I was sitting in my living room and clearly saw someone dressed all in white walk across our back yard. Like…not a question saw them stroll by. I jumped up and ran to our french doors and no one was there.
After my emotional talk with Special K we took the kids out an early dinner (baked stuffed shrimp YUM double YUM), followed by a trip to Target and Halloween costume shopping at Old Navy. In ON my palms started insanely turning red and itching. I started sweating profusely…like garden hose in face sweating. We left and my condition worsened on the drive home. My feet got as crazy itchy as my hands and my stomach was killing me. We actually had to pull over so I could get sick on some persons lawn. I feel bad about that but their mailbox was right there and I needed something to lean against. After that ugly incident I had this weird feeling that is tough to describe. Basically, my skin was moving by itself. I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was breaking out in hellacious hives. We got home and I jumped into a hot shower and took 3 Benadryls. Incidentally, in case you didn’t know, hot water spreads allergens quicker…heh. My mother and Special K were very concerned but I tried to assure them I was OK. Heres the rub: Its hard to assure someone you are OK when your tongue is swelling and they can’t understand you. I was tired and willing to only compromise by going to our local fire house to get checked out by an EMT and get an epi shot if necessary. See how flexible I am? If truth be told, Special K put his foot down and told me we were going to the fire house. If you know Special K in real life, you understand the critical nature of this. He is so not a “putting my foot down” type of guy. He uses it very sparingly (kinda like cooking with curry…when you rarely use it, it packs a powerful punch) so when he does I pay attention. I know Special K reads these blogs so I just put all that macho stuff in to make him feel manly. When we got there and Erik Estrada the EMT was eating his dinner. I apologize for interrupting his sausage and peppers. He’s very nice and offers to check me out. “Why don’t we go sit in an ambulance since that’s where all my stuff is”. I climb into the parked ambulance in the garage and get comfy as he rifles through his toolbox. I thought it was especially thoughtful when another EMT materialized and buckled my legs down. It’s good to stay still when you get an epi shot in your leg. It was when Erik Estrada asked me what my hospital of preference was that I sensed something was up. I’m very observant as you can see. On top of the situation. Keen mental assessment. Perspicacious.
We started off to my hospital of preference with Special K following behind in his car. Seemed really ridiculous to me. I had a Benadryl IV which seemed unnecessary even. Then IT happened. Everything started going grey. Erik Estrada sounded far away and under water. Thoughts as my life faded to black:
1) Thank God I put that Ebay auction I’ve been watching on my snipe list. I might not make it home in time to bid manually.
2) I can’t effing believe, after all I’ve been through in my life, I am going to be done in by a piece of shrimp.
The next thing I remember is coming to (thank you 10ccs of EPI stat!) and hearing Erik call in the details of me to the awaiting ER staff. We are now going about 85 with sirens and lights. I was relieved that I was finally being treated like the drama queen I am.
Hospital details aren’t half as exciting. Though you can imagine the look of sheer terror when they put a large bag of Dextrose on my IV pole. It was like slow motion as I watched the nurse marry it with my IV. I contemplated saying “Um, hi, yeah…Im a lowcarber and can’t really do sugar” but decided my immediate life status must rate priority. Cliff Notes are as follows: Lots of meds, loss of bowels, fire drill, being put in a storage closet, eventual discharge from hospital.
This is what I have learned from this experience:
Call me a shrimp, call me a crab…just never serve me either
In the words of Erik Estrada “If you come in contact with shellfish again, you probably won’t live to tell the story”
In regards to my woes earlier in the day, my feelings still exist. A near death experience hasn’t invalidated them. What it has done is reaffirm that I must do what feels right to me. More than ever I now know I don’t want to die with regrets. If a seafood platter does me in someday, I don’t want to fade to black thinking “Why was I so afraid to be authentic?”
If you see someone dressed all in white walking through your yard, pay attention!
Tags: second chances
I was telling C the story and when I got to the part about the glucose bag, we were both like “yeah I totally get it”.
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