Realizing My Milk Allergy and Embracing a New Experience

A while ago, my in-laws planned a trip to Bratislava for a tango class, and they brought my two beautiful nieces along. Neither of the girls wanted to join the dance class, so Augustin and I had the opportunity to spend the afternoon with them. It’s rare that they come to Bratislava, even though Nitra is only an hour away—it really does feel much farther than that.

We went to one of my favorite restaurants in the city, a delicious Mexican spot called Mezcalli. If you enjoy Mexican food and ever find yourself in Bratislava or anywhere in Slovakia, I definitely recommend it. A little warning—my favorite restaurants always tend to be on the pricier side. That’s partly because I used to work in the restaurant industry, and I know quality when I see it. Great food usually isn’t cheap.

After our filling lunch, we wandered around Old Town and got some ice cream. That’s when I was hit with a realization: I really am allergic to milk.

I’ve taken multiple allergy tests in the past, and every one of them confirmed a milk allergy. But I never truly believed it because I didn’t notice major symptoms. This summer, I’ve been drinking coffee with milk almost every day, and the past two weeks have not been very pleasant for me physically. This week, I finally became suspicious about the milk. And after eating ice cream yesterday, I had a very strong reaction. That was confirmation enough. Now I know: yes, I have a real milk allergy. It’s not just something written on paper—it affects me. I’ll be avoiding dairy about 90 percent of the time now, though I believe my body can handle a little here and there.

As I write this, we’re packing up and getting ready to head out to CampFest, a Christian festival. I’ve never been to a festival before, mostly because I’ve never thought I would enjoy them. But this time, I’m actually looking forward to trying something new. We’ve rented a trailer for the weekend, and I’m hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Who knows—maybe I’ll enjoy it more than I think.

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In the Absence of One, the Gift of Another