bluntly, it's because I have an allergy.
For the past three years I have suffered from an allergy to tomatoes that's so severe I cannot even walk past an Italian restaurant without coughing my guts up and having my eyes water like someone's just shoved an onion in my face. If my boyfriend decides to eat something with the dreaded red death ball in it, I can't kiss him until he's washed his mouth out. Eating out is such a nightmare that I just don't do it. Whilst I was on holiday in Cornwall last week, my mother and I (she has a nut allergy), were refused service at a pub restaurant because we were too complicated to cook for. I also have an intolerance to wheat and gluten, and might as well walk around with the word 'freak' emblazoned onto my forehead.
The yellow box I mentioned earlier contains my epi-pen. An epi-pen is a spring activated injection of adrenaline that I have to jab into my upper thigh should I suffer from an anaphalactic shock. Such an allergic reaction is so severe that it closes your windpipe, causes your organs to go into shock and shut down, and could leave you in a coma or kill you completely. The adrenaline keeps your heart going until the paramedics arrive.
What has this got to do with the leaders' debate? Apparently, carrying a tube with perhaps the biggest needle you will ever see in your life into a room containing three potential prime ministers is not a good idea. When I recieved my ticket for the debate and read the restrictions that said I'd have to leave my handbag in a completely different building and go through an 'airport style' search, I got a bit worried and spoke to the company who'd organised the audience recruitment. After a lenghty discussion with the woman about what exactly an epi-pen was and why I couldn't just leave it at home, she checked and came back to say I'd have to give it to an 'audience handler'. I said this wasn't good enough. After all, they could be across the other side of the room, or even taking a piss, and it's not like I can wave for help when I'm choking to death. I suggested I put it in a plastic wallet and plopped it under my chair. Eventually her colleague phoned to say actually I couldn't even take it to the debate venue. It would have to stay with my handbag in another building.
I promptly told them to shove the debate up their bottoms.
These sort of debates have never taken place in the UK before, and the chances of me being able to attend another one are extremely remote, but I do not understand why I should have to sit for hours feeling unsafe and worrying about what the person next to me had for lunch just in case I might use my medication as a weapon. The phrase 'second class citizen' gets thrown about way too much but, in terms of provision for people with allergies, this country is appaling. Places are only just waking up to the fact that not everyone can eat everything, and that's only for wheat and gluten problems, and even then it's not that good (wheat free does not mean gluten free, starbucks and costa). You cannot prohibit people with certain conditions from taking their medication with them. I'm not talking about a paracetemol in case you get a headache, I'm talking about asmathics, diabetics, and people like myself, for whom this medication can mean the difference between life and death.
It's probably for the best that I don't have Sky News, because I wouldn't watch the debate now if I did. They weren't prepared to accomodate me, so why should I give them my time?
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