A Funny Feeling

The team met around seven AM at the lab on the Kourou campus. We loaded up the mini-bus and a car and headed to a research plot that we'd established a few weeks prior in NW Guyane. The plan was to collect samples for “traits” which include things like leaf toughness and surface area, wood and root density, bark thickness, wood moisture content, herbivory, chlorophyll content, etc. In a half hour or so we were on the road and a couple hours after that we turned off the main road at Lausat and into the research area. We plowed through some white sand and at the forest edge a branch found the car's fuel tank and punctured it. We transferred people and equipment to the bus, ditched the car and continued on. After a short hike we arrived at the plot where we collected samples until around 6pm. Running the traits took until 1AM. The plan was to do a plot a day until the end of the week.

Thurs 18 Nov, mid-day:

Up and to my left, beeds of liquid form on two plastic nubs. The beeds drop into little liquid reserves which drain in turn through plastic tubes into the top of my left hand. With a little huffing and puffing I can look out the window over my left shoulder and see the prison where Papillon stayed, the Maroni river and Surinam. That hurts too much to be worth it right now. To get anywhere I sprawl on the floor and drag myself, so the scenery is not foremost on my mind. The walls are banana yellow and slightly ridged like someone dragged a comb downward while the cement was curing. Lavander, lime-green and mango round out the color palate. I’m sharing my room with a guy who snores a lot and loudly and spends waking hours sitting with his back to me.

Yesterday morning, we were on our way to sample the second plot when a strange set of feelings coursed through the top of my foot. First pressure, then a pinch then a stabbing, all in the space of a second. I looked at my foot frantically for answers before seeing the answer slither away in the periphery. Bothrops (link).

I could see two holes in my calf-high rubber boot. This totally exploded my notion of jungle safety; I’d thought that rubber boots trumped fangs. As Chris tells it I called, "Hey Chris, I just got bitten by a snake that I think was a Fer de Lance" in the way that someone might say "Hey Chris, there are seven of us and only two tins of sardines". He didn't quite believe me at first. I shrugged off my pack, took a seat, removed my boot and got comfortable. Seth took out his bite kit and applied suction.

In a flash, the team had fashioned a gurney from two pole-pruner poles and a poncho and soon enough I was getting hefted out.

What had been a speedy 45 minutes in, was a two-hour grind going back out. ¾ of the way out I nearly cried with appreciation. You couldn’t hope to get bit in better company. Given their brains, muscle and determination I had no worries about getting out. Chris, in a stroke of genius, put on his backpack and stuck the poles through the straps. He was up front, calling out tripping hazards and keeping a quick and steady pace. In the rear where my heavier top end was situated, the remainder of the team handed the gurney off to one another in seamless rounds.

Early in the morning the team had split. Two team members dropped the rest of us off and continued on with the bus. When I got bit, Ben ran all the way out and to the other site where he bashed in a window to get at a cell-phone. Thanks to his fleet feet paramedics were on scene nearly an hour before I made it out. The hospital was an hour away on a roughish road. I spent a decent amount of that time airborne with clenched jaw. Greg (French/Irish) came along as moral support and translator. Even in a non-emergency, Greg’s company is unparalleled.

In the hospital I got prompt treatment with few questions. I think the French love treating Americans for just that reason; they love to point out the disparity.

Morphine followed within the hour and was as lovely as always. My brain loosened and went for wonderful little romps in different directions. The pain doesn’t go away entirely, it just doesn’t matter. Greg stuck it out with me for hours despite having hauled my ass out and not having eaten all day. It was ten past nine when I got bit and well after dark when he left.

Before Greg left I was settled in a room upstairs. In the debriefing I was informed that Bothrops venom blocks clotting. Accordingly, I would not be able to eat with a knife or fork, have hot foods or anything not in a paste form and I had to be careful while chewing. Biting one’s lip would be an embarrassing way to go. I was not allowed to brush my teeth...for four days.

Thurs 19 Nov, afternoon:

The first blood test showed my clotting capacity at 20% of norm. I am drinking lots of fluid which all seems to all go directly to my left foot and calf. From knee down, I look like a Botero.

