Ever been in a situation and thought you were going to kick the bucket? Your life flashes before your eyes… You start thinking about all those loose ends that never got tied… Maybe you didn’t feed your cat…
I can hear the conversations–post mortem–about me now:
Man 1: “Oh yeah, Mari? Sweet girl. Served her country, saw the world, finally went to the Philippines to meet her family this year. It’s too bad.”
Man 2: “Yeah, too bad. And too bad her mom was the one who found her vibrator. I heard it was just out, on her bed. Who does that? Lessons learned… too late in Mari’s case, I guess. Her sister said her cat was gnawing on that thing like it was the catch of the day and they had to wrench it from her teeth.”
Man 1: (chuckles) “Oh Man, and her Mom is old-school filipina. I heard the damn thing was still buzzing when they walked in, like a dying bee, bzzz.. bzzz…like a, um, uh, like a swan song. Like Mari was trying to say she was at peace, like, ‘I’m okay, mom. I’m okay.’ Bzzzz…Bzz.. bzzz”
My moment of near-bucket-kicking happened at Mondo’s. I’m learning to surf. Haven’t managed to stand up. My friend Dames says, ‘you’ve been doing some stand-up. Stand up comedy.’ Then he takes his board and carves waves while a surfer like me stands on the shore, my face fallen with sadness, like I’m 12 years old again and the man at Griffith Park is telling me, “Sorry kid. You can’t ride the ponies. You’re over the weight limit. Now move aside so your two older sisters can get up here. Come on up… little ladies.”
I also haven’t even quite got the whole catching-waves thing down, but I was getting there, I promise, until I stepped on that blasted stingray.
I mean, I’m not a marine biologist. After all, I studied literature, but I had a feeling it was a stingray because of the way it whipped my leg, like a rubber hose.
I paddled in after it happened, only stepping off when the board scraped shore. I was terrified that whatever had ‘got me’ was following, like Jaws. I climbed the rocks to the access road, got to my car, and called Dames, my surfer friend who’s been surfing for 20 years. I knew he would know what to do.
He didn’t answer his phone.
Next, I called my sister because she was once a hospital corpsman at Port Hueneme. I knew she would have some sort of solution.
Her answer was, “Call 911.”
I told her I didn’t want to. I just got back from the Philippines, just moved, and my GI Bill was running out in a few months. I asked her: can’t you just tell me what to do?
“I’m telling you! Call 911!”
I was on the road, driving toward Emma Wood Beach, my eyes dribbling like a puss. Reluctant, I dialed those 3 magical numbers.
In moments I was on the phone with an emergency dispatcher. The dispatcher and I decided I should pull into Emma Wood and tell the man at the guard booth I needed a lifeguard. But there was no one at the booth, and there was no obvious sign of a lifeguard. I just wanted someone to look at my leg and tell me it would all be okay for crying out loud.
I parked under the freeway, and the dispatcher continued to update me on the status of the ambulance. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel, and thought about the punchline from an old plane crash joke:
“Just try to remain calm, stay seated, lower you head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.”
The numbness in my leg was replaced by a throbbing, like the deep bass of a hip-hop club that has the power to blow your skirt up a little if you stand too close to the speakers.
Little did I know that this throbbing was simply the appetizer. The main course was delicious, and it was on its way.
I waited 13 minutes for those bitchasstricks to arrive.
The dispatcher said, “They should be right on you. You’ll see the firetruck first.”
Firetruck…?
She was right. I did see the firetruck first, followed by the ambulance.
I said bye to her and let my leg out of the car for the anticipated scrutiny of professionals who would definitely know what this was.
I was surrounded by four dudes from the fire truck, two chicks from the ambulance, and an old man who wandered over from that guard booth. As the Marines would say: I was the biscuit.
Hi, I said to everyone.
Before anyone could speak, the old man said, “I saw you drive in… why didn’t you stop?”
I wanted to reply: You mean, when I drove in ten minutes ago, buddy? But I said, Sir, I tried to stop, but you weren’t there, so–
“Hmph..” he said, irritated at my violation of protocol. “I could have called the lifeguard, and maybe help woulda been here faster!”
At that, the kind old man shuffled away to search for the lifeguard, muttering about how much of an asshole I was. The first paramedic, a young guy, walked up and in that clear, calm, and booming voice they’re taught to use with accident victims, he asked, “TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED HERE. WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?”
I said, clearly, I think it was a stingray.
“ARE YOU BLEEDING?”
I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.
And with that, I reached down and peeled back the leg of my wetsuit. I saw the little mound of open flesh before I watched the blood flow down my ankle.
I said: “Oh shizzle!”
One of the paramedics got down, and with his gloved hand he pushed around at the wound.
