“I can walk, really! I might not be able to breathe but I can still walk.”“Miss, you need to lay down on the stretcher.” I could tell he would win this one.
This was the one-sided conversation I was having with the EMTs in my dorm room on the evening of Valentine's Day. I was practicing in my room with a band my friends and I had started our freshman year. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t have a date.
Earlier in the day, a girl on our hall made us all cupcakes with a surprise in the middle: a Reese's peanut butter cup.
Did I mention I was deathly allergic to peanuts?
Yes, deathly.
And so the fun began.
One thing led to another and a friend called 911. This resulted in some uninvited guests and paramedics checking my vitals. They came armed with a stretcher to my fourth floor dorm room.
“Her heart beat is fast, but it’s fine,” one said.
That’s when I thought Yea, but my bronchial tubes are closing, you dummy.
Once they realized my oxygen levels were dropping, they wheeled me--against my will--down the elevator and through the lobby, which in honor of Valentine's Day was a sea of boys with flowers in hand waiting for their dates. Sporting navy sweatpants and a black sweatshirt, I pulled my hood over my head as we rolled through couples, many who were kind enough to brake their longing gazes to stare at me in my non-Valentine's Day attire.
We arrived at the hospital and I started my routine: social security number, insurance card, no, I’m not pregnant, yes, I'm allergic to penicillin, backless gown, stiff bed--I gave thanks for my sweatpants. Finally a closed curtain room, a shot of adrenaline, and sweet relief. Of course there were side effects like shakiness, extreme feelings of cold, and a co-pay, but at least I could breath again.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Best. Day. Ever.
I wish I could say this encounter was my only hospital experience, but it was neither my first nor my last.
My earliest memories at three years old were made in oxygen tents in hospital rooms, entertaining nurses with my upbeat attitude even in the midst of...well...almost-death.
Since my asthmatic lungs have always functioned at 60% and my bronchial tubes close when I'm exposed to specific allergians—many fun times have been spent in the offices of doctors' and the rooms of hospitals. These are the places I learned “I spy,” played catch with vomit containers, watched too many Disney movies, and messed with my pulse to watch lines on the monitor change while nurses came running.
After the Valentine's Day fiasco, my food allergy radar was heightened and I was doing an excellent job avoiding, well, everything.
I went to a friend’s house for Easter. I checked ahead of time for cats, wheat, peanuts, milk, mildew (you get the picture). But by that afternoon I couldn’t breath. I used my nebulizer a couple times and I was still in distress.
I really couldn’t breath.
All I had eaten was turkey.
Oh, what was that?
The turkey was cooked in peanut oil?
Happy Easter, everyone.
Best. Day. Ever.
About Kelsey
Kelsey's dream in life is to become a trucker on the Idaho to Seattle route, but she'll settle for being a flagger for a construction company. She has a B.A. in Music Education from Seattle Pacific University and is working on a Masters of Arts in Worship Studies. Follow her on twitter @klew2 and leave any questions/comments below.
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