Who wants vegan chili?!

First comes the sea bass line. About eight people deep. When I finally get my turn at the huge slab of succulent flesh I hear the server utter that dreaded word: butter.

I used to love butter — and I really still do — but I have to avoid it like so many other of my favorites: steak, ribs, ham, bacon, sharp cheddar, feta, swiss, biscuits, ranch dressing, ice cream, chocolate, etc., etc., etc.

I have the alpha gal allergy. First of all, it’s tough enough losing all your favorite foods. And just about as bad is having to repeat the name of that allergy to the uninitiated which sounds like something out of a cheap comic book or late night b-movie: “The mighty Alpha Gal from the planet Zolton can defeat those whiny betas! She’s our only hope!”

I got this allergy from tick bites. Two of them. Cat 5 Hurricane Michael left us with a huge mess in Panama City, Fla. Roughly 18 months later and we’re still cutting up downed trees and fixing damaged homes and businesses — or at least trying to while battling insurance carriers and wily contractors (that’s another story, or more like a series). After the storm we were outside constantly cleaning up and moving debris. That’s where I came in contact with these unmerciful blood suckers. You don’t hear or feel them like mosquitoes. You or someone else spots them, standing on end, like a tiny turd of a flag claiming your flesh and blood.

I’ve dealt with ticks before but nothing quite like this. The first one woke me up in the middle of the night. I felt a strange pain coming from my inner thigh. The bathroom light revealed the dirty little vampire. It was late and I was pissed. I didn’t carefully remove it with tweezers. I yanked it out like a weed and doused the wound with alcohol. God knows how long it had been there. It had been hidden under my pants for most of the day. I didn’t even feel it or see it when I put my pajamas on. And then I woke up in the wee hours to its unholy feasting. It may have been dining for around 16 hours or so. Too long for sure.

I sealed the Lone Star tick’s remains in a baggie, went back to bed and woke up with some swelling. That had never happened before with other tick bites, Lone Star or otherwise. Not that I’m a tick magnet, or maybe I am. Anyway, I applied some Bactroban, put on an ice pack and went online for answers. I started with Lyme disease because given all the warnings from health officials through the years you can’t help but start there. Though I wasn’t exhibiting any of the symptoms I headed to the doctor anyway with the tick’s remains in tow. He told me that the chances of getting Lyme were pretty slim and prescribed antibiotics to fight off the infection.

About a week later, the swelling was gone. Life returned to the new normal which meant more clean-up work outside. I went into battle with long pants, shirt and insect repellant. Nonetheless, about a week later, I ended up with another tick. (Nobody else in my family were bothered, so yes, I guess that makes me a tick magnet.) This Lone Star bastard was removed more carefully with tweezers. After swelling again, I went back to the doctor for another visit. I continued the regiment of antibiotics and the swelling subsided.

Aside from waiting on insurance agents, truant contractors and ongoing storm clean-up, life was fine for a while. Then one night I had one of the worst asthma attacks of my life. I was first diagnosed with the condition following hell week at football practice. Between preventive medicine and a puffer, I was able to continue playing ball and wrestling too. But that night was one of the worst attacks yet. It took about three shots of that inhaler to bring the attack under control. I finally went to sleep and woke up the next morning with my upper lip feeling a little odd. I also felt a little dizzy too. I looked in the mirror and instantly recalled those public health announcements on the radio that warned of stroke symptoms, a drooping face among them. The left side of my upper lip was swollen leaving that side of my mouth hanging at a strange, Picasso-like angle. Yeah, this isn’t good, I thought. Time for a trip to the ER.

There are few things I dislike more than going to the ER. And with four kids, I’ve made my share of trips. During one late-night visit, my son and I waited for what seemed like an eternity while a middle-aged woman — obviously out of her mind — kept talking to herself about some man and the devil. Jesus help us. Finally we got called back where my son was diagnosed with Hell’s itch — no joke. It’s probably the most painful sunburn on the planet — in this case, a teen’s woeful mistake of leaving parents and sunscreen behind for a long day outdoors with a friend in the Sunshine State.

Thankfully, this time my wait wasn’t nearly as long and my fellow patients were much more sedate and even a little cheerful at times. It was still early in the morning. Looked like the real drama wouldn’t kick in until more folks had time to rise and shine and tangle with chain saws, ladders, ticks and God knows what else. And this time it was Dad that brought me — a smart precaution because if I was actually having a stroke or some other third degree health issue, I didn’t want to keel over and drive into oncoming traffic. (That had actually happened to a favorite college prof of mine and a former boss). Dad and I had discussed whether to call an ambulance, but honestly, it would be just as fast or even faster to have him race me down to the hospital versus waiting for the nearest ambulance to come out our way. #countrylife. Since it was early enough in the morning, traffic was still fairly light. Dad did a great job in his newfound role as Uber ambulance.

At the hospital, the doctor did an admirable job of asking questions. I told her about the tick bites and infections. Following some x-rays and plenty of data on my vitals, she diagnosed me with angioedema that may have been brought on by the infections. As a precaution, she prescribed some more powerful antibiotics. She kept me for a while longer for observation and after my lip began looking less and less like a fat sausage link, I was discharged. While relieved that a stroke had been ruled out, I was still puzzled as to what had brought on such a strong asthma attack and lip swelling. I began thinking that I might have had an allergic reaction to something I ate. A discussion ensued with Mom. She suggested the great idea of writing down any foods I had eaten recently and to continue compiling that list along with any reactions.

