Where There Is Smoke, There is Fire

Where there is smoke, there is fire. I doubted whether I would live to say this but today was a stupendous day. Searching for kindling at the base of our woods to burn in our chiminera, I disturbed a yellow jacket nest. The bees refused to accept my sincere apology because I got stung in the neck, which for an anaphylactic with Mastocytosis is akin to a bulls eye in darts on the receiving end. I felt the pinch in my neck and heard buzzing all the way up the hill. A testament to my stubborness, I never dropped the kindling in fleeing. I ran into the house mouthing to my wife the same sorry doomsday scenario that she has heard for the third time in six years in only a seven year marriage.

I panted, “I think I got stung by a bee.”

By the time I checked for the stinger in my neck with a glance in the bathroom mirror, my concerned loving wife had already made it to the car with my Epi-pens. I jumped in the car and we rode to the hospital at breakneck speed. I worked to lower my heart rate to avoid spreading the bee venom even faster. She worked to save my life again.

A few tedious moments passed before I knew that something was going strangely right this time. Nothing happened. I never even used my Epi-pen although I should have erred on the side of caution. I wanted this to be the litmus test for the years of immunotherapy and clinical trials at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital. Other than a slight local reaction on my neck, no other symptoms developed. Against my wife’s better judgment, I never left our parked car at the emergency room entrance to seek medical attention in the hospital. Like a bulldog, I came home and built that fire for the chiminera. It was a stupendous day, a truly memorable Memorial Day weekend.