One stupid maneuver of mine in a series of many…(insert face palm here)
I came home from work yesterday feeling oddly, “punchy”. It was Friday and although I worked hard, we ladies in the office were conversing and laughing it up like our typical Friday angst. You know, to just let off our steam from the week.
Once I arrived home, I apparently was not ready to let it all go. I walk in to each of my son’s rooms to say hello and realizing the eldest was not home. I smelled something funky in his room, like something was dead or at minimal, dying. So I began to try to find the source of the foulness.
Flashback to a couple of weeks ago, whereas I decided I could not stand the appearance of his room any longer. At the time, the seemingly foul odor was present then. In truth, this initiated my venture to seek and destroy the smell and clean up in the process of it all. Now please note: this is a job as a parent I have been attempting to relinquish control of for most of my parental career. The fact I am a controlling neat freak and the fact that my now nineteen year old refuses to take on such a task, work against me in so many ways. But let’s move on…
Where was I? Oh yes, punchy and smelling something foul…
So feeling utter disappointment that I had worked so hard to clean his room and the exact same smell had returned, I was on a mission to find it, destroy it, and see that it never returns. In doing so, I open my son’s credenza drawer and start there. About five minutes into the task, I see my son’s prescription box of epinephrine pens. He has a potentially terminal bee allergy, whereas I ensure each year almost my entire town has one on hand should my son get stung by a bee. I notice there is only the practice one left in the box and wonder where all of the others might have ended up? Is my son and his friends now using them to stab themselves with for fun or something? Is he giving these away as door prizes or bartering for a new video game? What?
I pick up the practice pen and realize I have not remembered how to use an actual one in the event my son goes into anaphylactic shock again. As a parent who loves their child and prefer he be kept alive, I decided I should relearn the method and practice. It was clearly my duty as a parent and darn it, I am a good one!
I am a good parent, but… I am also an idiot.
I am sure by now you have figured out, it was not a testing sample. The epinephrine pen was the actual real deal. Right into my left thumb.
Right after expletives and the obvious, “ow” factor, accompanied by a now bloody thumb, I went straight into confusion of, “what the hell just happened” followed by, “oh my god, is this how I am going to die?” If I live, how am I even going to explain this?
I walk into the den where my husband is watching the news and I am panicked. I announce he needs to search the internet and see what happens if you accidentally stab yourself with an epinephrine pen. Typically, he looks at my bloodied thumb, then me, appearing bewildered and asks, “what were you doing that you injected yourself with the epinephrine pen?” I am going to die here and he is asking questions! For the love of god man, focus on what is important! Your wife is dying!
I insist he hold all questions for now and research the matter immediately. Then I decide what he reads to me is really too vague to depend my life on.
I decide to call our local hospital for real answers.
After being transferred three times where I could swear each person I spoke to offered a slight chuckle before I was placed on hold, the nurse finally came on the line. She proceeded to ask a series of questions both my husband and I found to be completely unrelated to my “issue”, including a, “how did you hear about our services” inquiry. Save your popularity questions! I am dying here woman!
After my interview with the hospital nurse, she decided to conference in the poison control center to assist us in the matter. I turned into a case number somehow and was told we were going to be transferred to the poison control nurse as soon as she was off the phone with another individual. Ok cool. We were getting somewhere.
What seemed like two eternities later with really bad hold music, the poison control nurse answered the call. The hospital nurse provided the introduction, including the case number that was provided to her relative to my issue. The poison control nurse informed the hospital nurse that was not the correct case number. The hospital nurse insisted that was the number she was provided. I was confident I was going to die in the midst of all this insisting.
The poison control nurse final searched in her queue and found the loaded and unique title of, “accidental epinephrine injection”. Yup, that was clearly mine!
After a series of more relative questions, aside from the obvious one, one would seem to ask, I was instructed to keep my entire hand in warm water for a full hour to avoid tissue damage.
Tissue damage? Warm water?
Okay, I can do that.
I say my goodbyes and thank both of the nurses. I was also thankful all those questions and insisting didn’t deflect any actual lifesaving opportunities.
I get off the phone and look to my husband who is looking at me, furrowed eyebrows and shaking his head. He was readily loaded, “So, how did you end up shooting yourself in the thumb with an epinephrine pen?”
Thanks jerk, I’m glad I’m okay too. I fluttered through my explanation the best I could, realizing I was an actual but living idiot.
Now the next morning, I realize that foul smell continues to exist in my son’s room. Clearly, I just endured a small set back. Time to go seek and destroy!
Disclaimer: for any reason you also are an idiot, please contact your local hospital or poison control center immediately! Please do not use my experience to gauge what to do for you or anyone else! Thank you!