October 19, 2023

Anaphylaxis Drive-Through

Posted by Mara Jevera Fulmer under Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , |
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Artwork I was creating recently for a book cover inspired by Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, apropos of my recent anaphylactic experience.

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.

My left hand after the second time I was stung in two weeks.

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.

 

July 19, 2021

Sorting…type and thoughts

Posted by Mara Jevera Fulmer under Family, marriage, Photos, surviving, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |
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I’m lost in my thoughts, sorting tiny pieces of metal type, cleaning the typecases, as sunlight brightens the room from the three walls of windows that filter it into it as I work.

Blessed. That’s how I’m feeling. Surrounded by antique type, printing presses and cabinets, I’m in my happy place, dreaming of the poetry, creative typography, and other items I’d print in this room. Imagining artist friends, old and new, also working in the space, as our creative spirits feed each other.

My mind drifts to conversations, recent events. Mercury and Jupiter in retrograde and I seem immune. But others in the family haven’t been so lucky. Challenges posed by one thing after another keep coming, some more serious than other. They weigh on my mind as each new issue flows through my thoughts like heavy clouds.

From one side of the family, Steve was managing an upset with one of his grown children who seemed to be having a bit of an emotional breakdown on a sad journey. An offer to come help with a project the following day led to an angry response that his help was needed “now” and a meltdown of personal attacks that were more of a cry of someone feeling like their world was out of control and the lashing out was a sign of despair.

Like the virus that has been plaguing the globe, the anger spread, inflicted on siblings. And then it continued to spread. Swirling from one family member to another, feeding on insecurities and bottled up pain.

But it didn’t end there. Like the virus that has been plaguing the globe, the anger spread, inflicted on siblings. And then it continued to spread. Swirling from one family member to another, feeding on insecurities and bottled up pain. Another who had not yet been vaccinated, flatly refusing to be, siting some Q-Anon type conspiracy misinformation, texted another to “mind his own damn business.”

The storm

All of these things were swirling through my head as I quietly sorted type and cleaned the cases in the studio. A dangerous thunderstorm had hit just last Tuesday afternoon… It came up so fast and I had an impending sense of urgency so I went out and told Steve he needed to send our teenage helper home, having just gotten his license. The helper had left barely 5 minutes and the storm came up too fast. Rain blew horizontally, swirling around corners, winds whipping the trees large and small like a forest of rag dolls. The world looked like layers of grey, accented by the whips of rain-soaked brushes between the fields and forests.

I took a short video as the rains and winds came across the fields and slammed the world around me. But I took cover when it came across the upper covered deck sideways. The time stamp on the video was 1:49 pm. And then it was over.

A video of the storm just as it started, trees whipped around violently as the rain slashed across sideways. It was over in ten minutes.

At 1:59 pm, the time stamp on the first photos I took, we saw the destruction. A huge box elder tree with a gaping yawning mouth lined in red where the smaller trunk split from the main one, had fallen across our fence on the east side, and much of it also landed alongside the house, missing a newly installed exterior lamp post by inches – and the house – by only a few feet.

Views after the storm. Close calls. But no damage to the house or the workshop.

On the west side, a huge maple on the neighbor’s side of the fence had lost a major limb hit by lightning with many extending branches landed across that fence. It also missed the shop windows by only inches. I’d seen the lightning flash and had immediately begun to count. But I didn’t get to “1” before the thunderous crash. Now we knew what it was based on the blackened trunk where the large limb had been severed and veins of burnt bark ran up the tree trunk.

In the backyard, several trees, already weakened from the water that formed a pond whenever it rained, had been blown over, propped up by neighboring trees. Branches and debris were all over, leaves plastered to the house, cottonwood leaves and branches from a tree in the far backyard were found in the front yard.

And yet, as I looked at it all, and as Steve and I walked through the mess, figuring out what we needed to do to keep the dogs safe until the fence could be repaired, once the trees were removed… I felt blessed.

And yet, as I looked at it all, and as Steve and I walked through the mess, figuring out what we needed to do to keep the dogs safe until the fence could be repaired, once the trees were removed… I felt blessed.

It could have been so much worse. The one tree could have hit the house, it certainly could have reached it if blown in a slightly more northerly direction. The maple could have hit the shop more directly, smashing windows and poking holes into the letterpress studio holding our precious type and printing presses. But none of that had happened. I felt like we were in a protected bubble that had kept us and our home safe.

Now we wait for the tree guys to come in the next week or two to cut and clear the downed trees. Another blessing. I told Steve that he should not have to deal with this giant mess. That we had the funds to cover it. I’d spoken to our insurance advisor who told me what the break-even point was for filing a claim, or not. Based on that information we decided to cover it ourselves. Now we wait. And it doesn’t bother me at all. The broken limbs and leaves all around my view are a real reminder of how well we’d faired. We didn’t lose power – at least not long enough for the generator to even kick on.

Meditating on anger

As I rearranged some of the funny advertising cuts, illustrations, and halftones in the cases – ones I’d like to play with in my own art vs. ones I’d likely never use – other thoughts went rolling through my hive mind. Anger and stress, depression and flaring tempers have been fed by more than divorce and is fed as much by the pain of pandemic politics and fear for the health of those we love. Yet, how could someone send a text to their grown offspring saying “your stuff is on the porch, taco dinners at 6, don’t bother showing up.” There is so much to dissect from this statement, especially within the already divisive pain caused by misinformation about the veracity and threat of COVID19.