Finally. An answer.
He said, “I have no idea what that is.”
Another paramedic walked up with a plastic bottle of some sort of cleaning water. He said, “Might be from a Jellyfish. Gotta pee on it if it’s a Jellyfish.”
The adjective “throbbing” could now be replaced by the noun called “pain.” I’ve never had a kid, but I’ve heard stories about contractions. They feel like someone is hand sewing something into your body. You feel the stab of the needle, the pull of the thread through the meat of your flesh, and then, for an instant, the pain is gone until the needle sinks into you again. Then they get closer, until they’re one continuous string of pain. At the moment, my contractions were about 5 minutes apart.
“Does anyone have to take a leak?” I asked eagerly, eyes wide.
The quiet of crickets.
One of the females covered my shoulders with a hospital blanket.
At this point, a man walked up, his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses pulled over his eyes, and he looked cool…cocky. He pushed his shades up about an inch, peeked at my wound, dropped his sunglasses and said, “That’s a stingray.”
He walked away.
One of the female paramedics said, “That was the lifeguard. “
“Well,” said the other girly from the ambulance, “If it’s a stingray, you have to soak it in warm water.”
But will I be okay? I asked. Can I die from this?
She replied, “It’s really rare to be hit by a stingray, and it’s even more rare to die from a sting. You’re not going to die.”
All I wanted to hear.
“But still, you’ll want to get it in hot water to denature the neuro toxin. Want a ride in the ambulance?”
Heck no.
I avoided the ambulance ride and found a ride home.
There, I immediately fell into a tub of hot water. By now, the contractions were set apart by about 20 seconds. I wish someone would have told me, before the sting, you is in store fah some Mr. T style world of hurt, so cut the jibba jabba and stand by to receive, sucka, because about an hour later, the pain climaxed and I experienced the most intense pain I have ever felt in my life.
The wound has been taking a very long time to heal. Puffy swelling during the first few weeks; purplish/blue color around the site. It still seeps pus, but my sister expects that to get better in time. It’s just the body healing, she says.
The paramedics took down my address, but I did not receive a bill. All my worry for nothing.
.
Therefore, perhaps this blog has a two-fold purpose: 1. If you’re stung by a stingray, don’t panic–most stingray stings are not deadly. …but don’t be afraid to call 911 if you’re alone. It’s the best thing I could have done. And 2. I Make sure everything is stowed when I leave my apartment. Not everything, but… everything.
I included this blurb about stings and what to do if it happens:
Stingray Stings:
1. If it feels like someone just whipped you with a rubber hose, you probably just got stung. Get to shore.
2. As soon as possible, get that sting in warm water–as warm as you can stand–for about half an hour. I found that the longer I was in the tub, the better I felt. The hot water is supposed to “denature the neuro toxin” that was delivered from the sting. Don’t ask me what it all means or how it works–I studied English.
3. Depending upon how bad the sting was, and how long you waited to “denature,” standby for some pain. I read that one woman compared the pain to childbirth, yet children have been known to recieve stings and not even flinch. I don’t know about you, kids, but it felt like 20 dull knife tips were being pressed into my ankle. Not a sharp-penetrating pain, but a very hard, direct, I’m-here-and-I-ain’t-going-anywhere kinda pain. I felt this way for 3 hours before it finally got to a reasonable level.
4. You should probably go and get your sting checked by a doctor. I didn’t and I got a minor infection, but I stay healthy and my body fought off the infection. Eventually, the swelling was completely gone after 2 weeks. I kept it clean, took motrin, and put a heat pack on it at least once a day. By heat pack, I mean I took my camelback bag, filled it with warm water, and lay it across my ankle till the water cooled.
5. Finally, if you’re going to go surfing alone, call someone and let them know where you’re going and when you left. If you can’t call, send an email, a text, leave a message. That way, if you’re attacked by a shark, and you’re not so lucky, your loved ones won’t have to wonder about how you met your demise.
Also, after the sting, I learned about something called “the stingray shuffle.” Basically, when you get in the water, drag your feet a little when you’re walking out. It tells the stingray, without words, “Pardon me, sir. I’m just passing through, I mean no harm, please don’t hurt me.” Believe you, me: I’m one foot shuffling mo-fo after my experience. I feel no ill toward the little guy who whacked me–I’d be pretty pissed, too if someone 20 times my weight stepped on my back. If you want the full story of what happened,
Here are links to other stingray-sting help pages.
http://www.emedicinehealth.com/wilderness_stingray_sting/page2_em.htm#Stingray Sting Symptoms
http://firstaid.about.com/od/bitesstings/ht/06_stingray.htm
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/525803/how_to_treat_a_stingray_sting_when.html?cat=5
Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/
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