The Rescue at Dead Dog Beach (21 page)

“Really?” Pam asked, incredulous.

“Yep, you're good to go. We really don't know what's causing this rash, but you'll be more comfortable at home.”

I went straight to bed as soon as we got home that evening. Pam came in a few hours later to give me the penicillin for my tooth. I fell right back to sleep.

I woke at 4
A.M.
It took only a light touch from me to wake Pam up this time.

I managed to mumble the words, “I need to go back to the hospital. Now!”

When we got to the emergency ward, we were greeted by the same staff as on the previous morning. “What are you doing here?” the doctor asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

Are you serious? Just look at me!

He ordered another IV of whatever he'd given me the day before and left to do rounds.

One of the perks of Pam's job was the relocation services that the company provided to expat employees. While I slept, Pam made calls, and in a short while we had one of the relocation services gals at the hospital to help us navigate their medical system. While she battled with the doctors to have a specialist come look at me, Pam called my family to let them know what was going on.

At some point during the day, after a call from Pam, the company's on-site nurse drove up from Juncos to have a look at me. As soon as she did, she too joined the fight to get a specialist in to see me.

Finally, around 5
P.M.
, an internal medicine specialist turned up wondering what all the fuss was about. The company nurse filled him in as he examined me.

“This is obviously a reaction to the penicillin,” he explained to Pam, a concerned look on his face. “I'm frankly surprised that the doctor you saw yesterday suggested your husband keep taking it. It very well could have killed him.”

He instructed one of the nurses to find me a room. I was going to be admitted. “I'm afraid your husband is not out of the woods yet,” he said to Pam. He told her she'd need to get some bedding for me; the hospital couldn't provide such luxuries as sheets, blankets, and pillows.

Pam leaned over my bed and kissed me before she went home. “Get some rest. I'll be back in a few hours.” I dozed off before she was out the door

I woke up in a dimly lit room with no idea where I was or how long I'd been there. Something was wrong. I could hear a group of women talking and laughing on the other side of the curtain surrounding my bed. I tried to reach the call button but it was just out of reach. I tried to reposition myself better, and stretched as far as I could. I almost had it in my grasp when I suddenly became light-headed and passed out.

When I came to, there was still no one there. I thought I had pushed the button but I guess I hadn't. My swollen tongue was filling my mouth now, and I was unable to call out. Or breathe. I tried desperately to push the call button. I had no idea if I was doing it or not. I passed out again.

When I came to again, I heard the sound of the curtain opening and a nurse saying something in Spanish. Through the narrow window of my swollen eyelids, I could see her look at me, then calmly turn and walk away.

This is how I'm going to die?

I lay there quietly, trying to concentrate on getting a little air past the swelling in my mouth and throat. I tried to meditate to calm down. It seemed to help a little. I wasn't scared anymore, just sad. I always figured I'd go out in some freak climbing accident or in a paragliding crash, not suffocating because of a stupid allergic reaction to a common drug. What a bummer.

I started thinking about how sad all the people who loved me were going to be. I knew Pam would blame herself for not being with me when I died. I hated to think of how much pain she would have to face. She had always been there for me, supporting my crazy way of approaching life and still loving me.

Through all the chaos, I'd almost forgotten that my family was coming. Barry was due to arrive tomorrow, Mum and Blair the following day, Bethany and Ryan the day after that. They would be devastated. Some Christmas this was going to be.

I was sad that my relationship with my brother Ian had been strained of late and that we hadn't talked in over a year. Now I would never have a chance to make things right with him. I knew he'd carry the guilt forever and I hated the thought of it.

I had just managed to restore my relationship with Bethany, but I hadn't had the chance to do the same with her brother, Curtis. I worried about how they would handle my death.

But mostly I was calm. I was at peace with dying. It was different than I'd imagined. I had no sense of time anymore. I felt my body involuntarily trying to get air into my lungs, my heart trying to keep the beat. But I was drifting off, becoming less and less aware. I was too weak, too tired. My body was giving in.

“Steve! Steve! Wake up!”

I could barely make out Pam's voice through the swelling in my ears.

“Help me!” I heard her scream.

It made me feel better that she would at least be able to say good-bye to me. I tried to open my eyes to look at her one last time, but I could only make out a blurry figure. The backlighting made her appear angelic.

“My husband can't breathe!” she screamed at the nurses as she ripped open the curtain around my bed.

One of the nurses ambled over and looked in at me. “What's the problem?”

“He can't breathe! He's dying!” Pam said.

“Wasn't he like this before?”

“Do something! Help him!”

I heard the nurse call for assistance. Within moments, I had more attention than I'd had in two days. I passed out.

“I'm sorry I left you, sweetheart,” Pam was saying through tears when I came to. “I love you.”

Apparently the nurses had forgotten to give me my medicine, and Pam had caught it just in time. Apparently it wasn't just bedding that family was responsible for; getting the nurses to give out medication was also up to relatives.

Pam climbed into the bed beside me and held me in her arms. I felt her body tremble as she quietly cried herself to sleep.

Around 2
A.M
., a nurse woke us up. They'd finally found a room for me. I wondered how one became available at this time of night. Did someone die?

In the morning, Pam left for a little while to find breakfast for me (apparently I'd checked in too late to make the list). She wasn't gone long before I started to have breathing problems again. My throat began to close up again, my tongue to swell. My hands and feet were starting to fill up with fluid. I reached for the call button and pressed it over and over until someone answered. The voice sounded angry.

“Help me. . . . I can't breathe.”

I didn't understand her response, but she sounded frustrated and impatient.

The symptoms were coming on stronger and faster this time. That sense that I was going to die returned.

