Lara St. John - Near Death Experience

Lara's near-death experience

I was in Toronto on Monday, January 22, 2001 for a two-day photo shoot, having made a stopover from Winnepeg-NY solely for that purpose. I showed up around 11 AM at the photographer's (who shall forthwith be known as "Pat") and met the hair/makeup person, and the clothing stylist (known as "Hamish"). We spent 3 hours doing hair and makeup, mixing and matching certain outfits, and finally went on to the lighting/Polaroid stage. At this point Pat had to fix something in the camera, and Hamish and I went to the kitchen to munch on a few nuts. He asked if I wanted some water and I said yes.


Lara at Toronto General Hospital where she spent 4 days (with her iBook)

I actually saw him look in the fridge and pull out a bottle--one of those gallon-type bottles that Poland Spring water or distilled water comes in. I was called from the other room and he poured me a glass and brought it to me there. I thanked him and took a sip while listening to what Pat was saying to me. I immediately knew something was wrong. In the one nanosecond it took to realize something was VERY wrong, my mind first thought that I had drunk some sort of bitter tonic water (I abhor tonic water). In the next half nanosecond, I remembered that bottle that he had taken from the fridge--no Schweppes bubbly bottle that! I tried to spit out what I could
but at least that one sip (a few teaspoons) had already gone down.

After screaming, „What the F**K was that???", there was mad confusion until Pat figured out that I had been poured a glass of 35% hydrogen peroxide which he, for some odd reason, kept in his fridge. (I learned later that it was supposed to be some sort of holistic foot remedy).

"I thought maybe peroxide was like cyanide, and I tried to prepare myself for Death in the next few seconds."

So all hell broke loose. I thought maybe peroxide was like cyanide, and I tried to prepare myself for Death in the next few seconds. The makeup artist and Pat were yelling out, "Drink water!!" and so I did. (I found out later that that had a good part in keeping death at bay.) Out of the corner of my eye I saw the horrified stylist collapse in tears on the kitchen floor. I don't think he had much input at that point. Not knowing how corrosive hydrogen peroxide is at that percentage, I induced vomiting until I thought I had it all out. I decided I felt better, maybe even OK, and so we all decided to go ahead with the shoot (which, upon hindsight, I can't believe).

I had some trouble sitting straight. My stomach was burning as though some unfathomably strong whisky had been poured into it but, sadly, without even the benefit of drunkenness. I felt pretty sick. Finally, after a roll of film, I told them I had to lie down. Five minutes after trying to lie down again I had another upheaval, and this time with blood. We then decided the ER was a good idea.


	With the makeup from the photo shoot still on, Lara is rolled from the ER

So off we went--me, Pat, and Hamish (who were both feeling completely devastated at what had happened)--and I checked into the emergency ward. Since I was still wearing a dress from the Roaring Twenties, with full photo makeup on and hair in ringlets, I don't think the hospital staff took me very seriously until I managed to sort of barf some stomach lining and blood onto their nice clean floor. I then got a little room and was quickly hooked up to IV and heart monitor, as lots of bustle was going on. I rather realized at this point that perhaps it was a little more serious than we had thought and that maybe someone should call my mom.

Things started to get worse. I was nauseous, the burning was increasing in my esophagus and stomach, and I was so very tired. I asked a nurse if I was going to die. She sort of stared at me and walked out.

Somehow this realization didn't really scare me very much. I thought that at the very least, Death would release me from the horrible burning. However, the thought hit me that this was a pretty pathetic way to kick the bucket--being accidentally poisoned during a photo shoot, of all things--and I started weeping at the idiocy of it all. While I was in this state, they took me to get a chest X-ray, for which I had to be held up like a sort of rag doll, and then for a CAT scan. (Why does one always meet cute X-ray techies only when one is doped on Gravol, smelling like peroxide mixed with puke, crying, and asking everyone if one is going to die??? Totally unfair....)

My mom arrived from London, Ont. (a two and a half hour drive) to find me in this state. I guess she was probably pretty upset. Then this incredibly nice doctor from Dublin, in response to my question, said, "I really don't think so." He said it with such honesty that I felt much better and gave in to the sedation for a while. Finally I got admitted to the only bed they had: in the geriatric ward.

"One surgeon woke me at 5 AM to tell me that my CAT scan looked pretty bad--they could see some holes or near-holes--and that they would have to operate."

Then the big round of doctors started. Naturally, I was a bit of a curiosity, being the first hydrogen peroxide ingestion patient they had ever seen. One surgeon woke me at 5 AM to tell me that my CAT scan looked pretty bad--they could see some holes or near-holes--and that they would have to operate. I went back to sleep and by 9 AM a whole stream of doctors--gastrointestinologists, thorassic (or is it thoraxic? My love of reptiles shows up everywhere..), surgeons, internists, etc., as well as all their students, of course--were coming by and pushing and tapping on my stomach. They were incredulous when it didn't hurt me very much. I mean, no one likes their stomach to be prodded very much, but it didn't hurt a whole lot. The surgeons seemed a bit crestfallen at this, and everyone decided to give me another day, after which they planned to stick a little camera tube down my throat.

Meanwhile, I was in this geriatric ward with some old woman who did nothing but whine to nurses (and woe to me when she got a phone), and another very old lady who seemed catatonic except when she coughed and choked on what seemed to be an ocean in her lungs. Pretty depressing. I kept my curtains drawn.

When I seemed even better the next day, the surgeons were visibly disappointed and I never saw them again. I guess they had been looking forward to such a very unusual operation. The little tube camera showed loss of stomach lining, irritation, inflammation, a few near-holes (abscesses I think they said), and some burns in the esophagus, but nothing needing an operation. They told me that the immediate water I drank was probably what saved me. Otherwise, the peroxide would have burned right through the stomach and that would have been the end of stomach and self. So I got another couple days of no food, lots of TV, and another CAT scan before I was freed.

For those three and a half days I had to survive on IV alone, which is very unsatisfying. Finally I got a popsicle, which was the tastiest thing I ever had in my life. On the last day, they had to make sure I could hold down food so I got a dinner, which was much too small. I sent my mom out to get me another one. The two dinners stayed home nicely and I thought that the food was splendiferous, even if it was bland and mushy and soupy and would have been quite gross on any other day.

So life goes back to normal, but without spices in food, any alcohol, or anything crunchy, for a while. And apparently things like a Vindaloo curry are out for the rest of my life, or at least a long time. The doctors of course have no idea whether or not I am going to be fine. They just can't do anything more because they didn't learn this bit in med school.

I don't know if there is any moral to this story. I think I am the only person to whom such a random and ridiculous accident could happen. As my mother reminded me, this is my third one. At 18 months, I breathed a bunch of peanuts into my lungs in a bout of surprise--apparently I stuffed my face, went for a ride on my tricycle and fell off. At 8 years old I went down a hill in France on a bike without brakes and smashed my head into a brick wall at about 40 MPH. And now this one. Apparently someone somewhere is looking out for me, but I sort of wish they could do so a few split seconds earlier.

Lara