Happy Non-Death Day J!!
I'm not very clever. I wanted to do the cool thing where you provide a subject only and you actually have to hit the link to see the whole story so the whole mess is more easily skippable and cleaner if you don't care. I was thinking of you, I really was, but I'm not very clever so I couldn't figure out how to do that. If anyone wants to let me know how to do that, by all means.
Instead, here's the whole ugly story all in one place:
[EDIT: I have since learned the art of the lj-cut]
[SECONDARY EDIT: Initials of people in the body of the email have been replaced with links to their journals, where appropriate.]
====
I am allergic to Pine Nuts. As with any sort of allergy, especially food allergies, there is no good way to discover that you're allergic.
I had some food with a pesto once and I had what felt like a really horrific asthma attack. Eventually we had to go to the ER and they figured out what was going on and fixed me up with only a little drama. Turned out I was very slowly going into Anaphylactic Shock.
At the time, we thought it was the seafood I'd eaten that night. Made sense and all, so I kept away from seafood since then.
Several months later (two years ago tonight) there was a much more dramatic incident.
The following is an email (with some editing) that I sent to a few good friends that I don't see too much to let them know.
====
(I apologize in advance for any melodramatics and crap that follow, I'm having a hard time pinning down what it is I want to write and say.)
Some guys get all the luck, some guys don't know how to die right.
So, to jump right into the tale, last Friday NotBatwoman and I went out after work with tartqueen & jamesonrocks, Caveman & Rampion, and SweetAlice to go see "Into the Woods" at the Ordway. We had a really good time, the play was great, though the woman doing Red Riding Hood, I’m afraid, couldn’t hold a candle to [this chick that we knew in college]. The play let out at about 10:30 and some of us were going to go to dinner, but SweetAlice had to work and in the end Caveman & Rampion punked out on us too. We reconvened at my house to say good bye and so everyone could get their vehicles and go.
Dawny, TQ & JR and I went on to Pizza Luce in uptown for a late night repast.
We ordered our food and the appetizer came, Faccocia (I’m sure I’m mangling the spelling) bread with a pesto sauce. One might think I had learned my lesson about trying new things, but I’m not all that bright and it looked sort of yummy, so I took a piece of the bread and had a bite.
A very small bite.
Instantly my throat starts to feel funny and I threw it down and tried to wash it out with beer (because that cleanses everything, right?). The actual food came out almost right away, and everyone got about a bite or two in before I announced, "My, um >gulp< throat’s doing that thing again. Like with the seafood."
So up we go, frantically paying for (and boxing up the pizza) and we run for the car. Only this time it was much faster and much worse than the "seafood" incident this past September. We were on our way to Fairview medical, but we decided that was too far. HCMC’s closer so we were about to head there until TartQueen remembered Abbot, which was really close by.
By this time (maybe 10 minutes) I’m not breathing and I know I’m in trouble. Dawny’s blowing red lights everywhere, four way’s on and the horn blaring. We finally get to Abbot, Dawny and I run in while TQ&JR park my car. I get inside, announce a food allergy. They have me sit down and I start vomiting everything I had eaten into a bucket. They keep Dawny behind to fill out the insurance stuff while they rush me into the back and start injecting me with god knows what.
I couldn’t breathe, like, at all, and I kept slipping in and out of consciousness. At least 10 people frantically working on and around me and nothing was happening.
I thought I was dead. I was sure that this was it. Last time, I knew intellectually that I could have died, but was never terribly concerned about it, because it just wasn’t so bad. This time, I was certain that I was dying and most of the ER staff shared that belief. While Dawny was filling out the paperwork, no one would tell her what was going on. At some point a nurse came in to her to ask if I had a religious preference.
About then, I think, is when Dawny just came back to where they had me. Her first sight is blood all over the place (from a bad IV stick) and one of the nurses saying, "Christ, I thought we lost him." Everyone’s still frantically working on me, I’m slipping in and out, nothing makes sense, I’m vaguely aware of everything going on around me (I remember being pointedly non-squeamish about being stuck with a hundred needles). My heart monitor was described as looking like a kindergartner’s scribbling.
...
It was pretty fucked up. After about 20 or 30 minutes in the ER, I finally stabilized somewhat and everyone started to relax, but it was a good couple hours before I really began to feel any better. If we’d gone to HCMC, if we were, literally, 5 minutes later than we were, I would be dead right now. That’s how close it was.
It was really fucked up.