I first I thought it might be soy. I visited my allergist, told him about the tick bite infections, the asthma attack and the lip swelling. He tested me for food allergies. Congratulations, he said. I could eat anything I want. Hot dog! That was great news. No more scanning food labels for soy. But then it happened again. This time I had been eating some delicious teriyaki pork jerky when my upper lip puffed up again. The swelling was worse this time and there was some mild pain too. I took some Benadryl and pain medicine which definitely helped. I thought about those tick bites again. Somehow I thought they might be to blame. Nothing else made much sense.

And when nothing else makes sense, I jump online and start researching. I narrowed it down to two possibilities: a thyroid issue or alpha gal. One symptom of hypothyroidism is lip swelling. Thyroid problems run in my family so that might be it, I thought. But then the info pouring in on tick borne alpha gal made more sense. A Mayo Clinic article posted online proved to be a godsend. Here’s an excerpt:

Alpha-gal syndrome is a recently identified type of food allergy to red meat. In the United States, the condition most often begins when a Lone Star tick bite transmits a sugar molecule called alpha-gal into the body. In some people, this triggers an immune system reaction that later produces mild to severe allergic reactions when they eat red meat.

The Lone Star tick is found predominantly in the southeastern United States, and most cases of alpha-gal syndrome occur in this region. The condition appears to be spreading farther north and west, however, as deer carry the Lone Star tick to new parts of the United States. Alpha-gal syndrome also has been diagnosed in Europe, Australia, and Asia, where other types of ticks carry alpha-gal molecules.

Armed with this article as well as info from Vanderbilt University, I went back to my allergist who tested me for the allergy. Not long after, I got a phone call from the allergist’s office telling me that I had alpha gal allergy or syndrome. It’s also known as the mammalian meat allergy, or MMA, but saying any of those three will usually solicit some perplexed looks. Sometimes during my travels, I’ll come across others who have relatives or friends with the condition. Most have never heard of it.

Adjusting my diet here at home has been fairly easy. My precious meat group has been narrowed down to turkey, fish, chicken and eggs. My beloved steaks, ribs, ham and dairy are off the list. And that’s not all. Gelatin, a pork derivative found in all kinds of food products, is also a no-no. I found that out the hard way while chewing my favorite gum. As I felt my lip starting to swell I grabbed the container of gum and starting scanning ingredients. I had been super good about doing that but messed up here. My prized gum was the next to be excommunicated for gelatin. I passed along the rest of it to my kids.

This is where it gets more complicated. Before heading out to any event — and I travel quite a bit — I have to tell the host company about my weird allergy. I let them know what’s safe to eat and what’s not. I reassure them that I travel with medicines for asthma and allergy attacks, like Claritin and an EpiPen. Claritin has worked great for me in case I cross any lines. So far, I’ve had only two allergy attacks following my diagnosis. The most recent happened at a Denver hotel where I woke up around 2 a.m. with a mildly swollen lip. I took some Claritin and by the time I got up around 7 a.m., my lip was fine. I traced it to some shrimp the night before at dinner.

Everything had been going fine that night. Buffet tables were spread throughout this cavernous dining room. And like other hosts, they were great about labeling their dishes with little warning cards that list typical allergens like dairy, beef, soy, etc. Vegan cards are a great sight for me while traveling. Though I can eat poultry and fish, I can’t chow down if it has any butter. That’s why I had to pass on the sea bass and headed for the shrimp instead. Though there might have been a card, I don’t recall seeing one close to the dish and I couldn’t find any servers in this sea of people to confirm, so I took a gamble and lost.

My best score of the night? Vegan chili. While waiting in another line, a guy behind me spotted the large pot on the table ahead. “Vegan chili?! he exclaimed to his friends. “Really? Who wants vegan chili?” I turned around, smiled and said, “I don’t have a choice. I’m allergic to red meat.” I didn’t list the rest of the foods. He was sympathetic and happily dove into the forbidden chili next to mine.

Really, my allergy couldn’t have come at a better time. The variety of foods in the market is pretty amazing. I’m pretty content now with fake butter, fake milk, fake ice cream and, yes, fake meat. While I like the Impossible Whopper, Hardee’s Beyond Meat Thickburger wins the taste-test. I’ve yet to try fake chocolate. It was tough watching Mom and Dad open their presents of Sees’ candies this year. While happy for them, I couldn’t dive in. I had to abstain. A husband and wife are selling some faux chocolate online. I may give it a shot.

I’ve made some mistakes along the way. During a recent dinner event, the waiter popped down an unbelievably gorgeous looking steak medallion right in front of me. It was a festive night. People were chatting, laughing, having a good time all around. The wine was flowing and before I knew it, I was chewing up a tasty piece of red meat. It was weird. It was like instinct and old habits converged all at once. My eyes probably rolled back into my head like Jaws just before diving into that plate. It was the first piece of beef I had in roughly six months. I was out on parole— sort of. I had popped a Claritin earlier at lunch because I wasn’t so sure about the chicken. I can take only one pill in a 24-hour period so now I’d have to see if I’d escape unharmed. I did. So far, that’s been my only big cheat. I don’t make it a habit of popping pills and tempting fate. I’ve haven’t had any more asthma attacks and I’m hopeful that in a year or two the condition will regress, which is typically the case. In the meantime, I’ll be that guy scanning the ingredients of chip bags, bread, candy and microwave popcorn — yes, oddly enough, most microwave popcorn contains milk. Weird, I know, but there it is. At least I’ve still got beer and the memories of that delicious steak in Atlanta.

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