Last week my youngest daughter's life flashed before my eyes. We were out at the park when suddenly she put down her bike, grabbed her leg and started screaming. I thought she'd fallen, but it turned out she'd been stung by a wasp. Not only is that pretty scary for a kid, but she is also violently allergic, and knows it. I hopped the fence and ran to her to find a red sting mark surrounded by inflamed skin.

The inefficiency and scatteredness that has marked the last couple of years of my life vanished almost instantly. I picked her up and put her in the car. Pinky and Eldest jumped in, and we drove straight back to the apartment, stripped Littlest down, and watched in horror as she started to turn red and endure severe itchiness all over her body. My hopes that the wound was a harmless insect bite disappeared, and it became obvious I had to take her to the hospital. I packed her epipen, just in case, kissed Pinky goodbye, and waved to poor Eldest who was crying at the sight of her little sister going out the door, possibly for the last time.

We got in the car and I looped around the block and had to wait agonizingly at a red light across the street, in traffic. Within seconds, Littlest's eyes and lips swelled up, making her almost unrecognizable, all the while with her exclaiming, "What's happening to me???" I became very scared, wondering if I should have just called an ambulance, wondering if Littlest was going to die in my backseat.

The light finally turned green and I was able to round the corner and stop the car. I had to slow all my actions down to what felt like half-speed, so I wouldn't panic and cause some even worse calamity. I got out the epipen and climbed into the back seat with her. I explained the situation, read the instructions as carefully as I could, then plunged the needle into her outer thigh. Her eyes grew wide with the pain, but she kept still enough for me to hold the needle in for the requisite few seconds.

We continued on our way to the hospital; on the way, I handed her my trusted Red Sox sunhat to stem the bloodflow from the injection spot. The injection seemed to make her feel a bit better temporarily, as it is meant to. I tried waving down a cop to help us get to the hospital faster, but couldn't get his attention. We finally arrived at the Emergency entrance, and a sympathetic father let us through to be seen in triage immediately.

The doctors described her reaction as "severe," and at one point she was surrounded by about 5 paramedics checking her vitals and setting up an IV.

After some crying and the administration of more adrenaline, the swelling on her eyes began to diminish somewhat, and this seven-year-old sweetheart said something I'll never forget:

"My eyes feel better. Now I can see your lovely bald head again."

The nurse in the room laughed and turned around incredulously, asking what she'd said, and I basically told her, with no shortage of pride, that she'd heard correctly.

As she continued to stabilize, I held her hand and every once in a while she'd turn her head toward me, with still-swollen eyes and lips, and red braided pigtails, and smile, letting me know that underneath the pain and excessive histamine, she was still with me. She said she wished her sister, Pinky, mom, stepdad, grandma and granddad, and granny and grandpa could all be there with her. I told her they'd probably all be very happy to be with her at that moment, and called home to let Pinky and Eldest know that everything was alright.

Six hours later, after the doctors were confident that she'd stabilized satisfactorily, and despite some minor vomiting when we walked out the door, we were on our way home.

Needless to say, the next day, which I took off from work to stay with her, and which Eldest also asked to have off so she could be with her sister, Littlest's wishes were my command.

I hope I never get that scared again. Unfortunately, being a parent, I guess it will happen.

But for now, I'll enjoy knowing that everything is back as it was – except, Littlest probably understands a little more clearly just how much everyone around her cares for her.

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