Dawny and TQ stayed with me through most of the ER crap. Finally the doctors decided that I would have to spend the night in the ICU under close observation, which basically meant that every time I started to doze off an alarm would sound and wake me up. TQ took K home (for whatever reason, Abbot has a 2 visitor limit, they seem to be really cool about letting those two people be there at any time other than shift changes, but three was just too much) but she came back shortly after that and her and Dawny stayed in the ICU with me until about 6 am when I finally convinced them they should really go now.
...
The whole thing was really weird. I’m writing this as much to keep everything in my head straight and maybe ... I don’t know, capture something which has alluded me so far, as well as the fact that you guys are the only real friends that I have who haven’t heard about it yet.
The whole time, I just accepted that this was it, I was dying. The only thing going through my head was I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying. I didn’t mind that so much as how stupid it would have been. A fucking bite of bread (we’re suspecting Pine nuts now and I will be going to an allergist this week to find out for sure) and I die? That’s bullshit. Plus that it would be for something where I could be perfectly fine the next day if I could just get through the night. Disease or internal injuries or something like that, sure, that’s a long, hard, but ultimately understandable path which I think I would be ok with. But a fucking allergic reaction? That was my sole regret.
I guess, for me, a lot of questions, really, were answered that night and maybe that’s what I’m having a hard time coming to terms with. I used to wonder what I would really, actually do if I were dying. What would I feel, how would I react, what would be important, what would my response be, that sort of thing.
Stuff that I had a lot of assumptions about, but could never be really certain of, when it came right down to the wire. Dawny and TQ were right there with me through the worst of it, and I hated that they would have to see it, but I was glad that I had such good friends, both those present as well as others. Aside from thinking that it was a really stupid death, I had no qualms about the actual dying part, really. Some remorse for those left behind, which I’m sure is par for the course, but there was no fear, no desire to rail against death itself. At the same time there was no weird sense of serenity, no lights or anything like that, no life flashing, no tunnels. Just an acceptance.
Another question that I always had was if I really was an atheist, all the way. If there was some corner left that still believed in a god who would care for me and who would help out, if asked to, and all like that. I could never be certain, especially having been raised in a religious family and all, that that wasn’t still hiding in there somewhere and that I was just denying it, pretending.
Never once did a god or an all powerful entity even cross my mind.
I don’t know, I’m still not getting what I’m after here, so I guess mostly this is just to let you guys know about it. I was talking to TQ last night about my inability to capture any of this on paper and she mentioned that maybe writing about your own death, really writing about the events surrounding your own death, is just something that can’t really be done. Not by me, anyway.
One of the weirdest things was walking around the house the next day, looking through my room and my things with the idea of being someone else going through my belongings after I had died. Looking at what was very nearly my epitaph.
Overall, I guess I do feel a little different, though again I still don’t know exactly how. I certainly don’t feel like I have to make something remarkable out of what I have left or anything cheesy like that, no desire to become a street preacher, no overwhelming urge to make the most out of every moment.
Maybe what I’ve discovered is that I’m not so dissatisfied and disappointed with myself and my life as I sometimes think I am. And maybe that’s all there is, really.
I don’t know...
Of course, the next morning I was very nearly perfectly fine, a little out of it from all the drugs, but just as feisty and surly as ever. I got into an argument with one of my nurses about peeing. The night nurse said that if I needed to she could help me to a closet in the side of the room with an impromptu urinal (read as: mop drain) in it. By the time I actually had to use it, a new nurse was on duty and I told her I’d like to go to the little boys room.
Instead, she gave me one of those lovely piss buckets and told me to just go while in bed.
"Look, I’ve tried that before, I just can’t make myself pee in a bed, I can’t do it. Could you please just help me to the bathroom?"
"No, I’m sorry, I’m not certain what they’ve got you in here for and I can’t let you out."
"I just had a bad food allergy, I’m fine."
"I’m sorry, I..."
"Alright, fine, I’ll just stand in the corner with the bucket, can you just take the railing down [from the side of my bed] so I can get out of bed?"
"No, you can’t get up."
"Well, I have to and I am going to right now."
I’m getting really frustrated, my bladder’s about to blow, and she’s getting all sorts of flustered and doesn’t know what to do with me anymore, maybe because everyone else on the ward is a vegetable. "Well, if you’re going to get out of bed, then I’ll just wait over here and make sure you’re alright."
I turned to her and nearly shouted, "Well I can’t pee if you’re standing right there watching me either!"
In the end, she went to get another nurse and I got out of bed, by myself, and peed in the corner, looking out over the snow gently falling on the parking lot.
Anyway,
Love you both and hope you had a less exciting holiday,
--J
"But I’m a Juggalo;
And as a Juggalo I WANT MY SHIT!
