I nearly died from taking cold and flu pills

I laugh about it now


It was Sunday February 15th 2015 – second term of my second year. Like many second years, I lived in a shared house of pretty mediocre build quality which was worryingly cold in the winter. And just like every student, I had been battling a bastard of a cold for the last week which, naturally, was showing no signs of disappearing on its own – though being able to see my own breath in my room certainly wasn’t helping.

If I was going to stand any chance of going to my 9am seminar the next day, I needed to feel at least marginally better than I did at that moment. I just didn’t have anything at home that could do the job.

With no success in self-medication, I turned to my housemates – no luck. At this point, it was about 10pm and the pharmacies were shut, but then I remembered Morrisons would be open for another hour. I was sure they were bound to sell some kind of generic cold & flu remedy that’d make me at least physically able to attend my class, if not psychologically.

My kryptonite

So, down to the shop I go, pick up the pills, head home, take a couple and hope for the best. At this point, I still feel like a dead man walking, so decide to call it a night. I could never have predicted what happened next.

I finish brushing my teeth, ready to hit the hay and notice something strange. I look in the mirror. My neck and face are puffier than normal. My eyes won’t open as much as usual. My heart starts beating faster and I begin to hyperventilate. Panic sets in.

* * *

I don’t understand what’s happening. Are these just extreme cold and flu symptoms? Am I just tired and imagining things? Then it struck me – I’d covered this in the first aid part of lifeguard training. These were classic signs of anaphylaxis, a severe allergic reaction. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d be worrying about more than just inflated facial features.

Five minutes of panic pass before I dash out and plead my housemates to dial 999. Breathing is becoming more difficult by the minute as my airway swells and constricts. Not enough oxygen going in means I get wearier and less capable of talking to the operator on the phone, the whole time telling me to calm down and that the ambulance will be there momentarily.

Not where I expected my casual Sunday night to end up

20 awful minutes later, through my swollen eyes, I see the ambulance rushing up my street. It doesn’t stop – instead, the crew can’t find the house and have to swing round again a few minutes later.

Two paramedics greet me before strapping me down and treating me to three simultaneous injections: adrenaline, antihistamines and corticosteroids. The adrenaline begins to work almost immediately and, no, in this context it was no fun. If anything, it was the most frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. This stuff is used to buy time because it temporarily helps you to breathe and speeds up blood flow around your body. With a sky-high heart rate, I would be shaking violently for hours – absolutely terrified the whole time.

* * *

Arriving at the hospital accompanied by my far too kind housemate, I’m thrust into A&E and surrounded by half a dozen people in blue scrubs. They all tell me their names, but I forget instantly as I’m more concerned with the direness of my situation than becoming bezzies with a junior doctor. I’m then treated to another wonderful cocktail of the same drugs, with the adrenaline causing me to tremble until I pass out from exhaustion.

It was a good look while it lasted

At about 2am I’m awoken by a nurse, mentioning something about getting my parents’ contact details, as I may have to be put into intensive care. Still quivering, I refuse because I don’t want them to get a call at this hour from a hospital in England telling them their son is in A&E (they live in Belgium).

4am comes around and I’m awoken by the same nurse now demanding I give him their contact details. I acquiesce and give him my mum’s phone number, unaware of his intentions. I drift away again, only to wake up at 10am to find none other than my mum and brother sitting next to my hospital bed. My first reaction: “oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I didn’t want her to rush over for this, to see me in the condition I was in. I knew she would have been hugely concerned – like any mother would – but I didn’t think it was necessary for her to come all this way. In retrospect, however, I couldn’t be more grateful to have that support.

* * *

Freshly released from hospital and still swole AF

Three days in hospital and seven days of corticosteroids later, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Now recovered, I felt amazing. It was weird.

I was lucky, though. I knew the symptoms of anaphylaxis. The initial symptoms were strange, but already being ill I didn’t think much of them, almost deciding on just sleeping it off. If I had indeed gone to sleep that night, I would have probably never woken up. To this day, that still scares me a little.

A few weeks later, more alive and well than ever

It’s hard to say what I learned from this experience. Cold and flu pills are, in themselves, not intrinsically dangerous. If anything, they certainly relieve more suffering than they cause. I’m just an unfortunate case where a single ingredient caused my body to stop working and fight itself.

Unlike a food allergy where you know your allergen and can avoid it, medicinal allergies are mostly unpredictable. This was mostly just a case of bad luck that went horribly wrong.

Ultimately, you’ll never know your weakness until you have to face it first hand. It’s just about being prepared for anything. In my case, some first aid training may have meant the difference between seeking help right away, and not being around to tell this very story.

Beechams all-in-one states: This medicine should not be used if you are allergic to one or any of its ingredients. Please inform your doctor or pharmacist if you have previously experienced such an allergy. If you feel you have experienced an allergic reaction, stop using this medicine and inform your doctor or pharmacist immediately.