Morgan Hopkins, 5, a kindergarten student at Seneca Central Public School, eats lunch with Jessica Catherwood, left, whose mom packed her a "Morgan-Friendly" lunch. Morgan has three life-threatening food allergies. As a result, special precautions have to be taken in the school to ensure she is not exposed to any of the dangerous food groups.

The entire school has adapted to ensure Morgan is happy and safe in her class.

"The turkey is with butter,'' says Catherwood, 5, who knows Morgan can't sit near mayonnaise. Products made with peanuts, milk and eggs could kill Morgan. "Morgan friendly" has become a frequent adjective in the evolving vocabulary of this class.

Morgan has a disinfected table for snacks and another reserved for lunch, sugared gum drops wrapped with her mom's elastic for treats, birthday cupcakes in the school's freezer, a locked medical kit in the staff room, her photo posted with information, an Epi-Pen that never leaves her waist tucked into her belt, holster style, a policy and procedure manual that will follow her throughout her academic future, and Grade 1 teachers terrified of her arrival.

Morgan's tables may be a symbol of future classroom architecture when it comes to accommodating children with food allergies. Whether it's fish or dairy, eggs or nuts, more and more children are being diagnosed with food allergies. The issue of ingredient disclosure has consequences for food manufacturers wary of litigation. Fast food restaurants such as McDonald's will provide ingredient lists. Reputable manufacturers such as Kellogg's have consumer information lines.

There have been enough accidental ingestions and deaths that manufacturers have become responsible, said Jane Salter, president of the Anaphylaxis Network of Canada, an organization devoted to increasing awareness and education for people who can die from an allergic reaction to food. Sometimes companies even overuse precautionary labelling, "May contain peanuts or nut traces" because it's a voluntary designation. When Nestlé recently announced it would stop making nut-free chocolate treats such as Coffee Crisp, Kit Kat and Smarties parents were sent scurrying for alternatives.

Food allergies have consequences beyond the obvious population of sufferers forced to avoid restaurants, decipher ingredients and never leave the house without their needles. Parents in schools with peanut bans are learning to become flexible about lunch. Health care workers are showing teachers how to inject the Epi-Pen into the thigh. Pictures of children with allergies posted in staff rooms, such as the lineup of seven photos at C. H. Bray in Ancaster, have simply become part of the expected furniture.

"Three times a year a newsletter goes out to parents (September, December and March Break) describing alternatives to peanuts,'' says Gary Moncour the principal of C.H. Bray in Ancaster who helped create policy for the school board. Every year the nurse gives an overview. Attendance is mandatory. The school is "peanut safe" as opposed to "peanut free," a legal term that suggests the school has warned parents, but occasionally a wayward peanut butter sandwich finds its way inside. When that happens the student who brought that food is removed.

"What we do is not unusual,'' says Moncour. "It's become routine."

Why food allergies are increasing is not fully known. If you think of the immune system functioning like an atlas, the system includes a series of pathways, explained Dr. Jason Ohayon, a consulting allergist and clinical immunologist, and an assistant clinical professor at McMaster University and Hamilton Health Sciences Corp.

"Let's say you're driving from Hamilton to California. And let's say California is an allergy mecca and Miami is allergy free. There are many ways to get there, many highways to choose from, but the routes are still under scrutiny.''

For science, that means the roadmap of the immune system pathways are becoming clearer, and doctors try to manipulate that system for patients. But doctors do not know why some people end up in Miami and others wind up in California.

Because these pathways are developing in infancy, doctors in Britain have recommended pregnant women, avoid peanuts. In the second trimester the baby is developing those pathways to Miami or California. The thinking behind the ban in Britain is to eliminate high-risk cargo. This ban is one of the most contentious issues in the medical debate. The Canadian Society of Allergy and Clinical Immunology just recently recommended allergic parents avoid peanuts during nursing. The recommendation applies whether it's the father or mother who suffers from allergies, as genetic history constitutes one of the risk factors.

"If you went downtown in Hamilton and stopped people on the street you would find that one out of five has some sort of allergic disease," said Dr. Ohayon.

It's a case for an epidemiological Sherlock Holmes filled with combinations of clues from a variety of venues: genetics, the way we live and diet. Consider airtight, fuel-efficient homes where the windows are closed, insulation dense, and dust mites find a lovely welcome in bedding, carpeting and stuffed animals. It is the mites' invisible excrement that constitutes the most common indoor allergen.

Move to innercity Chicago and New York, where families are living below the poverty line and doctors are overloaded with cockroach allergies, and they come to see affordable housing as good medicine, he said.

The first recorded description of allergies was unearthed on the tomb of Pharaoh Menes dated 2641 BC, so this is not a modern disease. What archeologists unearthed was a picture of the political leader being killed by a wasp.

One school of thought is that the immune system is not being activated because of the sterility we are living with, and, like the lonely Maytag repair man, it starts looking for something to do.

Consider how eating has changed in the last 100 years. "You used to be able to see what you were eating. If potatoes bothered you, you would avoid potatoes,'' suggests Salter.

If you pick up processed food there will be many ingredients you do not recognize and you will be exposed to them. Tracy Hopkins uses a bread machine because she knows that "steroyl-2-lactylate," found in some bread, contains dairy. Add global travel and produce and allergies might be the price we are forced to pay, Salter suggested.

