When Things Go Wrong (You Will Be Okay)

I’ve been travelling solo in Australia for forty-seven days. Forty-seven days of new experiences, friends, and adventures. After the first month, I reflected on how well I was doing. I hadn’t felt too homesick or out of my depth; nothing majorly bad had happened. I hadn’t even cried since the tears at Heathrow (bar from laughter, or random droplets in bittersweet moments). Growing up a very sensitive person who could cry at the slightest unease, this felt like a huge success. Whilst crying is a totally normal part of anyone’s life, a lack of tears for me is generally a sign that I’ve been feeling good and am handling life positively. So, in the week leading up to my first incident, I was aware that it was about time I had a wobble. 

I was having a good week. I was settling into my new job, and enjoying the routine of the gym and hanging out with friends. Friday night had been a blast: $5 glasses of happy hour wine followed by a boogie. Saturday I spent chilling out with friends and enjoying a new aspect of my job. And on Sunday I worked for four hours and then headed out into the sunshine. I met some friends and we wandered around two of the large Fringe hubs: Gluttony and The Garden of Unearthly Delights. The atmosphere, created from the raucous sounds coming from tents with shows in full swing, children running around in the sunshine, the smells of sugary fairy floss and deep-fried savoury delights, filled the parklands. The array of food stalls were tempting, but we already had plans for dinner elsewhere, so after a drink and a chill in the shade, we headed back out.

We were eating at a familiar chain restaurant, one which I’ve been to several times. When I finished eating, I felt a strange, tingling sensation across my tongue. In the bathroom mirror I saw that several areas across it had become inflamed. At the same time, I started to feel pain in my stomach and an anxiety creeping in. I felt oddly as if I was stuck deep inside the centre of my body, distanced from its edges and my surroundings. I tried to play it off, and for a while convinced myself and my friends that I was fine: it was just a big meal and I probably needed to drink more water. But after I said goodbye to them, the anxiety bloomed and a little bit later I felt a tightening in my throat. As I am anaphylactic to nuts, I decided that the best place for me to be was the hospital.

I took an Uber. The driver was a friendly man. He apologised that it had taken several minutes for him to reach me, knowing where I was headed; I’d put the destination as the emergency department. He asked me some questions, kept me talking and reassured me that I would be alright. And I was feeling okay, too. I was in control. Until we pulled up at some traffic lights and I opened the passenger door to throw up on the road. Fortunately, we were only seconds from the hospital. When I got out I thanked the driver by missing his car with my vomit again, instead heaving the mouthfuls of half-digested food onto the tactile pavement. 

In the emergency department I was taken straight through. Just the word ‘anaphylaxis’ is a ticket to the front of the queue. They took my details, which was easy enough until they asked if I had any next of kin in the country, and I couldn’t respond for a moment. For the first time since I left home, I realised how far away I was. I was able to give a name and a number of a new friend in the city, but I couldn’t forget that hesitation – the dawning of the realisation.

Fortunately, on this occasion, my body regulated my breathing on its own, without the help of my EpiPen or any medication. I was kept in the emergency department for several hours of observation, in the case of a delayed anaphylaxis, but as the time passed I felt myself feeling better. So much so that I started to assist the other patients waiting, and supported one woman with sore legs to and from the bathroom. I was lucky enough that after a while my worst symptom was boredom. 

I was supposed to be attending a show that evening, and I was disappointed to miss out on it. But aside from the disappointment, I just felt relieved that I was okay. Sure, what had happened was unfortunate, uncomfortable, and dangerous, but I’ve had much more severe allergic reactions. Furthermore, I’d dealt with this one alone, which was something else I could be proud of. In previous experiences, I’ve had my parents with me – their advice and reassuring presence. And although I was grateful to have them on the end of the phone when I called them, I was able to tell them that I’d taken care of myself and that I was going to be okay (through the all too anticipated tears).

Whilst the situation was less than ideal, it was proof that I have the ability to take care of myself in challenging situations, even when I’m on the other side of the world. And whatever other challenges are still to come, I'll be ready for too.