Further Adventures in Medicine

June is Indigenous Month and Pride Month and I suspect it’s also Stress Out Your Health Provider Month.

The natural world wants me dead and I attempt to counter that with a shittonne of medication, nasal sprays and monthly allergy shots. Yesterday I wandered into the clinic where I receive my shots and met the relief nurse who was covering while my usual nurse took some time off. When I have a fill-in, I usually have to get them up to speed since the way my shots are done is unorthodox. Some nurses take my word, while others are sure I am a lying dirty Commie trying to lead them into doing a WRONG THING. Then I have to insist they look at my allergist’s chart notes before they inject me. All this was in my mind as I walked into the room and saw my serums already set out on the counter.

I sat down in the big chair while she sweetly acquiesced to alternating arms and we got down to business without the usual checking of my correct name and serum on each vial. She swabbed me down and shot one arm and then the other. I stood up to go hang out in the waiting room for the next 30 minutes to prove I wasn’t going to die on them. That was when I noticed the right vial was almost empty. They were a new prescription and should be full. “Why is this so empty? Is this my old serum?” I asked to the new nurse and H, one of the experienced nurses. I looked at the other vial, which was cold and full. “Uh, guys? You used one of my new serums and one of my old expired vials.” That caught their attention and they came over to look. They checked all the vials. I was still focused on the different expiration dates when H made a sound and rushed out of the room. She ran back in with a doctor on her heels. “No need to panic, expired serum won’t hurt me, it will just be less effective,” I tried to calm them. Their panic was freaking me out a bit. L, the new nurse, had her head in her hands, and murmuring “oh no, oh no,...” Then I clued in.

She hadn’t just given me the expired dose of the other serum. She had injected me with the same serum twice. FUUUUUCK

I was at high risk of going into anaphylaxis. Wikipedia defines anaphylaxis as “is a serious, potentially fatal allergic reaction and medical emergency that is rapid in onset and requires immediate medical attention regardless of use of emergency medication on site.” Basically, I could die, within minutes.

H was pulling out the crash cart while L lashed me into the blood pressure machine and the doctor observed me closely and gave quiet insistent orders. I pulled my Epi-pen from its case and placed it by my hand. H readied their epinephrine supplies. Everyone waited for me to swell and my throat to close. I willed my self calm while they rushed around, performing professional face with panic in their eyes.

I was pumped full of additional antihistamines on top of the high intensity ones I had already done at home, and they measured all my stats and poked me to see if I was swelling. Were my fingers tingling? Was I feeling anything in my throat? Were my lips itchy or tingling? H stopped for a second and poked my feet to see if they were swelling. I had to take off my mask so they could watch for swelling lips. My feet were tingly so they raised the foot of the chair. An oximeter was stuck on my finger and I had a sense of déjà vu from my visit with the nice ambulance men. My blood pressure was taken and recorded every 10 minutes. At one point I heard H tell reception that they couldn’t take anyone else. Other doctors poked their heads in to pretend to do something and get a good look at me. I later learned that I had basically shut down the clinic so it could be all hands-on deck if I went into anaphylactic shock. No doubt someone was itching to see if they could do a cool tracheotomy with a Bic pen like on tv.

My job, as I saw it, was to keep everyone, including myself, calm so no more accidents would occur. I kept wisecracking and assuring them I was fine. While I knew this could kill me, I just didn’t have it in me to panic. L asked H what was the worst allergic reaction she had ever seen and then totally freaked out when H told her. She had felt bad for the blunder but I don’t think she understood what might happen to me and why everyone was so stressed until right then. I paused to wonder what nursing school neglected to mention adverse allergic reactions. Seems important.

The doctors drifted away but H & L kept on me like a hawk, staring into my soul to see if it was swelling and inflating that damned pressure cuff over and over. I was starting to feel a weird hot itch inside my body cavity as though my organs had hives and I developed the urge to cough. As soon as I mentioned it, H was off like a shot. Epinephrine time!

I begged to go to wee before they injected me. Epinephrine gave me the racing heebie geebies back when I wasn’t a middle-aged lady, and these two had been pumping water into me. This had the potential to be another accident. H stood firm. Injection first, pee later. Epinephrine is adrenaline shot straight into muscle that makes you feel like you have had 75 cups of Turkish coffee. It opens your throat and everything else. My heart felt like it was trying to beat out through my back and front simultaneously and all my muscles were shaking. I needed another blood pressure and heart rate taken before they would allow me to go (accompanied) to the bathroom. Needing to pee with the shakes while having the shit squeezed out your arm is not a recommended activity. I managed to hold it together and maintain a normal blood pressure. My heart rate raced up into the normal zone.

After a shaky but otherwise uneventful pee, H wanted to talk about my post-clinic plans. Namely, spending the day at the hospital being observed. They wanted me for a half hour more and then to send me to hospital by ambulance. That conversation went as expected. We negotiated that I could go home so long as someone could come and literally stare at me to make sure I didn’t take a turn. I texted W, “whacha doin’ today? Got plans?” and I booked him in to monitor me. He’s a good friend and I would reward him by trying not to toot this time.

Honestly, I was surprised they let me leave with that. The inside of my torso still felt like it was full of hot itchy weights (and still does today) and caffeine, and I was shaking so hard I couldn’t get my Epi-pen back in its case. But I managed to get outside into the sticky smoky summer air and flail my way home and not die. L keep calling throughout the day to check on me. When the antihistamines left my system my skin started to crawl like a bad acid trip I was a hot mess, but I made it through the day and night.

In two days I am booked for the shot that I was meant to get, so long as my torso bees calm down. I know it will be two fill-in nurses and I will be very insistent on reviewing my medication before it is injected.