Bananas are every where in Costa Rica. I mean, we grow them here. Drive out to the coast and you’ll get to see fields of banana trees plump with fruit waiting to ripen and be sent to far away lands to decorate an ice cream sundae or moisten quick breads.

Turns out Addison is allergic to them. To the best of our knowledge, that harmless looking yellow fruit landed me in the hospital with Addison limp, white, full of a dotty red rash, and that after a couple hours of stomach pain, enemas (I’ll save the torrid details) and vomit.

This is my second trip in two months to the emergency room. I’ve gotten to know this hospital too well. So well, I never get lost in the freakishly similar hallways; the doctors know Addison on a first name basis. And since he was born, I’ve spent more time giving thanks to modern Western medicine than I thought possible for an all-natural-organic-whole-food-alternative-medicine girl like me.

It turns out the chamomile enema and vomiting actually were the best things for him. In the hospital we just took some x-rays to be sure nothing was stuck in there like one of our guinea pigs or plastic toy cow. The doctor wanted Addison to eat some applesauce before we left to be sure he didn’t vomit again (because then it could be something worse than an allergy). After he slurped up the food, he scooted around the halls chatting to everyone. He had captured everyone’s heart, and I had regained mine.