Wednesday, April 16, 2008

My Kingdom For an EpiPen


Jackie aka she who plays with dead things called. Jackie is a mortuary science major and because no one in her family was willing to give their lives for the good of her education she turned to me. She’s going to be working on death certificates next week and wanted to know if I’d be willing to die.

There was a time in my life when I’d been so ill that I had actually died and the only thing I came away with that time other than my life (duh) and the possibility of some brain damage (jury is still out on that one) was a killer sore throat and laryngitis from the breathing tube shoved down my throat and kept in place for a month. As an added incentive for meeting my maker Jackie promised that this time I’d actually get my own death certificate. The best thing about this proposed field trip with the Grim Reaper besides the fact that I didn’t actually have to go with him was that I’d get to choose how I died this time. Last time I had no choice in the matter but this time was different. Without any hesitation I gave Jackie the permission to go ahead and kill me. Hey sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and sacrifice yourself for the greater good people.

Not content just to drop dead I wanted a background story, so Jackie and I went to work on the death of Mia. I don’t like doing things half-assed if I’m going to kick the bucket I wanted it to be unique. After a few scenarios it was decided that I died while hanging with Jackie. I always knew that chick would be the death of me I had just always assumed it was going to involve some smoke and booze not anaphylactic shock which by the way kills less than 1,000 people per year in the U.S. I suggested shedding my mortal coil via some cross contamination of food at a restaurant involving shrimp but Jackie wanted to make sure I was good and dead.

We’d gone out to dinner at an Italian restaurant the story went and I’d ordered the stuffed artichokes. As I ate my dinner I began to feel ill. Shrimps had been added to the stuffing, I wish I had thought to ask the waiter what the damn artichoke was stuffed with before I ordered my dinner. I’m allergic to shrimps. I was having trouble breathing and with no epinephrine in sight I was in big trouble. “An EpiPen, my kingdom for an EpiPen!”, were the last words I was able to gasp out as Jackie tried to comfort me. An ambulance was called but it was delayed and by the time they got there I was gone. As my spirit formed hovered over Jackie I let fly a string of curses mad at myself for not having ordered the chicken parmesan instead.

Labels: anaphylactic shock, death

Posted by @ 10:36 AM
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