My Mother-in-law Poisoned My Food To Prove My Deadly Allergy Was Fake.

The Deadly Skepticism of a Mother-in-Law

My mother-in-law poisoned my food to prove my deadly allergy was fake. My last shred of patience died right there.

I’ve been allergic to shellfish my whole life. It is the kind where my throat closes up, and I need an EpiPen within minutes, or I could die.

When I met my husband, James, I told him on our second date. Restaurants were always tricky, and I needed him to understand why I had to ask so many questions about ingredients.

He was great about it, always double-checking menus and carrying backup EpiPens. He made sure restaurants knew about my allergy.

His mother, Linda, was a different story. From the moment James told her about my allergy, she rolled her eyes.

She said, “Young people nowadays all claimed allergies for attention.”

She said in her day, nobody had allergies and everyone was fine. I showed her my medical alert bracelet and my prescription papers.

I even offered to have my allergist talk to her. She waved it all away, saying doctors would diagnose anything for money.

The first few family dinners were tense. Linda would make elaborate seafood dishes, then act offended when I couldn’t eat them.

She’d say she forgot about my fake allergy and make something else while sighing dramatically. James would bring safe food for me, but Linda would call it insulting to bring outside food to her table.

She started saying I was using allergies to control James, to make myself special, and to get attention. At every meal, she’d tell anyone who’d listen that I was ruining family dinners with my pickiness.

Then she started testing me. She’d swear something was safe, then mention after I’d eaten it that there might have been shrimp paste in the sauce.

But since I didn’t react, she claimed I must be cured. I’d panic, take Benadryl, and watch for symptoms while she laughed about me being dramatic.

James would get angry, but Linda would cry that she was just trying to help me get over my mental block about seafood. She started hiding seafood in things, tiny amounts at first.

She’d grind up dried shrimp and put it in seasonings, or use oyster sauce in vegetables. She would sneak fish sauce into marinades.

Each time, I’d feel my throat getting itchy and my lips tingling. I’d have to take Benadryl immediately.

Linda would say it was psychosomatic because if I really had an allergy, I’d be in the hospital. She didn’t understand that the tiny amounts were just below my threshold for anaphylaxis but still causing reactions.

James caught her once adding something to my plate.

She said, “It was just extra seasoning.”

We stopped going to her house for dinner, but she’d bring food to our place. She was always insisting she made it specially for me.

I stopped eating anything she made. She told the whole family I was refusing her food to be spiteful.

A Birthday Dinner Becomes a Crime Scene

At James’ birthday dinner at a restaurant, Linda insisted on ordering for everyone, saying she knew the menu best. She ordered me a pasta dish, swearing it was safe.

The waiter confirmed no shellfish. I was hungry and tired of fighting, so I ate it.

Within minutes, my throat started closing. James stabbed me with the EpiPen while calling 911.

At the hospital, the doctor said I’d ingested concentrated shellfish extract. It was enough to kill someone with my level of allergy if not for the immediate EpiPen.

Linda arrived at the hospital playing the concerned mother-in-law, but the nurse was suspicious. She asked how shellfish extract ended up in a supposedly safe dish.

Linda said the restaurant must have made a mistake. But the restaurant manager had come to the hospital with the security footage because they were terrified of being sued.

The video showed Linda at the table alone for a few minutes while we were in the bathroom. She’d pulled a small bottle from her purse and poured it into my food.

The manager had kept the plate for testing after we left in the ambulance. The police were called.

Linda tried to say it was just fish sauce for flavor and that she didn’t know it would hurt me. The officer asked why she brought fish sauce to a restaurant.

She said, “She always carried seasonings.”

He asked to see her purse, and they couldn’t believe what they found. Officer Lorraine Boyd reached into Linda’s purse right there in the hospital hallway.

She pulled out three small bottles, the kind with medical labels and precise measurements. The officer held them up to the light, and her whole face changed.

She found concentrated shellfish extract, the pharmaceutical-grade kind they use in allergy testing labs. Linda started backing up, but the officer kept digging through the purse.

She pulled out a spiral notebook with a blue cover. Officer Boyd flipped through the pages, and I watched her expression get harder with each one.

The notebook had dates going back two years. Each entry described my reactions to food Linda had given me.

One said, “Tiny amount in sauce. Subject showed mild reaction, proving psychological component.”

Another said, “Increased dose in marinade. Subject took antihistamine but no hospital visit, confirming mental block theory.”

There were at least twenty entries documenting how Linda had been poisoning me systematically to prove I was faking. The officer looked up at Linda with disgust.

Linda’s face crumpled, and tears started rolling down her cheeks. She reached for the notebook, but Officer Boyd pulled it back.

Linda said she was trying to help me overcome my mental block about seafood.

She said, “Exposure therapy works for phobias and she’d read about it online.”

Officer Boyd cut her off mid-sentence. The officer said this wasn’t a phobia; it was a documented medical condition with years of records.

She said what Linda did constituted attempted murder. Linda gasped like she’d been slapped.

Officer Boyd pulled out handcuffs and told Linda to turn around. Linda started sobbing and saying this was all a misunderstanding.

She said, “She never meant to hurt anyone.”

Officer Boyd didn’t care. She snapped the cuffs on Linda’s wrists while reading her rights.

I watched from my hospital room doorway as they walked Linda down the hallway. Linda kept turning back to look at me, her face red and streaming with tears.

She kept saying, “I was misunderstood.”

She said it over and over. Other patients and nurses stopped to stare.

James stood next to me with his arm around my waist. I could feel him shaking.

The Evidence of a Serial Abuser

James came back into my room after they took Linda away. He pulled the chair right up next to my bed and sat down.

He took my hand in both of his and just held it. His hands were cold and trembling.

I could see his whole face had collapsed; his eyes were red and wet. He said he should have protected me better.

He said he should have cut his mother off years ago when the testing started. His voice kept breaking.

I was still shaky from the EpiPen, and my throat felt raw. My whole body ached from the reaction, but I squeezed his hand and told him this wasn’t his fault.

I said his mother was an adult who made her own choices. He shook his head.

He said he knew she was testing me and he didn’t do enough to stop it. I reminded him we stopped going to her house and stopped eating her food.