This article in no way should be interpreted as medical advice. Allergies can be deadly, and are to be advised strictly by medical professionals. This article merely shares experiences specifically pertaining to one person (which is kinda the whole point).
Note: contrary to popular belief, EpiPen is not any sort of antidote. Its purpose is merely to slow a deadly allergic reaction in hopes of buying enough time to arrive to a hospital.
Does America value life… a bit too much?
When I was a little kid back in the seventies, in helping my mom cook I put walnuts in a grinder. By just breathing them, my face and throat swelled. We knew, if I ever were to eat one, it would be a big deal.
It was.
Nine years later I ate an “unsafe” cookie. My throat swelled shut, every fiber of my lungs stretched as I desperately struggled for air. The ambulance arrived. Oxygen and repeated injections got me to the hospital. My face had long since swelled like a balloon and, given the amount of epinephrine shot into me, there was concern my heart would give out. As the allergen spread through my bloodstream, hives covered my body and my increasingly-inflamed lungs struggled with what little air got past my constricted windpipe.
The actions taken by hospital staff probably saved my life. Still conscious, I finally was able to throw up the remaining allergen. Things immediately got better, followed by a speedy recovery.
In the decades that followed there would be very severe reactions but none quite as life threatening. Throat swelling occurred in all of them but the most dire threat occurred if the poison stayed in my stomach long enough to be pumped through my veins: a deadly combo. With any incident, the idea has been to get it out of my system asap.
Reading ingredients religiously and avoiding desserts have been key, but events like weddings perpetually Russian roulette. All buffets are landmines. On average, I’d get nailed about once a year, serving a constant reminder of my mortality.
After dozens of incidents my reactions became less severe so, curious about this and other things, I visited an allergist for the first time in thirty years.
His orders: Carry an EpiPen at all times. With any exposure I was to immediately inject myself, call 911 for a ambulance, and get to the nearest E.R. asap.
Everything he says makes sense from a medical standpoint. But I have to ask: In safeguarding life to this extreme, do we also ignore a vital part of life’s potential value?
Had I been following this advice through adulthood, these years would have been so vastly different, I’d be a different person—one dictated by fear.
For starters, my business wouldn’t have got off the ground. Between E.R. visits and EpiPen purchases, I’d have faced tens of thousands in years in medical bills—during a time when I was flat broke. So I’d either have bankrupted myself and the fledgling business or, given the imperative need for health insurance, had to accept a full time job. The financial risk necessary to launch a business would’ve been deemed more than just monetary—it would have had to be considered an existential threat.
Due to the fact that I regularly eat almonds, the allergist said that I don’t have a true tree nut allergy. That said, I was to avoid eating almonds ever again–any exposure could still conceivably result in the severest reaction. So despite my habit of eating a handful of almonds daily, I’d need to eliminate this healthy favorite forever.
EpiPens really aren’t portable. There’s one in my backpack but they don’t fit in pockets, and they’re temperature sensitive. Many spontaneous hikes, road trips, and excursions would’ve been weighed against carrying the pen and proximity to hospitals. My Grand Canyon hikes, Africa, Mt. Fuji, and countless other adventures never would’ve happened.
In safeguarding life to this extreme, do we also ignore a vital part of life’s potential value?
Once at a wedding I had a few bites of salad (with walnut dressing). Excusing myself briefly, I returned without so much as a mention. In the alternative I would have called 9-1-1, ditching my friend’s reception to spent a few grand at the E.R.
The bride and groom would ask: “Oh my god! Is he alright?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Just a precaution, you know.”
In this alternate reality they would understand (as I would be known for this). But how could any logical person not wonder why I’d frantically pump myself with injections and rush away in an ambulance to the E.R. when I look and feel relatively fine?
Just exploring this alternate reality is absurd and fantastical—because it’s not who I am. From my core I’ve been driven to start a business, travel, and maximize time with friends. These things define me—as opposed to sheltering myself for the sake of clinical self-preservation.
I’m not flippant. Anaphylaxis isn’t just deadly, it’s excruciatingly painful. And I’m no daredevil: When I drive one block my seat belt is on. Good tires are a must. Beyond that, things become more nominal. Should I buy an SUV with surround airbags and electronic traction control? It’s safer than what I drive now, but does that mean I have to get one? Debatable, as many precautions we take every day.
By the way, the allergist recommended a great, more portable alternative to EpiPen which I immediately purchased and carried with me—until it was recalled a few months later :(.
