I have recently been put on a course of a drug of the sort which comes with a lengthy list of side-effects. The sort of lengthy list which means the drugs arrive with a weighty tome which takes up the majority of the packaging detailing all the perturbing things you might notice happening to your body. One of my potential side-effects is going into anaphylactic shock. One of the ways I can tell if this is happening, according to my list, is that I will, and I kid you not, experience "a sensation of impending doom".
Should I find myself in such a situation, there is light at the end of the tunnel. It comes in the form of the Anapen® I have been given; a cylindrical plastic tube which, when pressed against the skin, will deliver a significant dose of pure adrenaline at the touch of a button.
I go to the hospital to be issued with my Bond-like gadget. The nurse demonstrates how to operate one.
"Now, you just need to push it against a muscle mass, like the thigh," she illustrates on herself. "Don't worry, it can easily go through your jeans, and then you just press the button, like this."
I blink, and frown. I inspect her face. Not a twitch.
"Just like that?"
"Yes," she says with a nod.
"Then why," I ask, slightly confused, "didn't anything just happen to you?"
"What?" she asks, seemingly mirroring my confusion.
"When you just pressed the button, why didn't you get a shot of adrenaline?"
"Well," she says slowly, "because as you can see, this one doesn't have a needle loaded."
"Oh, it needs a needle!" I exclaim, things becoming somewhat clearer.
"Yes, that's right," she nods, failing to hide her amusement. "Huw, you didn't think in order to get a shot of epinephrine in your body it was merely a case of pressing a plastic tube against your jeans did you?"
"What?" I cry incredulously, laughing at such a silly notion. "Oh no no no."
I blush furiously and resolve to watch less Star Trek. Damn you Beverly Crusher!
4 weeks ago