I could hardly think. I was dazed and confused.

 

I needed to put numbers on the spread sheet but had to keep erasing them because they just weren’t the correct ones.

 

“Whatever I ate sure has brought on fatigue”, I thought out loud.

 

So, I took some quick deep breaths and tried to refocus.

 

It did not work.

 

I stood up, walked around and tried to wake myself up.

 

It did not work.

 

“This is a serious case of head nods”, I thought to myself.

 

I went to the basement and spoke to Karen about the merits and procedures of inventory control. I was having trouble keeping my thoughts straight. I was thoroughly confused.

 

What was this?

 

I had worked lots of hours as of late. Nothing too far out of the ordinary - it was close to my regular pace.

 

I had felt exceedingly tired as of late; my ability to concentrate had diminished dramatically.

 

 I thought to myself, “wow, this is serious burn-out. It must be an accumulation of hours. It seems like I have really done some damage this time.”

 

I walked over to the building next door [which I have under renovation]. I spoke with Rob [the Carpenter], gave him his cheque and said that I was going home as a result of not feeling well.

 

On the way back to the station I felt a tightening of the chest, jaw pain, broke into a cold sweat and had trouble breathing. I was nauseous and felt dizzy.

I could see [not well] but it was tunnel vision.

 

I could hear but became confused when more than one person spoke at once.

 

I could not speak but without a long pause after a question and a tremendous amount of determination. The sentences consisted of one, maybe two words at best.

 

A little from left field but, is this what it is like to be Autistic?

 

I walked into the store and asked Debbie to call 911. She gave me a wry smile and asked for whom she should call 911. “Me”, I said calmly. She gave me a second look, did not detect the normal jesting and josting [that goes on] and made the call.

 

Three thoughts went through my mind:

 

 

I could not get focused enough to do any of these.

 

The ambulance came, started oxygen and an IV, administered a shot of nitro and carted me away.

 

When I was being placed in the ambulance, my sons Josh and Sean came up to the ambulance door and tried to make eye contact. I did everything in my power to try and acknowledge them and put them at ease. I wanted to let them know that “dad was OK and that this was merely a pre-cautionary measure”. I mustered, with all my strength and focus, a miniscule wave from the hip. It did not do what I had intended.

 

As a brief [background] detour, I played football at one time. I remember once I broke my thumb and continued to play – for days. I did not tell Mom and Dad. When I finally succumbed to the pain and confessed, it had to be re-broken. Filled with morphine, I joyously watched as our family doctor broke it a second time. Joyously (?) you say? Yup. Oh yeah, it was the hardest I had ever laughed. What, in particular, did I find funny about such an excruciating event? Absolutely everything.

 

It was discovered that I had quite an allergic reaction to morphine. It caused me to laugh hysterically until the effects of the drug dissipated.

 

When I arrived at the hospital, it still felt like I had backed down a tunnel. The light at the other end was incredibly small and my focus arduous, although it had not deteriorated since the ambulance attendants began the drip.

 

The attending physicians and nurses began with a battery of tests; from blood, to blood pressure, to EKG, x-rays, etc.

 

While I was awaiting the second blood test, which needed to be done 4 hours after the first, I began giggling. The giggle grew to a laugh and before I knew it I was howling uncontrollably. Holding my mouth to force solitude, I would snort through my nose and be                off again on my laugh track.

 

This went on for 2.5 hours. (Hey, all you intuitives, are you seeing a pattern?)

 

 The Medical Staff took me off the oxygen and I began to feel the same symptoms; tightness of chest, eratic breathing, etc, They put me back on oxygen immediately.

 

Then my intuition kicked in.

 

I was staring Garfield (the Cartoon Cat) in the eyes when I exclaimed, “you don’t belong here”. I took Garfield and threw him in the garbage.

 

You see, Garfield (the Cartoon Cat) had been faithfully following me around for approximately three weeks. Everyone, young and old, commented on Garfield. They thought he was cute. They were especially surprised that Garfield and I would be hanging around together; we just did not seem compatible.

 

Actually, truth be known, Garfield was plotting my demise.

 

You see, Garfield was a plaster; a Children’s Compound W plaster. You know, the one with a little circle in the middle? It contains the magic potion to rid warts.

 

 

So, I did; faithfully.

 

When I removed the plaster during the episode, I began to feel better. Eventually I removed the oxygen myself as things improved.

 

The Doctor came in around 10 pm (this had all started at 3:30 pm) and told me my heart was fine and that I could go home.

 

I tried to explain my revelation and asked him if he could check my blood for an allergic reaction. The Doctor, without looking me in the eye, flatly refused.

 

The next morning I followed up on my hunch; here is what I found:

 

Compound W has a 17% Salicylic Acid concentration.

 

 

There are many Salicylic Acid Preparations.

 

Here are the side effects of Salicylic Acid use:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Following up, I had four doctors tell me that it was impossible; I had not suffered from Salicylic Acid poisoning.

 

The fifth one, a pharmacist for five years who went to medical school and became a surgeon, told me that it was possible.

 

She also told me that Salicylic Acid increased in strength over time. When I explained that the plasters I used had been expired for a few years, she said it was not only possible but quite probable that I had suffered a poisoning.

 

The increased strength can happen right across the board. She said, for example, that expired Aspirin would take on a smell of vinegar and be more potent than first produced.

 

So, there you have it.

 

Why did I write this story?

 

Four out of five Doctors told me that it WAS NOT Salicylic Acid Poisoning yet could not identify what it was.

 

I persisted until I was satisfied with a diagnosis.

 

How many of you have experienced a similar event and walked away dissatisfied yet accepted the [lack of] diagnosis?

 

Again, from left field, is Autism caused from a constant barrage of allergic reactions and [to an extent] poisonings?

 

I do not know but my beagle is running rampant.

 

Perhaps I can leave you with this:

 

Please be careful when administering products with Salicylic (Wart remover) or Acetylsalicylic Acid (Aspirin, Bufferin, etc). Make sure you or your children are not exhibiting early signs of the aforementioned side effects.

 

 

Remember, the poisoning I experienced happened over three weeks, not three minutes, hours or days; very subtle, very dangerous.

 

Hug your kids.

 

Coach Scott