AND I AIN’T GONNA DIE
‘TILL I GET IT MOTHERFUCKER!"
-- Violent J
====
Instead, here's the whole ugly story all in one place:
[EDIT: I have since learned the art of the lj-cut]
[SECONDARY EDIT: Initials of people in the body of the email have been replaced with links to their journals, where appropriate.]
====
I am allergic to Pine Nuts. As with any sort of allergy, especially food allergies, there is no good way to discover that you're allergic.
I had some food with a pesto once and I had what felt like a really horrific asthma attack. Eventually we had to go to the ER and they figured out what was going on and fixed me up with only a little drama. Turned out I was very slowly going into Anaphylactic Shock.
At the time, we thought it was the seafood I'd eaten that night. Made sense and all, so I kept away from seafood since then.
Several months later (two years ago tonight) there was a much more dramatic incident.
The following is an email (with some editing) that I sent to a few good friends that I don't see too much to let them know.
====
(I apologize in advance for any melodramatics and crap that follow, I'm having a hard time pinning down what it is I want to write and say.)
Some guys get all the luck, some guys don't know how to die right.
So, to jump right into the tale, last Friday NotBatwoman and I went out after work with tartqueen & jamesonrocks, Caveman & Rampion, and SweetAlice to go see "Into the Woods" at the Ordway. We had a really good time, the play was great, though the woman doing Red Riding Hood, I’m afraid, couldn’t hold a candle to [this chick that we knew in college]. The play let out at about 10:30 and some of us were going to go to dinner, but SweetAlice had to work and in the end Caveman & Rampion punked out on us too. We reconvened at my house to say good bye and so everyone could get their vehicles and go.
Dawny, TQ & JR and I went on to Pizza Luce in uptown for a late night repast.
We ordered our food and the appetizer came, Faccocia (I’m sure I’m mangling the spelling) bread with a pesto sauce. One might think I had learned my lesson about trying new things, but I’m not all that bright and it looked sort of yummy, so I took a piece of the bread and had a bite.
A very small bite.
Instantly my throat starts to feel funny and I threw it down and tried to wash it out with beer (because that cleanses everything, right?). The actual food came out almost right away, and everyone got about a bite or two in before I announced, "My, um >gulp< throat’s doing that thing again. Like with the seafood."
So up we go, frantically paying for (and boxing up the pizza) and we run for the car. Only this time it was much faster and much worse than the "seafood" incident this past September. We were on our way to Fairview medical, but we decided that was too far. HCMC’s closer so we were about to head there until TartQueen remembered Abbot, which was really close by.
By this time (maybe 10 minutes) I’m not breathing and I know I’m in trouble. Dawny’s blowing red lights everywhere, four way’s on and the horn blaring. We finally get to Abbot, Dawny and I run in while TQ&JR park my car. I get inside, announce a food allergy. They have me sit down and I start vomiting everything I had eaten into a bucket. They keep Dawny behind to fill out the insurance stuff while they rush me into the back and start injecting me with god knows what.
I couldn’t breathe, like, at all, and I kept slipping in and out of consciousness. At least 10 people frantically working on and around me and nothing was happening.
I thought I was dead. I was sure that this was it. Last time, I knew intellectually that I could have died, but was never terribly concerned about it, because it just wasn’t so bad. This time, I was certain that I was dying and most of the ER staff shared that belief. While Dawny was filling out the paperwork, no one would tell her what was going on. At some point a nurse came in to her to ask if I had a religious preference.
About then, I think, is when Dawny just came back to where they had me. Her first sight is blood all over the place (from a bad IV stick) and one of the nurses saying, "Christ, I thought we lost him." Everyone’s still frantically working on me, I’m slipping in and out, nothing makes sense, I’m vaguely aware of everything going on around me (I remember being pointedly non-squeamish about being stuck with a hundred needles). My heart monitor was described as looking like a kindergartner’s scribbling.
...
It was pretty fucked up. After about 20 or 30 minutes in the ER, I finally stabilized somewhat and everyone started to relax, but it was a good couple hours before I really began to feel any better. If we’d gone to HCMC, if we were, literally, 5 minutes later than we were, I would be dead right now. That’s how close it was.
It was really fucked up.
Dawny and TQ stayed with me through most of the ER crap. Finally the doctors decided that I would have to spend the night in the ICU under close observation, which basically meant that every time I started to doze off an alarm would sound and wake me up. TQ took K home (for whatever reason, Abbot has a 2 visitor limit, they seem to be really cool about letting those two people be there at any time other than shift changes, but three was just too much) but she came back shortly after that and her and Dawny stayed in the ICU with me until about 6 am when I finally convinced them they should really go now.
