Brush With Death?
Life is full of ups and downs…
We returned from five wonderful days in Ireland last Monday. Five days of beautiful countryside, fantastic sights, and friendly people.
Definitely one of those ups in life.
Tuesday morning, I was back in action: work and real life. But, I came pretty close to death that day. Have you ever had a near-death experience?
Luckily, I was at the hospital, in the allergy clinic. Of course, that could be considered part of the problem, I guess, but here’s the tale…
I had gone in to get my weekly allergy shots. With a gradual increase in dosage, over time, my immunity and resilience to certain allergens is supposed to increase. My son has had great results from his allergy shots; he is a year ahead of me in the program.
After you get these shots, they make you hang out for half an hour in the waiting room. Bad reactions generally occur within those first 30 minutes. I’ve been to the allergy clinic about 60 times for myself and my son over the last two years. Neither of us have ever had a reaction to the shots, though my son has had four or five very serious reactions out in real life. I’ve never seen anyone else have any problems either.
So, I got my shots, one in each arm, and made my next appointment while I put on my military blouse. As I walked out of the “shot room,” a female walked in for her turn.
In the hallway I realized that I felt a little fuzzy. I wondered briefly, as I walked, if I had just exerted myself in some way, being silly or something. I felt ever-so-slightly out of breath. And lightheaded. This all transpired over a matter of seconds while I continued on to the waiting room.
Once there I paused again. The room was surprisingly empty and this time I was pretty certain I was having a reaction in my body. I decided to sit down…I figured it would pass…I’ve had reactions before, right? And they always pass.
After about a minute I realized my face felt prickly, my jaw and cheeks were tingling. My heart felt like it was really starting to move. When I looked down and saw my shirt bouncing outward, about an inch from my chest with each beat, I knew I was in trouble. I stood up and told the receptionist, “I think I’m having a reaction.”
She leapt out of her chair and ran to the shot room: no kidding around. I followed. I watched as she hammered on the door of the room I had been in less than five minutes before, and the technician opened it. The technician’s eyes widened when she saw me…dramatically widened. That scared me a bit. I had no idea what I looked like. She leaned out and screamed down the hall, “DOCTOR SMITH!!!”
Then she bluntly told her patient, the female who had followed me, to leave.
That’s when I saw myself in the mirror; I looked like a cherry: deeply red.
The doc ran in and they told me to sit down. I tried to ask if I should take off my shirt, but I was loopy and very lightheaded. They grabbed my EpiPens, took one, and jabbed it into my left leg. One of them started a watch, keeping time.
EpiPens are syringes packed with epinephrine that I carry around in case of an emergency.
There were three people around me by then…running vitals and such. At some point I had removed my outer shirt, but I don’t remember doing it. I told the doctor I was starting to have trouble breathing. She asked if I was wheezing; she asked if my chest or neck was tight. I said I didn’t know, maybe all of them.
The doctor proclaimed loudly a couple of times for the technicians to get the oxygen and albuterol treatment ready. I was getting worse.
I told the doctor I was starting to really have trouble breathing. It was becoming labor, getting air in and out.
The doctor checked the time. I was supposed to be improving, but I wasn’t. She grabbed my other EpiPen and stabbed it into my right leg. Checked vitals. Asked how I was. My head felt fuzzy and swollen. It was hard to give any verbal answers.
I told the doctor I couldn’t breathe. It was a Herculean effort to pull in each breath. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, just pulling in the smallest little sips of air. But I didn’t have the air to tell her all of that. It ran through my mind that I might have to give up, that I just couldn’t keep it up, this effort. I pleaded with them: “ I can’t breathe! “
They squirted epinephrine and albuterol into a cup connected to plastic tubes that were affixed to an oxygen tank. They told me to breathe. They gave me two prednisone pills and a zyrtec; it all lodged in my swollen throat. Those tiny pills lodged! There was no room to go down the narrow passage which was now my throat.
Finally I felt just the smallest give. My heart started easing up just a little bit. I was drenched in sweat. My face felt a little less foreign. It had been about 35 minutes since the reaction started.
My breathing gradually returned. I normally blow about 450 on the flowmeter. At 45 minutes I blew 190. My body was taking in 94% oxygen my first few minutes on the O2 machine. Another hour and I was up to 400 and 96%.
The doctor said it was a very severe reaction. This would be one of those downs in life.
Anyway, I’m okay now. I felt very weak the rest of that day and I slept well that night.
It’s just crazy though…I’ve never felt so out of control in my life. In the middle of the madness I thought about my boy…how he must feel, just a little guy, going through the bad reactions he has had. It made me feel connected to him and scared for him.
And scared for me. Heck, I want to live a few more decades. It’s given me a lot to think about the last few days, about what is truly important in life, where I really need to apply my focus. So, anyway…that was my (maybe) brush with the other side.
I tell you with nothing less than incredible joy…not yet…not yet!
