I promised myself I’d go to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight. But obviously I’m failing that to the extreme since it’s now after midnight as I write this. I’ve had trouble going to sleep the last three nights, in spite of exhaustion, taking Benadryl (per ER doc), and Melatonin.
Part of it may be the stress from a perfect storm of mid-semester student neediness, an extra load of orientations to attend and conduct, launching the second-half semester course, prepping classes for Winter, and all the while just wanting to spend time hiding away in the studio sorting type and playing with printing. The escape, the meditative aspect of exploration without expectation, the lack of emotional drain from, well… just about everything.
…all the while I just wanted to spend time hiding away in the studio sorting type and playing with printing. The escape, the meditative aspect of exploration without expectation, the lack of emotional drain from, well… just about everything.
But I also believe it’s due in part to fear. Fear of waking up (or not) the next morning, reliving my early Monday morning discovery and calmly, methodically, calculatingly, driving myself to the ER knowing that it was only a matter of minutes before I wouldn’t be able to breath anymore.
That’s how my Monday morning started. Bright and early, I woke up on the dreary cloudy misty rainy morning at 7:55 am. I’d been laying on my stomach and awoke thinking my tongue felt weird. I realized quickly enough it wasn’t normal so got out of bed to look in the bathroom mirror – the left side of my tongue was very swollen, filling my mouth on that side.
Think, Mara, think. Stroke? No. The rest of your body is functioning fine. You bit it in your sleep? No. There’s no pain and no blood. I looked in the mirror again. It was still there and I wondered if I was just imagining that the swelling was beginning to creep to the right side. I swallowed hard. Something felt weird there, too. Perhaps a sore throat. But that didn’t explain the swollen tongue.
“Steve,” I said with the beginning of my garbled lisp. “I have a problem.”
“Steve,” I said with the beginning of my garbled lisp. “I have a problem.” He came awake a bit groggy but knew that when I say things like this, I’m not joking. “My tongue is swollen. We have to go to the Hospital,” I lisped as loud as I could muster, knowing that his hearing also isn’t very good these days, post-chemo. At that he knew I was being very serious and we both quickly began to get dressed. I even brushed my hair and teeth while Steve made two travel mugs of coffee, though I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wouldn’t trust myself to drink it.
All the while, I remain calm while mentally calculating my time… How many minutes has it been since I awoke? How much larger is the swelling? How much time will it take to get to the hospital – which one? The closest is 12 minutes away.
We get in the car and I head east on Perry and then south on Gale. “Where are you going? The hospital is the other way?” Steve asked. I was driving since by my same mental calculations it would be safer. Steve hadn’t driven in nearly a year because of his cancer treatments and pain meds. And he had never driven this Tesla. He was coming along to speak for me because I was afraid I might not be able to by the time we got there.
“We’re going to Genesys and this is the fastest route,” I garbled again finding I had to force the volume past my enlarged tongue which kept me from enunciating my words. But I knew from several years of membership at the Genesys Athletic Center located across from the hospital that this was indeed the fastest way to get there. Steve had thought we were going to McLaren in Lapeer which was 18-20 minutes away. Too far. It would be too late.
As we got closer to where Gale turns south off Hegel we enter a school zone and the speed limit drops from 55 mph to 25 mph since it’s now school drop-off time. I feel myself growing more anxious. Calculating – what if I sped through it and attracted the police? Would it take longer for them to notice my anaphylaxis and take me with lights and sirens to the hospital? Or should I just slow down through the school zone and hope that is still faster than getting into trouble with police?
I tried to slow my heart rate as I slowed down the car. “Breath deep,” I told myself. But I now realized my tongue was too swollen to breath through my mouth. “Close your mouth and breath through your nose,” was my reply in my head. Yes, I could do that and proceeded to try and do both – breath and slow my racing heart as we crawled through the school zone past the middle school, then the elementary school, and finally the high school.
The “End of School Zone” sign emerged and I hit the accelerator back up to 55 mph slowing down for the curves as I held the wheel tightly and kept my eyes on the road. Swallowing… that was getting harder. Damn. Keep going.
The “End of School Zone” sign emerged and I hit the accelerator back up to 55 mph slowing down for the curves as I held the wheel tightly and kept my eyes on the road. Swallowing… that was getting harder. Damn. Keep going.
Now at Baldwin and Saginaw behind one car stopped at the light. No, don’t pull around them on the right. That would be reckless and they wouldn’t understand why you were doing it and road rage would result. Calculating… we are probably only about three to four minutes away.
Baldwin and Holly Roads now. Which entrance should I go to?
Take Holly, you can see the ER sign from there. Pull in, where do we park? Should we pull up to the door? No. Don’t want to leave Steve with having to park the car. Steve points out the turn into the parking lot and I pull into a handicapped spot and he hangs his windshield handicap tag on the rearview mirror. I see my car’s clock as we get out of the car to head towards the hospital ER – 8:26 am. Thirty-one minutes since I awoke. I’m still standing and just need to be seen. Will they make us wait?
