He assured me there were no mushrooms in the meat sauce!
It was a nice day. I rested in the morning, got dry ice, Jordie's birthday cake, color-coordinated party supplies, and a wide variety of sodas.
I got them loaded into the Savitzkys' hotel room fridge, the (ice cream) cake in a thermal container on top of a brick of dry ice, and the supplies loaded into the room.
I then went with my friend Gail to eat. She and I are both hypoglycemic and were both ready to keel over, so we joined up with a bunch of friends at the Doubletree coffee shop.
Then the obvious happened. I'd chowed down three or four forkfuls of penne when I noticed the offending slice of fungus. The restaurant wanted to call an ambulance, but a) I didn't want to wait for one to get there and b) I didn't want to pay for it.
I called Warren on my cell phone as I was leaving, figuring he was the one person I could get who was a) nearby, b) didn't care if he wasn't at the con, c) was easily reached (via his cell phone) and d) could be trusted to drive me home if necessary.
I got to Good Samaritan Hospital and was immediately admitted...and mostly ignored. I kept trying to explain what was going on, but my lips and the inside of my mouth were swollen, so I could barely talk. They gave me an albuterol inhaler for my lungs, injected me with the equivalent of two tablets of Benadryl, and then discharged me "before the Ben adryl takes effect."
Uh, wait a sec. I was still swollen. The nurse kept telling me otherwise, at one point saying, "I've been a nurse 29 years, and I'm telling you, you are not swollen."
I replied, "I've been living in this body a lot longer, and I'm telling you, I am."
One other "teensy" problem: My legs were so swollen I couldn't walk. This often happens with my shroom reactions. They didn't care. Thank heavens Warren was strong enough to go through the major contortions necessary to get my pants and shoes on.
Next, he had to get me into the car. As he wheeled me out to the parking lot, the nurse came chasing after him. "Aren't you going to stay for your prescription?" (For a double-dose of Benadryl? Are you nuts???!?)
After getting me into my car we headed towards my house. I wasn't getting better. "Get me to El Camino [Hospital]," I said. "Now."
"Are you sure?" he replied.
"I hate hospitals. If I tell you I want to be taken to a hospital, you know it's an emergency."
We went straight to El Camino's emergency room. It took me 45 minutes to be seen. The swelling had merely shifted, but wasn't any better. At that point I started puffing up under my eyes; my right eye was especially puffed.
When I finally got treated, the nurse asked me which doctor I'd seen. I told her, "I don't remember her name, but she had badly bleached blonde hair, and she was wearing a white cut-off midriff top and black knit pants."
"Was she kind of 'old-looking?'"
"Define 'old-looking,' please."
"Around 50-ish?" (I guess that doctor and this nurse must've been considerably younger than that.)
Anyhow, she proceeded to name the doctor without even looking at my slip. I was amused. From the tone of the nurse's vo ice, she didn't think highly of this doctor but wasn't about to say as much. Both the nurse and the doctor at El Camino told me it's "highly unusual to discharge a patient who can't walk out if they walked in with this sort of thing."
This doc gave me an IV of Solumedrol. Finally the swelling was going down. I could at last move my legs and turn my head. As much as I hate steroids, sometimes I need them, and this was one of those "sometimes." I was relieved I wasn't injected with ep i nephrine, as that would've rendered me a wet rag when I was supposed to work the next day.
Before I left, the doctor and nurse told me I had done the right thing by coming into their emergency room. They told me to just take the antihistamines I already had on hand (the Atarax from the arm rash and my "lifetime supply" of Benadryl)
While I was in there, Warren had called the radio station, gotten my boss's number, and called him, explaining the situation. Needless to say, my first call as soon as I st epped out of the hospital was to my boss to tell him I would be doing my shift the next day. I heard a massive sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. I warned him I would likely not be as "minty fresh" as usual, which meant I wou ldn't likely be up to as much writing or producing as normal. (Part of the reason I'm entering this now is to "warm up" my writing for when I get there in case I need to "bang out" stuff at the last minute.)
Right now my right eye is a bit puffed up and ha rd to see through, so I'll likely have to take a Benadryl or two during my shift (hence my being "less than minty-fresh"). My voice sounds slightly congested. My lips, mouth, and throat are slightly swollen.
Most important: I'm alive..