Ruminations on a near-death experience

Aweh dearly beloved fellow ruminants & groupies

Let’s start by saying that this has been a very eventful week. For those familiar with me, I typically refrain from discussing health or medical concerns. I recently checked my blog site and found that among my 163 blog posts, one addressed blood clots and Atul Gawande’s insightful book, “Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine, and What Matters in the End.” The subject of mortality lingers in my thoughts, but it is in the background. I commit to limiting my blog posts about mortality, illness, and near-death encounters to less than 1 percent of my overall content. If you prefer more uplifting topics like climate change, I suggest skipping this week’s blog entry.

On Wednesday afternoon, I had a near-death experience. The conclusion wasn’t drawn by me but by the doctor who revived me. Earlier that afternoon, following a university meeting, I stepped outside to clear our pond pump. Our garden’s Jacarandas are in full bloom. Owing to a proper Highveld storm, on Monday evening, with thunder, lightning, hail, and a short heavy downpour, Jacaranda blossoms were scattered everywhere, also clogging our pump. Bees adore these blossoms and frequent our pond, which serves as a water source. The buzzing of many content bees near our front door has always been a familiar sound. As I removed the pump to rinse it, I felt something on my forehead, I brushed it away, only to discover it was a bee that stung me.

Initially, it wasn’t very painful, and I followed the typical advice, scraping away the sting. However, this time, it resulted in more than just a minor irritation. Although I’ve been stung numerous times before, this sting triggered an itchy rash on my thighs. Despite taking antihistamine tablets, the rash persisted and intensified. I checked online, learning that oral antihistamines take about half an hour to work. The discomfort increased, making the half-hour wait seem interminable. Eventually, I decided it was time to go to the hospital. My wife, Nerine, immediately took action to drive me there, although she had suggested it earlier while I, being stubborn the stubborn old git that I am, thought I would be fine. Approximately 40 minutes had passed since the sting when I walked to the car and buckled myself in. I took my Nespresso coffee cup, which goes everywhere with me because waiting is an integral feature of the hospital experience.

It is a 1.5 km drive to the hospital. I was in discomfort but was not overly distressed. Just outside our house things went sideways fast. I felt things were now not going well. I was watching the road which was covered in purple Jacaranda blossoms and then my vision faded. I could see nothing. I said to Nerine I’m crashing. I knew I was dying. There were a few seconds of distress but not enough time to ruminate on this much. Then I lost consciousness. I was unconscious for the rest of the drive. Maybe three minutes. Nerine said she had her hand flat on the hooter at the intersections. I remember none of that. My head was slumped on my chest.  Nerine doubled as an ambulance driver and paramedic pulled me out of the car into the wheelchair and made sure I was wheeled into the emergency room. I was still clinging to my much-loved Nespresso cup which she ripped out of my hand and threw into the car. Fortunately, I still have that. Nerine saved my life. I married very well. I vaguely remember being in a wheelchair and them coming around in the emergency room and noticing the blood stain on my trousers where they had jabbed the adrenaline needle straight through my trousers.

Then the doctor was talking to me. She said that it was lucky that I was brought in when I was and if I had been left untreated for much longer, I would probably have died just as my body was telling me. It does not know about adrenaline injections. She said I should recover fully in two days. My vision was lost, and I lost consciousness because my blood pressure crashed. Oliver my son is also extremely allergic to bees. We will now have two Epipens in our house and they will need to travel with us. Inject immediately she said. Don’t wait to see what happens. She need not worry. Next time Ol or I get stung by a bee we will go straight to DEFCON 1. I have learned the lesson that anaphylactic shock is no joke.

If I had been home alone, I would not have managed to drive to the hospital myself. Driving while drunk is one thing but driving while unconscious is another. Would I have somehow survived? I don’t know. According to the doctor, probably not.  It can end quickly and unexpectedly. Believe me, I now have that T-shirt. What would have been the consequences? Fine for me because I wouldn’t be there but not good for my family who would be left to pick up the many pieces. I’ve been duly instructed to refrain from dying anytime soon. I’ll do my utmost. Our lives entail numerous intricate elements, some of which I alone manage. It has become apparent that I need to draft an email with the subject line, “In the Event of My Death.” After my death, the world will persist, Jacarandas will bloom in the coming years, and I won’t be there to see this or be stung by the thousands of bees drawn to the blossoms. And that’s how it should be.

Apart from oversharing and engaging my inner narcissist to elicit sympathy why am I telling you this? The support from family and friends has been overwhelming, and I am enormously grateful for that, but that is not really what I want to focus on. How will I die? How will you die? How much longer do we have and how many good years do we have? My father is 82 and has advanced senile dementia and is in a dedicated dementia care home. He will not read this blog. That is perhaps also my fate.

When you are 30 you don’t need to dwell too much on how to optimally spend your time because you have lots of it. But the clock ticks. As one ages, if basic needs are met, the most precious commodity becomes time, specifically quality time. So, what constitutes quality time? Undoubtedly, it involves spending time with family and engaging in activities that bring joy. Note to self. Focus on that. But beyond that?

Beyond the obvious, what should I do with the remainder of my life? Should I retire? If I continue working, what’s the purpose? Should I insist solely on tasks that bring me joy and reject bureaucratic and clerical work that I detest? Isn’t struggling and coping with challenges what lends meaning to life? I don’t have the answers to these questions.

To my much wiser fellow old ballies out there. What is the answer to these questions? What is the meaning of life? And I won’t accept 42 as an answer. I also asked ChatGPT, and it gave a kak answer. It is as dumb as a rock. You know better.

I want to express my gratitude for all the ideas and comments received. I genuinely appreciate them, and please continue to share your thoughts.

Regards

Bruce