Grabbed my purse and pull out my wallet as we’re walking to the door. I hand Steve my driver’s license and health insurance card. “You’ll need this” I try to tell him, but my words come out in a garble, but he understands my meaning.
About four security guards are standing around their little vestibule cubicle since it’s shift change, and one tries to ask us questions. I just point to the ER door in front of us and keep walking. I look to the left and see that there are only a few people in the waiting room. That’s good.
A male nurse who is heading towards the front desk looks at me and asks if we need any help. I point to my tongue and throat and try to speak but he gets the picture. Steve tells him my tongue is swollen and that it’s getting worse.
Without hesitation, the nurse takes us both straight back to the ER exam rooms and tells them “Analphyaxis, urgent!” He points me towards an empty bed and all hell seems to break loose. Three or more nurses and a doctor all converged upon me in this little room, taking vitals, asking questions, doctor shouting orders. And, in what seemed like only a few minutes, I had an IV and was being pumped with Epinephrine, Benadryl, and saline.
I try and tell him “It’s okay. We did the right thing. They’re gonna make it better.” He hears me. But the tears are just too close to the surface to stop.
Steve was being asked questions, too, answering as best he can, handing over my ID and Insurance cards, and otherwise trying to stay out of the way. I see him sitting there during a lull in the commotion and point to him and tell the nurse “Stage IV Lung Cancer”. She repeats it to another and Steve nods his head, the stress showing in his body. It’s not long before he breaks down in tears, the stress of it all just too much. I try and tell him “It’s okay. We did the right thing. They’re gonna make it better.” He hears me. But the tears are just too close to the surface to stop. A nurse tries to comfort him and eventually he regains his composure.
In the middle of all this, and the various rushes of blood draws and IV setups, I tried to text a colleague to take over a Zoom meeting scheduled at 10 am. In a brief lull in treatment, I was able to log into the meeting from my phone – camera off and audio muted – so I could switch it over making him the host.
Soon my head was swimming with the rush of Epinephrine and Benadryl, and I closed my eyes from the vertigo it caused. I was awakened by the vibration on my wrist… It was 11:05 and my therapist was concerned that I hadn’t shown up for our 11 am Telehealth meeting since I’m always very prompt. Once explained, she left me to the care of the ER staff.
Within 90 minutes the swelling was reversing and I could talk better, though sounded hoarse, like a longtime smoker. I asked Steve if he was hungry, again repeating that he had Stage IV Lung cancer in front of a new nurse Traci, who was there to do an EKG. She was on it. After finishing the procedure, she ushered him through the right doors to get to a cafeteria warning him that he would have to take the long way to get back. She came back in to visit me and said she’d gone back to the cafeteria to see if he’d gotten some food and confirmed seeing him there eating. Steve would later come back to tell me that he must have looked pretty rough because another staff member had very kindly bought him his meal.
The swelling was now nearly gone and the Doc visits saying she wanted to check for triponine in the bloodstream which would indicate heart damage from the rapid and irregular heart rate caused by the whole event. So she ordered additional blood tests. But by noon she started talking about sending me home if I felt I was ready. After checking out and picking up an Rx for two new Epipens, we were home and I was back to work in my home office.
…one larger wasp was still alive and hiding among a batch of glass rods I had picked up to clean around. His bite was mean and quite painful…
The diagnosis was delayed onset Anaphylaxis from a wasp bite I’d gotten on Saturday afternoon. I’d been cleaning out the dead bodies from our latest effort to rid Steve’s kiln room of wasps that had moved into the gable over the studio entryway. But one larger wasp was still alive and hiding among a batch of glass rods I had picked up to clean around. His bite was mean and quite painful, more so than the bite I’d gotten two weeks before from one of his smaller cousins. Yes, this was not the first time I’d been stung recently.
The first time was on my right hand on Saturday, 9/30/23, and it swelled up pretty badly but after about 3 days it went down. Ice and benadryl helped. By Tuesday night, my right foot had swelled up and my left heel felt a bit weird like part of it was numb. Though we initially thought it was a spider bite from wearing shoes that hadn’t been used since last winter, we couldn’t find signs of any bites. After a few days the swelling subsided and I went on with life. Fast forward to this past Saturday, 10/14/23, and that big guy bit me hard on my left hand. He died. But maybe he was trying to take me with him. Guess this time he was wrong.
However, the ER Doc figures that the next time won’t be two days later with anaphylaxis, but more immediate. So now I am the proud yet wary owner of two Epipens. Just carrying them around makes me anxious.
I am the proud yet wary owner of two Epipens. Just carrying them around makes me anxious.
So I guess all of this explains why I lack the emotional energy to deal with students who are confused, stressed out, and hitting the mid-semester emotional wall.
Steve must have noticed how weary I’d become because I hadn’t really stopped working since coming home from the Emergency Room on Monday afternoon. He took me out for a lovely dinner tonight. And while it was a bit distressing to see the dark circles under my eyes, I tried to clean myself up and look decent enough as we headed out.
It’s 1:13 am as I finish this. I don’t have a meeting tomorrow until 11 am. Maybe I can find a way to sleep until at least 9 am. Wish me luck. My eyes are dried out and wide open. Oi vey.