Oh epi pen, epi pen.
Where would I be without you?
Oh epi pen, epi pen.
I really didn't have a clue.
Oh epi pen, epi pen.
Thank you ever so much.
Oh epi pen, epi pen.
For saving my life and such.
Oh, epi pen. Boy was I scared of using that thing. There are undoubtedly plenty of times I should have used it, but I didn't. I was terrified that I would use it incorrectly and the sky would fall. I'm also not one to enjoy being the center of attention and have always had this deep-seated fear that I would use it when I shouldn't have and affirm the beliefs of the nay-sayers that my allergy was in my head.
So I didn't use it. Until a recent Saturday.
It didn't begin as a normal day, as I have no normal day. But, it didn't seem like an epi pen sort of day. I did wake up a bit light headed, with my chest feeling rather heavy, but that's not been uncommon with the toxic smoke coming into my home as of late. There was undoubtedly some asthmatic coughing with a heavy dash of hand and wrist pain, as well as a couple of Benadryl taken.
As is normal for me, I don't remember a lot of what I did Saturday morning. There is a vague inkling of doing some laundry, and I probably argued unreasonably with my hubby thanks to my stupid hormones and the stress of our situation. (We're not going anywhere as a couple, it's all the other crud around us that's the problem.)
I picked up a pair of scissors out of a tote that I hadn't unpacked. Big mistake. Within a few minutes my hands started getting a smidge tingly, so I looked at the scissors. They were orange plastic. With the inside white strips made of rubber.
Immediately running to the bathroom, I scrubbed my hands with my goat's milk soap, dried off my hands, and took a couple Benadryl tablets. Returning to the living room, I walked into a wall. I didn't really think much of it. That's me some days.
Starting to sit down in the chair, the room spun. I froze. My half-asleep husband asked what was wrong, I explained, and he was assured that I had indeed taken Benadryl. I sat down and the room was still doing the funky chicken dance. Telling myself to knock it off, I resumed folding laundry while my temperature regulation went on hyperdrive, from hot to cold and back again within the same moment.
Nausea hit and I took an anti-nausea pill. I glanced at my ever-ready epi pen and jutted out my jaw. I do that when I'm being stubborn. My poor epi pen was the brunt of a very mean glare.
Suddenly, I had to pee. (Didn't expect that, did you?) I stumbled down the short hallway to the bathroom, realizing I was now having trouble breathing, and glanced in the mirror. I hardly ever look in the mirror these days, so that was an odd moment to do so.
My lips were turning blue.
Nah, I must be hallucinating. Certainly wouldn't be the first time.
Oh. Yep, that's definitely not pink. Not red, or even a pale pink. I don't really see any trace of pink there. Oh. That's bad.
I almost fell over multiple times on my way back to the chair. This is a really short distance, but it seemed even longer as the walls kept getting in my stinking way.
Informing my almost asleep husband that I was going to have to epi, I pulled out my trusty not dusty epi pen from the designated spot in my purse, pulled it out of the tube, and froze.
I sobbed. "I don't wanna epi, it's gonna hurt! I have to, it's gonna hurt!" I flipped the top off, and my hubby put his hand on my shoulder, said "It's going to be OK," and ran to put on his shoes and grab his keys.
A bit more sobbing as I read and reread the 3-step picture directions on the side of the epi pen more times that I know. I'd rehearsed so very many times and yet I was still not confident that I would do it right. So I followed the directions.
I swung it, pressed, and counted out 10 seconds. I tossed it in my purse and my hubby and I ran out the door. We left it unlocked. Oops. But we did have my purse and my 'medical' bag with me. Wallet safely at home on the coffee table.
Vertigo hit on the way to the car, and we did an impromptu trust fall. He caught me. Then he wouldn't let me go til I was in the car.
On the way to the ER, he missed two turns. Good thing we moved to within 10 minutes or less of the hospital!
Once we got there, my husband half dragged me in the ER as I was still really dizzy, but my breathing was getting better. He held out the epi-pen and people went running. I do remember noticing that they were scurrying, but calmly. That seemed really odd to me. *shrug*
Since I'm in the system there and it's an awesome new hospital, check-in took about 5 seconds and I was in my own room hooked up to a blood pressure monitor, heart monitor, pulse oximeter, and with an IV before I knew it.
They took a few vials of blood, but my vitals were looking pretty good. It took a bit to see the doctor, but I wasn't critical. Once I did see him, he confirmed that the epi pen did it's job. Yay! I didn't need anything else since I'd already been there a few hours, and I was released back into the land of toxic smoke.
There are multiple morals to this story.
- Second and third hand smoke is not only toxic, it can literally risk other people's life. I freakin' hate smoke. It is believed to be partly to blame for this episode.
- Scissors kill. Or at least induce anaphylactic shock.
- My hubby is awesome. Even if he makes two wrong turns because he's half asleep. Plus, he can catch me when he's just woken up.
- Used epi pens speak for themselves at the ER.
- Most importantly, the epi pen isn't that scary. While I properly and responsibly disposed of my used epi pen, my other one is no longer glared at, but rather looked at in appreciation for the life-saving potential.
Thank you, epi pen.
*I was finally able to pee, two hours later. Just in case anyone was wondering.*
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