Hard Reset

Last Friday was a normal day, until it wasn’t. I had breakfast with my husband, went to work, had a haircut, went out to dinner with my family. Normal. And then, the bottom dropped out. A week ago, at this exact time, I was in the emergency room being treated for anaphylaxis from a severe food allergy.

As far as I know, it was a candy-coated straw that took me down. I had ordered a michelada with my dinner and the server brought a special straw to drink it through. By the end of dinner, my lips were tingly and started to feel like they were swelling. My eldest drove me home. I checked my reflection en route: I had lips worthy of a botched filler procedure.

Two benedryl-fueled naps later, my lips were so swollen that I couldn’t close my mouth. My eyes were swelling shut and I was starting to panic. My husband insisted on packing me up into the car and driving to the emergency room. I tried to drink some water along the way, but ended up spitting it out in a stream like a koi fountain when I tried to swallow. I wore a mask into the ER, not just because it was the responsible thing to do, but because I was afraid I would scare people. I was a drooling Quasimodo with bedhead.

When we got to triage, the nurse asked to take my temperature, so I took my mask off. The Phantom unmasked, I never even got a chance to fully sit down: the ER staff whisked us away to a bed and started immediate treatment. I have never seen an ER staff mobilize so quickly, and hope to never see it again. I was in the ICU until the following Sunday, getting poked and prodded and filled with all manner of medicine. Even though I was still swollen, I felt like I didn’t deserve an ICU bed. There were people way worse off than me. This was minor league. When I was release Sunday afternoon I figured I’d take Monday off to recover and be back to work on Tuesday.

You know what they say: man makes plans and God laughs. That night the itching started. I was covered in welts. I was more rash that person. I slathered myself in cortisone cream like I was a rack of ribs and it was Memphis barbecue sauce. I ended up spending that night delirious, falling down the stairs at one point and briefly passing out in the bathroom a few more times for good measure. I know this because that’s what my husband and eldest told me; I have zero recollection.

All of this forced me to take more time off. The whole week, in fact. With the holiday, that ended up being less time off work than usual, but it also meant missed appointments, not being able to do my usual baking, and staying home from holiday dinner with extended family. It also meant a lot of time unconscious, due to the sheer amount of drugs I’ve been taking to try to knock out the remaining allergic reaction.

I’ve never experienced anything like this and it was terrifying. I have more appointments in my near future to see what caused this and how I can avoid it from now on. Dear gods, the I didn’t know about allergic reactions could fill an ocean: they can last much longer than the initial attack, they can present in different ways (rash, breathing problems, nausea, swelling, etc), and they can really mess up your plans. I got a crash course this week.

I had to do a hard reset. That meant stepping back from everything in order to let myself get better. I had to do something that I’m terrible at: letting other people take care of me. Anyone that knows me knows how hard that is for me to do – to let go and let others do things for me. I’m hardwired to be ridiculously independent, to the point of it being a character flaw. I’m the 5’2” person that will scramble up a shelf spider monkey style to grab a can of corn rather than ask anyone taller to reach it. To admit that I needed help this week was beyond humbling.

I’m still nowhere near 100%, but today is the first day of semi-normalcy. I went out and got a coffee, ran errands, had dinner, started learning a new programming language, finished Midwich Cuckoos, and then started writing this post.

What have I learned from all of this? Of course there has to be some sort of lesson learned,right? Otherwise it’s not really a life experience. What I’ve learned is this: slow down. Jira tickets can wait. Meetings can be rescheduled. No one wants any code you’ve written under the influence of a ton of high-dose antihistamines to go anywhere near production. Just slow the hell down.

While we’re at it, let people do things for you. This is a hard one for me: I had a fairly transactional upbringing when it came to receiving help. Through too many years of therapy to count, through having this experience bludgeon me upside the head, who cares if you’re a temporary burden? The people that love and care about you don’t, they just want you to get better and they’re ready and willing to help you get there. Needing help isn’t a weakness.

And finally, if you’re having a skin reaction, cut your damned nails. No, shorter than that. Trust me on this: scratching only begets more itching and the most satisfying scratchgasm isn’t worth the extended torture. Just cut them, get some oatmeal bath, and take up guitar, knitting, or cross stitch to keep yourself distracted.

Remember: slow the hell down. If you have to crawl, crawl. We will be there at the finish line, no matter when you get there, cheering you on and helping you get across. You’re worth the time.