My mind went to how one handles anger, revenge and spite. Maybe it’s because I’ve matured. Or maybe I’ve found that responding in anger or spite is a no-win game. There is nothing to be gained by it. Have I gotten angry, lost my temper? Yes. And it wasn’t something that served me. I didn’t feel better about it. Just the opposite. I felt awful. It didn’t bring me peace. It took a lot of painful work to try and heal the rifts it caused.

I’ve been wronged terribly and in very painful and even expensive ways. Yet I see no point in being spiteful, or seeking revenge. …Each person’s spirit will face their own path, their own hard lessons.

And it’s been awhile. I’ve been wronged terribly and in very painful and even expensive ways. Yet I see no point in being spiteful, or seeking revenge. I believe that each person’s spirit will face their own path, their own hard lessons. All I can do is attempt to do my part to support growth, not harm. And to separate myself from those who only offer selfish toxicity rather than love.

As I gathered the metal type borders to move to their new location in another typecase, I tried to also gather my thoughts on how someone could so intentionally hurt a person they loved. I couldn’t do that. As angry as I might be with someone who I thought had hurt me through their actions or words, if we had love between us, I couldn’t hurt them back.

I’ve since learned to try and listen – and think – about what and why they were saying and doing what they were. Was I missing something? Were they also hurt? Were they trying to help me with something? Perhaps I needed to understand more from their perspective and not just be caught up with my own hurt feelings and ego. This is how my brain works these days. I live by the Four Agreements (Don Miguel Ruiz) and it has been instrumental in how I’ve addressed conflicts for many years.

A story from before times

It wasn’t always that way. I remember a time not long after we were first married that my dear first husband Keith had done something to upset me. I don’t even remember what it was. But I was really upset as I washed a glass Pyrex lasagna pan in the sink. He kept at it, picking at the wound that I felt was being inflicted. I held the pan up as if I was going to smash it against the edge of the sink and stopped. I didn’t want the glass to hit him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted him to know how upset I was. I looked down and saw the rag rug I was standing on and, with both hands, I threw the pan down flat onto it hard.

The glass flew off in all directions and I stood there dumbfounded. I’d forgotten it was a concrete floor underneath the rug at my feet. Keith was shocked as well. But he quick regained his composure, taking me by the elbow and walking me into the living room to sit on the sofa. “I’ll clean this up,” I remember him saying. And he did, as I sat there with tears streaming down my cheeks. I’d ruined a perfectly good lasagna pan, and now there was glass everywhere, even three feet up in the pots of the hanging houseplants in front of the far window of the kitchen.

Keith knew how to push my buttons. There was a bit of a cruel streak in him. But I soon learned that I could push back. That he loved me. I just needed to not push with cruelty but with love. And sometimes he just needed space. It took many years for us to find balance. And it seemed like we were just starting to really find our groove after nearly 30 years of marriage.

He’d learned that bravado and machismo can have consequences for the one you love and I paid the price.

He cared for me when I broke my back and wrist. Guilt played a role. He’d learned that bravado and machismo can have consequences for the one you love and I paid the price.

He was so proud of me when I was accepted into the doctoral program. “My wife’s gonna be Doctor Fulmer,” he’d tell everyone.

We danced at our oldest daughter’s wedding, and I knew dancing was not something he liked to do. Yet he did it. For me. And for our daughter. I will forever treasure that moment, captured in a photo, where we were looking into each other’s eyes and saying “How did we get here?” How did we get old enough to have a married daughter? We did well!

All the heartaches of the past had been just bumps in the road on the way to our next chapter in life as true empty nesters. Just one more year to get the youngest graduated from college and we were on our own again. Blessings were upon us, for sure. And then… and then…

Worry when life’s good

Is it no wonder that I now look at Steve with worry and occasional bouts of melancholy, worried that our time together will be unexpectedly brief? I worry for his health. I worry for his strength. I hear him say such and such an activity “takes the life out of ya” and I think – “not too soon, I hope.” Sometimes I think we’re on borrowed time. Perhaps it’s the blessings I feel, their abundance and good fortune. I worry that, like those days over ten years ago, that within a year or two it’ll all be crushed and my heart will be broken once again.

And in a most prescient way, I feel it, that doom. And I try and chase it away. Thankful of the sounds of the antique riding lawnmower he drives by my studio as I continue my sorting. He smiles in a cheerful shy way as if to say “I’m just having fun with my old toys.” And I smile back at him, not wanting to ruin his fun by mentioning the exhaust that pulls into my studio from the fans I have running. So I go and open a few extra windows to help air it out.

It is also the silence that brings me a feeling of dread. A feeling that I have imagined my life with him, and that I am actually living alone in this giant house. It’s a feeling that I must be out of my mind for having imagined this whole life with this sweet man who brought me love when I needed it most. Together we healed each other and I wonder sometimes if my sanity is undermined and that I have dreamed it all up.

Sometimes I think we’re on borrowed time. … I worry that, like those days over ten years ago, that within a year or two it’ll all be crushed and my heart will be broken once again.

And then he smiles and gives me a hug. And I wonder… if this is my reality, who am I to question it. I just cannot wrap my head around inflicting pain on those you love. There’s enough pain in the world… and in life… already. Count your blessings, spread love, not pain.

I go back to my typecases and admire the mix of order and disorder. There are stories here, yet to be uncovered.

Revised from a diary entry dated July 3, 2021.