November 27, 2012

• Epinephrine – STAT!

   

  I somehow sprained my ankle. I don’t know how I did it, but late morning yesterday, I began limping thanks to a very sore and swollen left ankle. I’ve been trying to ice it regularly. Trying – because it turns out that it’s not very convenient to ice an ankle when you are unpacking from a long road trip, restocking the house with groceries, roasting gourds, and generally running a busy household with kids. Oh, and painting steps. 

  This afternoon, the kids arrived home soggy from the damp cold and with not a lick of homework to keep them busy. Of course. Tomorrow, when we have a busy day there will be lots. Mark my words. 

  Anyway, I figured it was a perfect time to tend to my injury. Once I got the ice bag to stop leaking. And got the slippery ice bag to stay put on my elevated foot. 

  In the middle of all that positioning and grimacing, our daughter holds up an epi pen. She was standing behind the couch on which I was reclined. “Is this one of the tester pens?” (When you get an epipen, they give you a blank one to use for training folks on how to give the injection.)

  I distractedly answered yes, because it looked like a trainer pen. I had a stack of expired pens on the counter because I just picked up the outrageously expensive renewal today. 

  Next thing I know, I am on my feet, ice is on the ground, and our daughter is crying hysterically. She’s fine – she didn’t stick herself. But it wasn’t a trainer pen. Oops.

  Since she thought it had no needle, she had carelessly jabbed it into the frame of the couch. The leather couch. 

  So no worries – you can feed my couch any and all allergens today, as it is hopped up on epinephrine for the next few hours. Luckily, it was a clean stick, so the leather seems unscathed. No fluid is leaking either, so maybe wood absorbs epinephrine? Or it will slowly show up as a Rohrshach-esque pattern on the leather? That might be useful if our daughter ends up needing home psychoanalysis after this whole mess. 

  I took full responsibility for said mess, and apologized for being distracted by my sad little ankle icing. The real epipens are in plastic cases with lids. The trainers are not. I didn’t know we had loose (but real) epi-pens in the house. My bad. Someone could have really gotten an unnecessary jolt! 

  Our poor daughter was quite traumatized by the whole thing — imagining that scary needle going into her thigh. She said she almost jabbed her leg, because that’s what you’re supposed to do with a trainer, and i told her it was one. Ugh. 

  Our son was not traumatized. He just wanted his snack, but not before asking me a gajillion questions about said snack. In the meantime, his sister decided to get over her trauma by eating pita chips in the most aggressive and loud manner in the history of pita chips. Seriously, it was loud. So loud that I relocated upstairs with my leaky ice pack. And then she yelled up that all that crunching made her lose a tooth that wasn’t even loose. And it’s bloody, and she “needs” me.

  Sigh. This is why I shouldn’t sprain my ankle. Elevating your foot isn’t ever as relaxing as it sounds like it should be. And typing a blog on an iPad is downright torture. Autocorrect is a freaking moron. 

  That is all. 

  • 4:18 pm
  • 4 Comments