While many parents are hostile to allergic accommodations, others become adept at creative accommodation. One mother called the Binbrook bakery where Morgan's aunt works. She ordered a new flavour : "Morgan friendly." Morgan was able to go a classmate's party worry-free. On the box of birthday cake the directions said, "indulge." Sometimes food itself can be eliminated and loot bags can be filled with stickers, notebooks, markers or marbles.

For Morgan, eating is regulated. She can't sit near a child who has cheese, pizza, egg salad, milk, puddings, yogurt, chocolate, store bought cookies, granola bars, buttered popcorn or a thousand other staples of the lunch repertoire. "Morgan friendly" doesn't mean Morgan can eat the product. It means she can sit beside a child without breaking out into what she calls "itchies," the beginning of an allergic reaction. This is a kid whose hands swelled into what looked like toads at a movie theatre when her mom covered her seat with her coat, but left the armrests exposed. Her skin reacted to the residue.

As an infant she reacted to breast milk. Doctors raised their eyebrows when Hopkins thought something was wrong. She turned out to be right. Doctors know now that proteins can be passed through the breast milk to the baby.

At 15 months she was allergic to rice, soy and cow's milk and was being given a calcium supplement. Her mother tried a quarter teaspoon of goat's milk and Morgan's cheeks swelled, her throat constricted and she began to gag.

Because of the 25-minute response time for the ambulance, Hopkins and her sister rushed her into their car to the Henderson hospital and injected an Epi-pen which reversed the symptoms.

"It was the scariest moment of my life,'' said Tracy Hopkins.

Back in the classroom, Jessica joins Morgan at the table. Jessica pops grapes into her mouth. Morgan dips her cucumbers. They munch. They don't talk. Kids in this class know the rule is "no sharing food" with Morgan.

"We explained that it sounds cruel, but it's designed to keep Morgan safe,'' says Poirier.

It's 10:30 a.m. and it's snacktime at Seneca public school. It's a school in Haldimand Norfolk, where kids are bused. Morgan gets a ride.

"I don't have the guts to put her on the bus,'' says Tracy Hopkins. What is usually a relaxed mid-morning pause has become a structured ritual of washing, eating and washing again. Hopkins provides the class with wipes. Beside the sink there are containers of disinfecting soap for the kids, a special brand for Morgan and a spray bottle for the teacher for furniture.

"In the fall the school was in a panic,'' says Poirier, who is in charge of the class of 17. "There were days in the fall when I went home and said to my husband, 'I don't know if I can make it." There were days when ... I felt like a nutcase. I was disinfecting chairs, disinfecting tables ... . The kids are being cleaned to death."

Every day janitors wet-mop and vacuum Morgan's class. A caretaker comes in daily at 12:30 p.m. to scrub tables. The spray bottle she uses in the morning and afternoon has now become an appendage for Poirier. At recess the kids play within a particular area so Morgan can be located. Morgan and her mother have made presentations to the school.

"We've had the health nurse in (for training) we've had the ambulance attendant in ... but I don't want to be responsible for a child dying,'' says Poirier.

What does a parent do when peanut butter smudges can move like invisible terrorists from volleyballs to skipping ropes, from water fountains to glue glitter? Hermetically sealing a five-year-old in a peanut-free, milk-free, egg-free room was not an option. But this is Morgan's first year at school, a rite of passage, an act of faith and a million daily moments of vigilance.

With her 'radar' turned on, Hopkins saw food lurking: the discarded candy wrappers on the playground, ingredients in the homemade finger paints, birthday cupcakes at school, relay races in the gym, dirty hands on the bus. Add to that the unknown terrain of field trips, food used in art projects, the potential for an innocent error by a supply teacher or a gift of food from a friend.

Hopkins sent out an invitation to the girls' parents in her daughter's class inviting them to eat lunch with Morgan at her special "allergen-free" table, and listing the foods the child could bring. It was a gesture designed to decrease the social isolation for a kid who, by necessity, has to be occasionally isolated.

"My daughter is the little gal in your child's class who has life threatening food allergies to peanuts, milk, and eggs." But instead of creating terror, she offered encouragement.

"So far everything is going just great. Thanks to Mrs. Poirier and the janitors, we are able to keep the classroom and the children clean. Your children have been so wonderful! All have been willing to clean their hands after eating, and so thoughtful to Morgan on special events like Valentine's Day and Christmas by bringing treats that she is able to eat. ..."

For the Hopkins family, Morgan's allergies mean resourceful substitution. Family vacations mean a cottage with a kitchen where they can control the food. Morgan carries a water bottle in her knapsack because she can't drink from the fountain. And her mom doesn't leave the house without their blue cooler that has been transformed into a mobile restaurant.

"We're making our own traditions,'' says Hopkins. "We do more picnicking."

After snack time, kids are given an opportunity for free play.

Morgan plays on her own, choosing a game of matching numbers. She concentrates, matches up the numbers until the board is full, and announces to her teacher she has completed the task. Maybe it's reassuring when you're five years old to be able to create order for yourself in a world where the act of eating has the capacity to kill.

For more information check out www.foodallergy.org.

You can contact Leslie Simpson by e-mail at lsimpson@hamiltonspectator.com or by telephone at 905-526-3207.