Where, O Death, Is Thy Sting?

A yellow jacket stung me last summer. I was mowing near a ground nest, careful not to get too close. But she snuck around behind and nailed me good.

It hurt. Just like all the other times I’ve been stung. And just like all the other times, I stopped mowing, went in the house to rub baking soda into the stings, bathed my toe in cold water, and went outside to finish mowing the lawn…

At first I thought I was just imagining that I didn’t feel right, kind of lightheaded and a little sick to my stomach. I kept mowing. Then my ears began to ring, I could feel my heart pounding, and darkness began to close in around the edges of my vision. Suddenly, I made the connection: this was an allergic reaction to the sting. I don’t DO allergies, I thought. How could this be happening?

I staggered into the house, calling for my husband to take me to the ER. He ran upstairs to look for some Benadryl, and I collapsed on the couch, fighting the darkness, talking fast while I still could, “It’s too late, call 911! Call 911!” As he spoke on the phone, it occurred to me that it would be easier for the EMTs if I got as close to the door as possible. So I rolled off the couch and dragged myself halfway down the front hall, and then I couldn’t move anymore.

The wood floor felt cool on my face. Lying there, I could hear my husband’s voice, and then the voice of a woman who was putting a blood pressure cuff on my arm. I focused on my one job—breathing. Air in…air out… it was a lot of effort. I heard the woman say she couldn’t get a reading.

The EMTs arrived. (Air in…air out…) A stinky oxygen mask covered my face, and they lifted me onto a stretcher. On the way down the front steps, there was a lurch—were they going to drop the stretcher? Then into the ambulance. An IV, some epinephrine and I don’t know what else…I heard someone say my blood pressure was 60 over 30, and thought whoa, that is low.

But I was not afraid.

There had been a moment, while I lay on the front hall floor, when I realized this might be the end. And in that moment I crossed some kind of line from anxiety to peace. I remember saying, “It’s OK if I die,” so my husband would not be afraid. Lying in the ambulance there was no fear; instead, I looked forward to Heaven. In my heart I kept saying, over and over, “I love you, Jesus, I love you. Thank you so much for the life you gave me.” And I knew it was all right to leave, that God had used me to bring good things into other people’s lives. And I was going to see Him really soon.

Well, the medications worked, and I’m still here. But there was a strange comfort in that experience, learning that when death finally does come, it will be OK. I am certain that God will be there with me at the end.

There is also a lesson here, and a warning. I have never had a reaction to a sting beyond the expected pain and local swelling. They hurt, but in the context of life they have always fallen into the annoyance category. The last thing I ever expected was a yellow jacket sending me into anaphylactic shock.

So, if you are ever stung, I highly recommend staying near a telephone for at least a half hour, until you are sure that the danger of shock has passed. It happens without warning, and it happens fast.