Pam walked into the room, took one look at me, and dropped the bag of food. She bolted for the nurses' station to beg someone to help. Once again, she saved my life in the nick of time. Once gain, the nurses had forgotten to give me my medication.

My mum called Pam's cell phone asking to speak to me. I shook her off. I felt awful and didn't want to talk.

“Put the phone to his ear!” my mother insisted.

Pam did, and it was good that I could reassure my mum with the sound of my voice. She was terrified that I was going to die before she could get there.

“We want you around for Christmas, kiddo,” she said.

I wasn't feeling too good about being in that hospital either. I'd survived another day there, but just barely.

The doctor who had seen me in the emergency ward the previous night came by around lunchtime.

“How are you feeling today?”

Pam told him about the missed medication last night and this morning. He wasn't happy.

“I'm concerned about how much swelling you have,” he said as he examined the rash now covering my entire body. My whole body looked like I'd been beaten with a baseball bat. “You must have fallen out of bed when you tried to call the nurse.”

“He didn't,” Pam insisted. “The nurses didn't give him his medication. Every time he goes into anaphylactic shock, he gets worse.”

“Hmmm. I'd like to get a CT scan to rule out head trauma, just to be safe.”

A short while later, I was plunked into a wheelchair and taken downstairs to another floor, where a nurse parked me in a hallway. I sat there for hours with several other patients who were waiting. An elderly woman who was in line ahead of me reached out her hand and placed it on my arm. She said a few words in Spanish I couldn't understand, but the look of concern on her face said it all. Another patient smiled at me and said the woman was praying for me. I tried to smile in thanks, but I'm sure the result was pretty hideous to look at.

When a technician approached the old woman to tell her they were ready for her to go in, she said something to him and pointed at me.

“Okay,” the technician said. He turned to me and smiled. “You're next, my friend. She gave you her place in line.”

Pam and I thanked her over and over again as I was wheeled away. She was still waiting when my test was finished, holding a rosary in her hands. She smiled at me and touched my arm as I went past. I never saw her again, but I would never forget her generosity and kindness when I needed it most.

Pam stayed with me in my room that night, but neither of us got any sleep. The gentleman in the next bed was screaming in pain and vomiting into the wee hours. We were pretty sure another bed was about to free up quite soon.

By morning, I was done with this hell. They had nearly killed me twice already, and I was getting more and more run-down from lack of sleep. Pam was still fighting with the nurses to get my medication to me on time.

“I'm checking out of here,” I told the doctor who came around after breakfast.

“That's not a good idea,” he said.

“Staying here isn't a good idea either. I'm leaving.”

“I suppose it's your choice, but I wouldn't advise it.”

“I'm going.”

“I won't be able to give you any more medication if you leave. The anaphylaxis will probably be even worse next time. You could die if you don't have the correct steroid dose and Benadryl combination.”

“But you won't prescribe that for me?”

“No, I'm sorry, sir, if you leave the hospital, you're on your own. You'll have to sign papers releasing the hospital from liability if anything happens to you.”

I left anyway. I figured I had a better chance of survival at home.

When we got back to the house, Barry was there. I was so happy to see him. He'd come by the hospital briefly the night before just after he arrived, but I barely remembered his visit.

Meanwhile, Pam did a little Internet research to see if the medication the first doctor had given me might work. She discovered that the drug was exactly the steroid I needed, but with a different name. The directions on the bottle made it clear that I'd need to be weaned off the drugs over the next ten days. Pam calculated that we had just enough to get me through provided we had no setbacks.

I was weak and exhausted, so I went to bed to get some rest, while Pam and Barry went to the airport to pick up my mum and Blair. I woke up that evening to my mum's smiling face. Mum has always believed in me and shown support for every dream I've ever pursued. I know I caused her to worry endlessly with my need to travel the world at a young age, but she encouraged me to follow my heart. I was overwhelmed with gratitude to have her with me now.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?”

Immediately, I started to cry. It was just like when I was a kid and got hurt. I acted tough until I saw my mum, and then the waterworks started.

Over the next couple of weeks, I spent a lot of time in the pool, trying to quell the itching that still plagued me. I still went to the beach, but for shorter amounts of time. I had a hell of a time controlling my emotions. I would be laughing and having a good time with everyone one minute, then sobbing the next. Pam went back to the Internet where she learned that the mood swings were normal for someone weaning off steroids. My family was wonderful about ignoring my intense behavior. They knew I'd get over it. I wasn't sure. I'd never felt so out of control in my life.

There
was
an upside to this unexpected illness. Sometimes when my emotions got the better of me, I excused myself from the family activities to work on my art portfolio, which I needed to put together for my application to the Rhode Island School of Design. I hoped I'd be able to go there when Pam's contract was up and we left the island. The deadline was fast approaching, and I was up against some of the best up-and-coming artists in the world. I needed to put my best foot forward if I was going to stand a chance of getting in. I had planned to have my drawings completed before my family arrived for the holidays, but clearly that plan had been squashed.

I'd been working on one of the drawings for a couple of days, but I wasn't feeling well that morning, so I set the drawing board against the wall under the louvered windows with plans to get back to it that afternoon, after Pam and I took my family on an outing to Old San Juan.

On the drive home, I noticed a band of threatening clouds heading our way.

“Yikes, that looks ominous,” Pam said. “Did you all shut your bedroom windows before we left the house?”

I squinted my eyes in thought. I remembered opening the window in my studio to let some light in while I was working. I didn't remember shutting it. “Aw, shit,” I said out loud.

Everyone looked at me.

“The window above my drawings. It's open.”

I floored it, hoping to get back to the house before the storm struck. No such luck. I raced into the house to find one drawing I'd spent days on ruined.

“Maybe it'll be okay when it dries,” my mum said.