A Life of Comically Calamitous Close Calls: Selma, California (February 2023), Part Seven B

Victor Davis Hanson

But no problem. At the ER, they gave me Benadryl and some tests, and I was out in a few hours. So, it would be now, too.

The doctor there had said, “You have an allergy to something. And oh, by the way, you have a large kidney stone on your scan.” So, I never knew what set me off, other than the antibiotic or a sudden stone moving.

In any case, after half an hour, it hit me. I started itching uncontrollably. More welts started appearing everywhere. My feet and hands were burning. I was nauseous.

I ran into the house and dug out a Benadryl.

I hunted in vain for an old EpiPen, prescribed when I was diagnosed with severe food allergies to seafood and nuts 15 years ago, a device I have never used, even during a reaction to a hidden cookie nut or a lobster scrap in a soup I missed somehow. Usually, no big deal. Now, and for the first time, I vaguely remembered an allergist saying years ago, “Get an allergy ID bracelet. Get these EpiPens renewed periodically. Carry Benadryl with you.” I did for about a year.

Then this mysterious force hit me again. The world became dizzy. I sat down.

Or rather, from later bruises, I guess I fell down.

Why worry about bees? I kept thinking that as I got dizzier.

Out on the farm, the greater worries are as follows: sneaky coyote packs trying to lure the dogs into their ambushes by feigning limps; flicker woodpeckers destroying the sidings on all the buildings; ground squirrels burrowing under the barn foundation; blackbirds fouling the patio and pool to the point of obscenity; the occasional stray, abandoned, unvaccinated, and unlicensed creepy pit bull dumped by the mailbox and meandering in your driveway, hungry and eyeing your dogs; the frequent black widow you find under the garbage cans, in a lounge mattress, out in the garage under a box.

All minor stuff that still outranks mere bees, or so I thought.

So, I stumbled back up and hunted for a blood pressure cuff. I found one in the desk.

Pulse: 135 (normal for me, 55), BP: 80/40 (normal for me, 115/70). I found a thermometer, the forehead gun kind. Temp? Something wrong? Batteries weak. It cannot be 94? I was shaking and getting a bit chilly.

Still no problem. I weigh 190, the bee or wasp nada. How could he ever do this to me? (What childish logic when a lightweight rattler or coral snake can take down an NFL lineman.)

I thought: I’ll sit back down, let the Benadryl tablet work (liquid Benadryl would have been wiser, I was later advised), and it will pass—just like the prior stings did without worry.