My day began as any typical Monday: woke, showered, ate, drove, worked, ate, emailed, meeting.
But this day became different, very different.
Every year, Ann Arbor engages in this little "art fair" business. For four days, the entire landscape of our fair city is littered with artists' tents, expensive items welded to sticks, fried fair foods and thousands upon thousands of tourists. It changes the flow of traffic, the parking situation and work.
To kick off this extravaganza, there is a "townie party." For the first time, this party was held in the Ingalls Mall area, directly in front of the building I work in. This bit of information will come into play later on, so hold on to it.
Lisa, Robin and I decided to head down to the event. I road my scooter and met Lisa at the fountain in the Mall. We walked around a bit, looking at various odds and ends, listened to a brief spatter of music and decided to get a bite to eat.
After dinner, Lisa glimpsed Robin and we all decided to hit the party for a little bit longer. We decided to move to the VIP section (that's right, we be VIPs). I bumped in to a couple of great people that I don't see often (great to see you, Kevin and Shauna) and spoke for a bit. Robin invited us to check out the tent for a local gourmet chocolate shop. She was stopped by a couple of friends, so Lisa and I headed over.
Before us lie a beautiful chocolate fountain with pretzel sticks, marshmallows and strawberries decoratively strewn around it. Next to all of this, was a chocolate cake. Hmmm...cake. I love cake. The chef offered each of us a piece and, of course, we thankfully indulged. Nothing like a great piece of cake after a nice dinner with a friend.
But, this cake was different. Much different. Lisa looked at me and asked, "is that liquor I'm tasting?" I was also mystified at the strange flavors erupting across my tongue. I took another bite, this time into some sort of fruit puree. I paused, not recognizing the taste, and then looked at the cake maker (or in this case, perpetrator). "Is this strawberry?" I asked, my eyes widening.
She gleefully answered, "oh, yes, yes it is."
Oh, shit.
If you don't know me well, let me deal you in to a bit of personal information about me:
I am allergic to strawberries. Not just scratchy, a little rash, allergic. Full fledged throat closing, tongue swelling, breathing stopping allergic.
The reality of the moment hit me within seconds. Lisa looked at me, I took off. "Oh, shit. I gotta go."
I ran into work, right past the EMT station set up in front of our building. Didn't even notice these wonderful people.
My first thought was, "I can down a bottle of benedryl and hopefully be okay." I really believed that I had a bottle in the first aid kit in my desk. See, I keep a first aid kit around because of my 30 employees who don't have a lot of knife skills, who I deem fit to wield the tools of destruction on a daily basis.
No benedryl. But, I found an Epipen.
By this time, I was feeling the full effects of my strawberry invasion. My breathing was bad, my face was itchy, and my throat felt like the opening of coffee stirrer trying to sip through a milkshake. Really not good.
I looked at Lisa, "can you stab me with this? I don't think I can do it."
She looked at me in horror.
Luckily for us, Steve was in the space and asked what we were doing.
"Can you stab me with this?"
"Well, I have horses."
If you don't know anything about epipens, they are these long tubes filled with pure adrenaline. Hiding inside is a giant needle that gets stabbed directly into the thigh. Push the button as you stab the leg and the needle injects life saving energy juice into the bloodstream.
I poised for the shot. Okay, so I was terrified. I had only once before received an epishot and frankly, wasn't conscious during the escapade. The thought of being stabbed with an 1 1/2 inch needle did not seem like a great idea, but I really didn't know what else to do.
Steve administered the shot. Wow, that shit is amazing! Within seconds I felt like I could climb Mt. Everest without supplemental oxygen. I was still itchy, but alive.
Enter the paramedics, who were of course, outside the whole time. We didn't even think to get their help in the first place. Bunches of gadgets were attached to me and we were off on a little stroll to UM hospital.
So, what is the lesson in all of this?
Epipens work. Strawberries are bad. Panic is not a good asset. Look around for help. Ask the chef what's in the cake. IV benedryl is euphoric (but bad, very bad).
Who puts strawberries in chocolate cake? What the fuck?
