The Gardeners Anonymous Blog

Spit—It’s A Good Thing

That rattlesnake kicked my a%#&. It has been five weeks since “the incident” and I am finally making it through the day without passing out in the afternoon and drooling on myself.

And speaking of drooling, at long last I am in the garden again.

I am putting a drip system in my veggie garden. I missed most of spring and it’s hard to believe that summer is next week, damn rattlesnake.

It has been mercifully cool so I haven’t lost any plants so far, but soon one of those weeks filled with sweltering temperatures is going to sneak up on me. I must act now.

Any one who has put in a drip system knows that it is hell trying to stick those tiny plastic parts into those little hoses. They even make a tool that helps you clamp on and push those teensy God-forsaken plastic pieces in without tearing your nails and rubbing your fingers raw. But, of course, I don’t have one of those clamp things.

There I sat pushing and pushing a double sided barb into a half inch hose, my fingers turning from red to purple, sweat beading up on my forehead, profanities spilling freely from my mouth. I finally pushed so hard the barb slipped across the hose and I drove it along with my freshly manicure nails into the dirt.

The barb was now plugged with dirt. You can’t just tap the dirt out; the stupid thing is too small. I could just throw it away and get a fresh one but I’m cheap. So I studied it for a minute, brought it to my mouth and sucked. I could make a thousand sexual jokes right about now, but the fact was that a chunk of dirt hitting the back of my throat a warp speed didn’t really make me feel all that sexy. It did however, make me hack and spit out the barb.
The barb and my throat were now dirt free. I picked up the spit- covered barb and proceeded to push it back into the hose and—pop—it clicked right in. Hmmmmm—spit’s a natural lubricant.

Why didn’t I think of this five years ago? Think of all the sore fingers I could have saved myself.

So in the future, if you’re putting in a drip system, remember to spit on all those little plastic pieces before you jam them into the hoses. Because spit—it’s a good thing.

Stumble It!

Rattlesnake Adventure Part 7: The Epilogue

 
Here I am, standing in the exact spot where I was bitten 3 weeks ago by a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake

It’s been three weeks since I was bitten by a Northern Pacific rattlesnake. A snake that is not only native to the Santa Cruz Mountains but that is very common.

As you can imagine, since my rattlesnake bite, I’ve been doing a lot of research and information gathering about the snake.

It seems that most people—myself included—are doing something they shouldn’t be doing when they are bitten. In my case, I stepped right on the snake because I was fooling with my camera and I wasn’t looking where I was going.

People seem to think that there are no rattlesnakes here in the hills surrounding Silicon Valley. The truth is they are ubiquitous.

They are just shy and non-aggressive, and tend to stay as far away from humans as possible. Given the chance, rattlesnakes will avoid humans every time.

Rattlesnakes are very beneficial. Their main food source is rodents and in turn they provide a food source for birds of prey and other snakes.

Despite the fact that between 7,000 and 8,000 people are bitten by venomous snakes in the U.S. every year, only 9 to 15 of them actually die from the snakebite.

Many more people die from lightening strikes and bee stings.

It is important to know that a rattlesnake’s first line of defense is staying still and blending in with the background.

This is the reason for their beautiful coloring. A rattlesnake will not use his rattle until you are right on top of him, or after the fact, as in my case.

This is a baby rattlesnake like the one that bit me. He was found in my backyard two years ago.
Baby rattlesnakes are born without rattles but are still poisonous, so look for the triangle-shaped head. Pit-vipers (that's what rattlesnakes are) have triangle shaped heads.

When hiking through tall grass or areas where rattlesnakes reside, wear boots, and carry a long walking stick to poke at the ground in front of you. Singing a show tune as you hike can’t hurt either, depending on how bad your voice is.

I never had a fear of snakes and I still don’t.

I am just a little more careful now. This experience won’t stop me from doing what I have always done. I hope I never get bitten again. I hope I always keep my eyes on the trail and I always look before I stick my hand into a clump of weeds when I’m gardening. But chances are I wont always. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a total klutz.

After I was bitten, I spent five days in the hospital, three days in the ICU. I went home for six days, and most of that time I spent in bed.

My leg just after returning home from the hospital for the first time. It had turned a lovely shade of green.

Same leg other side, you can see the sight of envenomation on the back of my ankle.

Six days after I was released from the hospital I was readmitted for blood clotting issues.
 
How do you bruise this badly just laying in bed? You get bitten by a rattlesnake.

Apparently, venom lasts longer than antivenin, and when the antivenin was gone the venom started to do its work on me again.

I stayed in the hospital for two more days and was released again.

I still have blood work done every few days to make sure my readings stay fairly normal.

My leg still hurts and swells at night when I’m on it too much.

I still have tingling in my mouth, lips, tongue, and fingers.

And I feel tired most of the time.

I don’t know if I will ever feel the way I did before the snakebite.

But I know I feel pretty good.

I’ve learned a lot.

I love my family, friends, and community, from whom I have received endless support and encouragement.

I am alive.

And I am happy.

And as for the snake that bit me—namaste

Stumble It!

Rattlesnake Adventure (part six) The Naked Butt Ward

My rattlesnake bite six days later.

When my relationship with Crofab was over, I was sent to stay down the hall—outside the ICU—in a normal hospital room, where I could wear a portable monitor.

It was the stroke and heart attack unit. They didn’t have a snakebite unit. While there, I saw more naked butts hanging out of the backs of hospital “gowns” than I care to think about.

A new nurse got me all settled in my bed. Then promptly left.

The nurses were on eight-hour shifts—no more twelve-hour shifts like in ICU—and you never saw the same one twice.

My next nurse approached my bed and told me that my beloved catheter had to come out.

I said, “But then I’d have to walk. And I can’t walk on this giant blue leg.”

She looked at me in the eye and said, “It was an order from your doctor.”

“But, but, I can’t walk,” said I.

That whining bought me another day, then they came in and yanked it out, along with my bladder.

That’s exactly what it felt like. After that ordeal I had to call a nurse every time I had to urinate. Gone were the days of drinking two plastic pitchers of water at a time and having my smiling nurse Ip admiring my pee. 

Now some stranger had to help me to the can every time I needed to go.

But, before they yanked my catheter out they took away something even more precious.

It was about that time when I started to feel a little uncomfortable. So, I rang for the nurse. “Nurse” said I, “May I get my pain meds now?” The nurse said, “Yes, of course I’ll get your Vicodin right away.”
 
Vicodin?

That stuff’s for sissies.

I am a snake bite victim.

“I believe if you look right there in my chart it says Dilaudid.” The nurse, “No, no more Dilaudid, we’ll give you Vicodin here.”

Vicodin after Dilaudid?

You might as well give me baby aspirin.