Honey bee sting: One beekeeper's story

I am wondering how many of you have actually had that moment in your life where you thought that you were going to die. I’m talking the serious, life-threatening fear that clutches your being, where you actually hear your thoughts saying, “I might die, this could be it”. For me, when this moment arrived, a deep sense of my aloneness gripped me—all I wanted was to have my husband Scott nearby, but I knew that this wasn’t possible because I was traveling alone in the ambulance. I wished that Scott had left our vehicle along the roadside, where he stopped to call 911, and gotten into the ambulance with me.

Tuesday July 27, 2010 was a perfect Vermont day. Not too humid. Not too hot—pleasantly warm. I had arisen early, on my day off from work, to start my first load of laundry, so that I could get it hung on the line to take advantage of some solar drying. By the nine o’clock hour I was in the garden harvesting, and ready to give a much needed weeding. Our busier year in the beeyard had left a very neglected garden. To my relief my father joined me in harvesting, and then he tackled the rototiller while I did some serious hand pulling. Three hours later it was lunchtime.

After lunch I slathered my lower back with Tiger balm in anticipation of the next job at hand. We had an appointment with Bill and Diane to extract their honey supers. I think that we all had a great time chatting while working, and the work was done lickity split. Bill and I uncapped the honeycomb, while

Bill, Diane and Valarie Harvesting Honey

Diane scraped at any cappings that we couldn’t get to, and she kept us supplied with frames of Vermont honey. Then she’d hand the uncapped frames to Scott to place in the honey extractor. While we were wrapping things up, I took a honeybee sting to my right shoulder. Within minutes both of my palms were itching. I asked Diane if this normally happened to her when she gets stung, and she said yes. And I knew from prior stings that I always itched something fierce on the actual hand that I had been stung on, but I didn’t recall my palms itching. As we continued to talk my itching intensified, and I could feel other things happening. My hair follicles were itching. I looked back at my shoulder and I could see a series of blistery hives forming. My finger and hand from a prior sting began to swell. At this point we wrapped up our goodbyes, with the intention of getting me inside the house.

Once in the house, I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked eerie; eye sockets swelling, nose looked like an ape, and my right upper lip looked like I'd taken a left hook from a rookie boxer. I pulled up my shirt and hives were forming underneath. I called to Scott, and told him that I thought that he should stick relatively close by me. And then the itching seemed to explode like a volcano. My body was erupting with itching in every nook and cranny including my eardrums.  I had Scott take some photos so that we could track if the hives continued to grow. How silly of me. Within minutes my whole upper body, arms, back, groin and upper thighs were covered in hives. Some areas looked like a woolly sheep. And then I became concerned; my right nostril was closing up.

This is before it got bad

We were driving to Porter’s Hospital in Middlebury because I knew that I would be seen much quicker than if we went to Fletcher Allen. We were on the Monkton road driving past the Monkton General Store when my chest started to have extreme pain. I told Scott that I thought he better call 911.

For those of you that spent the 90’s watching ER or any number of those other emergency TV programs, let me tell you that in real life when you live out in the country it’s slow motion. We were parked in somebody’s driveway waiting for rescue to arrive. I continued to be very agitated by the itching, and the chest pains were coming in waves. Once in the Bristol ambulance, Scott said that he would meet us at the hospital. Shelby the volunteer EMT was getting me hooked-up to the monitors, taking my vitals, and we remained on the roadside for at least ten more minutes. My chest pain continued to intensify, and I thought, “shouldn’t we be driving so that we would get to the hospital sooner”.  At normal speeds it’s about thirty minutes to Porter.

Chest pain crushing (feels like elephant is standing on it).

Losing consciousness.

I am afraid.

Scott is not with me.

I want to pray.

I could die.

My heart might stop.

“Into thy hands Lord, into thy hands”.

It’s all I can silently utter.

I think, either way, death or life, this is where I want to be--“into thy hands”.

Shelby receives the OK to inject me with epinephrine. "Breathe, keep breathing", she says. We’re driving now; I hear the siren. Chest still hurting. The ambulance has to slow down, so that Shelby can insert the IV line into my arm. Breathe. The driver has made it to downtown Middlebury. She is cussing and banging on the steering wheel; traffic is a mess because there is road construction. I didn't lose consciousness; the injection is working. My chest pain hasn’t let up, but the hives have stopped spreading. I see through the back ambulance window a train of cars that have pulled over so that we can get by, one of them is Scott. I lift my left IV arm to wave to him—I want him to know that I am OK. I don’t know if he can see me.

The emergency room is cold like an icebox. I’m placed behind aqua colored curtains where the nurse gets briefed, and then she starts her own round of stats. Blood pressure and an EKG. I now see the doctor. I still have huge hives so she decides that some steroids are in order. I remain in the frigid room for some time for monitoring, but without asking, I have been given a blanket and some non-skid socks that have been kept in a warming oven. I look at my toes as the male nurse places the socks on—each toenail crusted with dirt from the garden; the sides and the bottoms of my feet look like I have soaked them in coffee and then placed them in the sun to dry. 

I think, "Does it really matter moms if we have clean underwear on [“in case we get into an accident”] if we’re going to show up with vagabond feet!"

My chest pains are calming down but not gone. The water from the straw slides down my throat and I want more. They let me up to use the restroom, where two police officers guarding a room stare at me as I enter the restroom. I’m shaky and weak, but I’m alive.

Scott’s now joined us in the emergency room; I can imagine he’s at perfect temperature because I'm freezing! The doctor tells me to get rid of my bees. She’s quite concerned that my next sting reaction will go into full anaphylactic shock with my airway completely closing, not just my nostrils. She tells me that we live in a medical emergency dead zone, and that she’s worried it will take too long to get medical treatment. I leave the ED with an Rx for two EpiPens, and I’m not to go home until we have this Rx filled.

EpiPen ~ Don't Leave Home Without It!
Furthermore Don't Keep Honeybees Without one!!!

Once home, I’m in my kitchen briefing my dad when the telephone rings. It is the emergency department doctor; she didn’t realize that the nurse had taken my EKG. Unfortunately it is abnormal. She is going to send me the EKG report to take to the cardiologist, of which I need to make an appointment ASAP. My brain is reeling. I don’t know what any of this means. Am I to be concerned? Is this why my chest felt like a vice grip was clamping down on it? “Into thy hands Lord, into thy hands”. Anxiety will not own me. I may have received a life-threatening sting, but I will never receive eternal death because of it. "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?" The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1Co 15:55-57.

Final thoughts . . .

And that is it. Life goes on; I now carry the EpiPen wherever I go. We’re taking about what to do with all the bees on our property. I want to keep them, as I have a very optimistic heart that I can be desensitized to bee stings. There’s talk about having them all off-site on a different piece of land. It’s all up in the air. This is OK. The Lord knows the day I’ll be called home. I just want to play my part—not be stupid—not be fearful. There are options...