This is the second part of a two-part story. You can read part I here.

Arrival at the Medical Station

Steve T. kept watching me through his rearview mirror and asking me how I was doing. I had stopped jonesing for breath and wondered if Steve was intentionally trying to keep me awake. While I felt I could indeed doze away, I had no trouble at all staying awake when needed.

Another medic and Steve T. put me between them and mostly carried me into the building and medical station. Coming down the long hall in the opposite direction was our Flight Surgeon stepping out smartly to answer a distress call.

“Poor bastard, I hope he’s alright. Er, No. Wait … that’s me; I’m the poor bastard!”

Seated in the examining room, I was asked a litany of questions, from what happened when I hit the water to what I had for breakfast that morning. I was honestly feeling so much better, so much so that I almost felt guilty for stirring such a fuss. And yet I had the most remarkable red puffy welts on both arms, chest, and stomach—everywhere.

I got another injection and some pink capsules, figuring them to be Benadryl. I sat there on a gurney while the med-brains conferred just out of earshot. At length, Steve T. and the Daktari approached; Steve did all the talking while Daktari nodded thoughtfully:

“Geo, we’re not just 100% sure of what the hell got hold of you, but I suspected what I was seeing at the lake was a wicked-fast onset of anaphylactic shock. Dude, I could see your neck swelling and puffing out as you stood there complaining. I hit you with Epinephrine.”