Most people at one time or another face death. I did as I sat on the upstairs toilet readying to relieve myself. Since much of what happens in the bathroom is not talked about in polite company, I’ll try to keep it as vague as I can and yet be as specific as I need to be to make sense.
I had a book that I was very interested in, so as I sat, I read. Unbeknownst to me, my dear wife Karen had poured some bleach into the bowl of the toilet to whiten it. Now, urine has just enough ammonia in it so that when I let loose with it, it mixed with the bleach in the bowl, and there was a scientific reaction...chlorine gas!
I, of course, was preoccupied with my book. I still had the other business to attend to on the toilet, so I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the vapor coming up between my legs. I sort of noticed an awful smell, but when I’m in the bathroom, that’s not really that unusual.
I suddenly noticed that I was having trouble breathing and my throat was burning. I pulled my face out of my book and started considering my surroundings. There was a mist throughout the bathroom. The door was locked with a hook and eye. I had no oxygen in my lungs and my throat was on fire. I was starting to see black.
I tried to stand up and get out of the bathroom. As I stood and reached for the hook and eye -- about 5 feet away from the toilet and 5 feet off the floor -- I fell flat on my face. I felt like I was going to pass out. I had visions of the headlines. “Local Man Dies After Peeing in Bowl of Bleach.” Or, “
I gathered all my remaining strength and lunged to my feet, unlocking the bathroom door as I reached my full height. I fell against the door, pushed it open and fell out of the bathroom onto the landing. The fresh air coming up the stairs smelled as sweet as honey. I had never enjoyed breathing as much as I did at that moment. I was still, however, having trouble clearing the fumes out of my lungs.
I called out to Karen. The sound that came out of my mouth didn’t sound like me. It was raspy and hoarse. Worse yet, there was no answer. I was sweating and still having trouble breathing. My throat hurt. I was still seeing black. I cried out again, “Karen!” It was more of a croak than a voice.
As the sweet oxygen began to work on me, I began to be angry that in my time of need, no one was there to help me or to see me in my agony. I called Karen again, with a little more force in my voice. Finally, I laid my face back down on the floor and whined, “Am I alone in the house?”
Karen, just coming in the back door from an errand in the back yard, heard my plaintive cry and came up the stairs. There I was lying on the floor. My pants were down around my ankles. My eyes were watering. Karen, noticing my predicament said, “Bob, why are you lying on the floor, with your pants down, crying, and looking obviously like you haven’t finished what you went into the bathroom to do?” I told her of my experience. She gave my some very good advice at that time. She said, “You should never pee in a toilet that has bleach in it.”
I had stared Death in the face that day. Death had blinked and I had gone on to live yet another day. I was also a lot smarter about chemistry.