...
The whole thing was really weird. I’m writing this as much to keep everything in my head straight and maybe ... I don’t know, capture something which has alluded me so far, as well as the fact that you guys are the only real friends that I have who haven’t heard about it yet.
The whole time, I just accepted that this was it, I was dying. The only thing going through my head was I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying. I didn’t mind that so much as how stupid it would have been. A fucking bite of bread (we’re suspecting Pine nuts now and I will be going to an allergist this week to find out for sure) and I die? That’s bullshit. Plus that it would be for something where I could be perfectly fine the next day if I could just get through the night. Disease or internal injuries or something like that, sure, that’s a long, hard, but ultimately understandable path which I think I would be ok with. But a fucking allergic reaction? That was my sole regret.
I guess, for me, a lot of questions, really, were answered that night and maybe that’s what I’m having a hard time coming to terms with. I used to wonder what I would really, actually do if I were dying. What would I feel, how would I react, what would be important, what would my response be, that sort of thing.
Stuff that I had a lot of assumptions about, but could never be really certain of, when it came right down to the wire. Dawny and TQ were right there with me through the worst of it, and I hated that they would have to see it, but I was glad that I had such good friends, both those present as well as others. Aside from thinking that it was a really stupid death, I had no qualms about the actual dying part, really. Some remorse for those left behind, which I’m sure is par for the course, but there was no fear, no desire to rail against death itself. At the same time there was no weird sense of serenity, no lights or anything like that, no life flashing, no tunnels. Just an acceptance.
Another question that I always had was if I really was an atheist, all the way. If there was some corner left that still believed in a god who would care for me and who would help out, if asked to, and all like that. I could never be certain, especially having been raised in a religious family and all, that that wasn’t still hiding in there somewhere and that I was just denying it, pretending.
Never once did a god or an all powerful entity even cross my mind.
I don’t know, I’m still not getting what I’m after here, so I guess mostly this is just to let you guys know about it. I was talking to TQ last night about my inability to capture any of this on paper and she mentioned that maybe writing about your own death, really writing about the events surrounding your own death, is just something that can’t really be done. Not by me, anyway.
One of the weirdest things was walking around the house the next day, looking through my room and my things with the idea of being someone else going through my belongings after I had died. Looking at what was very nearly my epitaph.
Overall, I guess I do feel a little different, though again I still don’t know exactly how. I certainly don’t feel like I have to make something remarkable out of what I have left or anything cheesy like that, no desire to become a street preacher, no overwhelming urge to make the most out of every moment.
Maybe what I’ve discovered is that I’m not so dissatisfied and disappointed with myself and my life as I sometimes think I am. And maybe that’s all there is, really.
I don’t know...
Of course, the next morning I was very nearly perfectly fine, a little out of it from all the drugs, but just as feisty and surly as ever. I got into an argument with one of my nurses about peeing. The night nurse said that if I needed to she could help me to a closet in the side of the room with an impromptu urinal (read as: mop drain) in it. By the time I actually had to use it, a new nurse was on duty and I told her I’d like to go to the little boys room.
Instead, she gave me one of those lovely piss buckets and told me to just go while in bed.
"Look, I’ve tried that before, I just can’t make myself pee in a bed, I can’t do it. Could you please just help me to the bathroom?"
"No, I’m sorry, I’m not certain what they’ve got you in here for and I can’t let you out."
"I just had a bad food allergy, I’m fine."
"I’m sorry, I..."
"Alright, fine, I’ll just stand in the corner with the bucket, can you just take the railing down [from the side of my bed] so I can get out of bed?"
"No, you can’t get up."
"Well, I have to and I am going to right now."
I’m getting really frustrated, my bladder’s about to blow, and she’s getting all sorts of flustered and doesn’t know what to do with me anymore, maybe because everyone else on the ward is a vegetable. "Well, if you’re going to get out of bed, then I’ll just wait over here and make sure you’re alright."
I turned to her and nearly shouted, "Well I can’t pee if you’re standing right there watching me either!"
In the end, she went to get another nurse and I got out of bed, by myself, and peed in the corner, looking out over the snow gently falling on the parking lot.
Anyway,
Love you both and hope you had a less exciting holiday,
--J
"But I’m a Juggalo;
And as a Juggalo I WANT MY SHIT!
AND I AIN’T GONNA DIE
‘TILL I GET IT MOTHERFUCKER!"
-- Violent J
====