—-BART—–
We returned from five wonderful days in Ireland last Monday. Five days of beautiful countryside, fantastic sights, and friendly people.
Definitely one of those ups in life.
Tuesday morning, I was back in action: work and real life. But, I came pretty close to death that day. Have you ever had a near-death experience?
Luckily, I was at the hospital, in the allergy clinic. Of course, that could be considered part of the problem, I guess, but here’s the tale…
I had gone in to get my weekly allergy shots. With a gradual increase in dosage, over time, my immunity and resilience to certain allergens is supposed to increase. My son has had great results from his allergy shots; he is a year ahead of me in the program.
After you get these shots, they make you hang out for half an hour in the waiting room. Bad reactions generally occur within those first 30 minutes. I’ve been to the allergy clinic about 60 times for myself and my son over the last two years. Neither of us have ever had a reaction to the shots, though my son has had four or five very serious reactions out in real life. I’ve never seen anyone else have any problems either.
So, I got my shots, one in each arm, and made my next appointment while I put on my military blouse. As I walked out of the “shot room,” a female walked in for her turn.
In the hallway I realized that I felt a little fuzzy. I wondered briefly, as I walked, if I had just exerted myself in some way, being silly or something. I felt ever-so-slightly out of breath. And lightheaded. This all transpired over a matter of seconds while I continued on to the waiting room.
Once there I paused again. The room was surprisingly empty and this time I was pretty certain I was having a reaction in my body. I decided to sit down…I figured it would pass…I’ve had reactions before, right? And they always pass.
After about a minute I realized my face felt prickly, my jaw and cheeks were tingling. My heart felt like it was really starting to move. When I looked down and saw my shirt bouncing outward, about an inch from my chest with each beat, I knew I was in trouble. I stood up and told the receptionist, “I think I’m having a reaction.”
She leapt out of her chair and ran to the shot room: no kidding around. I followed. I watched as she hammered on the door of the room I had been in less than five minutes before, and the technician opened it. The technician’s eyes widened when she saw me…dramatically widened. That scared me a bit. I had no idea what I looked like. She leaned out and screamed down the hall, “DOCTOR SMITH!!!”
Then she bluntly told her patient, the female who had followed me, to leave.
That’s when I saw myself in the mirror; I looked like a cherry: deeply red.
The doc ran in and they told me to sit down. I tried to ask if I should take off my shirt, but I was loopy and very lightheaded. They grabbed my EpiPens, took one, and jabbed it into my left leg. One of them started a watch, keeping time.
EpiPens are syringes packed with epinephrine that I carry around in case of an emergency.
There were three people around me by then…running vitals and such. At some point I had removed my outer shirt, but I don’t remember doing it. I told the doctor I was starting to have trouble breathing. She asked if I was wheezing; she asked if my chest or neck was tight. I said I didn’t know, maybe all of them.
The doctor proclaimed loudly a couple of times for the technicians to get the oxygen and albuterol treatment ready. I was getting worse.
I told the doctor I was starting to really have trouble breathing. It was becoming labor, getting air in and out.
The doctor checked the time. I was supposed to be improving, but I wasn’t. She grabbed my other EpiPen and stabbed it into my right leg. Checked vitals. Asked how I was. My head felt fuzzy and swollen. It was hard to give any verbal answers.
I told the doctor I couldn’t breathe. It was a Herculean effort to pull in each breath. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, just pulling in the smallest little sips of air. But I didn’t have the air to tell her all of that. It ran through my mind that I might have to give up, that I just couldn’t keep it up, this effort. I pleaded with them: “ I can’t breathe! “
They squirted epinephrine and albuterol into a cup connected to plastic tubes that were affixed to an oxygen tank. They told me to breathe. They gave me two prednisone pills and a zyrtec; it all lodged in my swollen throat. Those tiny pills lodged! There was no room to go down the narrow passage which was now my throat.
Finally I felt just the smallest give. My heart started easing up just a little bit. I was drenched in sweat. My face felt a little less foreign. It had been about 35 minutes since the reaction started.
My breathing gradually returned. I normally blow about 450 on the flowmeter. At 45 minutes I blew 190. My body was taking in 94% oxygen my first few minutes on the O2 machine. Another hour and I was up to 400 and 96%.
The doctor said it was a very severe reaction. This would be one of those downs in life.
Anyway, I’m okay now. I felt very weak the rest of that day and I slept well that night.
It’s just crazy though…I’ve never felt so out of control in my life. In the middle of the madness I thought about my boy…how he must feel, just a little guy, going through the bad reactions he has had. It made me feel connected to him and scared for him.
And scared for me. Heck, I want to live a few more decades. It’s given me a lot to think about the last few days, about what is truly important in life, where I really need to apply my focus. So, anyway…that was my (maybe) brush with the other side.
I tell you with nothing less than incredible joy…not yet…not yet!
—-BART—–
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