Last night’s meal was so unsavory I couldn’t do it. Breakfast was cold tea. When I took the cover off lunch I burst out laughing at the two gooey piles, one pale green and the other a sort of pink. I had no idea what they were before the tasting. The pale green was taters with veg. The pink was a pile of whipped hotdog. I swear.

Thurs 19 Nov, afternoon:

In these situations I often find myself gushing with appreciation. Sprawled on the bathroom floor and considering how to drag myself up and into the bottom of the shower, I looked up at the sink and contemplated how great it is to be in a place with clean, running water. The care is bizarre, but it’s caring and pretty good I think.

Once I got set up in a room, I was left with a one liter “pistolet” to pee in and over night a larger container to empty that into. In the dark and wee hours I managed to botch a transfer and poured piss over my mid-section. I arrived here in underwear, pants and a right sock, a bandana through the right belt loop. Out of clothing options, I swapped out my pants and underwear for a bedsheet and spent the remainder of that sleepless night in a chair. I've spent the day comfortably wrapped in the sheet, scooting around, looking like Ghandi.

Thurs 19 Nov '09, 5:20PM:

The doc just swooped in and said my clotting is up to 50%. Like most docs, she worked quickly. She poked, prodded and squeezed my calf and foot. The pain was exquisite. I panted and giggled uncontrollably. The swelling has claimed my thigh.

Thursday dinner: Beef and peas

Friday 20 November 2009 9:20 AM.

Chris and Benoit made the two and a half hour trip out here to say hi and droped off all sorts of goodies. I now have a stack of books and my computer with hours of podcasts of soothing, liberal radio. This morning the swelling seems a bit diminished and the color perhaps a bit more foot-like. Breakfasts are great for their absence of whipped meats.

Friday Lunch: Fish and ?

Fri 20 Nov '09, Afternoon.

The difficulty isn’t that I can’t weight my left foot, the difficulty is that if I even drop my zeppelin of a leg below my waist it throbs with pain. There is no room left in it for a pulse. Chris joked that I’m going to have stretch marks. He might actually be right. Going anywhere - anywhere being the two meters to the bathroom or the two meters to the porch - means dropping to the floor and scooting. But it means scooting with an IV and whatever else I might want; book, piss pot, water, soap, etc. It involves a lot of moving things a foot, scooting, moving everything another foot, scooting some more…Getting down to or up from the floor sucks but the scooting suits me fine. It does seem to alarm the staff, which is nice because it means I get checked up on every time someone passes by and sees me dragging myself across the floor. It’s a convenient way to get the pistolet emptied or water refilled. This morning I met the disapproval of someone on the nursing staff for having dragged myself to the balcony. I was splatted on my back like the victim of an improperly packed parachute. Despite the obvious trouble I have getting around, some staffers continue to do things like place the water up on a table a meter or so away instead of next to me. I think they’re just not accustomed to viewing the floor as an acceptable living surface.

Chez Papillon in the background

Fri 20 Nov '09, 6:50.

The doc swung by on her way out. I take it as a good sign that she doesn’t feel the need to visit me more than once a day and even that, in the afternoon. This aft she told me that my clotting factor as of this morning’s test was at 65%. That means I get soup with actual chunks of stuff in it and that I get to brush my teeth tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll pull a fast one and sneak in a gentle scrub this eve. On the flip side, she was not pleased to see that the swelling really hasn’t gone down. I’m not too pleased about that either. The top of my foot is a patchwork of fall water-colors; yellows and reds. I noticed for the first time that my viens look unusually dark lurking under the tight skin. I know only enough about necrosis to be scared of it, and I’m a little scared. So far I’ve thought very little about it, but it has occurred to me to wonder about a one-footed life. Usually the wondering is in question form; would I still climb trees? Would I move back to NY and if so, would I get a discounted Metro-card? How would I transform my prosthesis into a miracle of gadgets; a street-cleaning garbage stabber so that I could clean the city as I hopped along. Certainly a bottle opener…how are bikes outfitted for monopeds?

The sun dropping behind Surinam has turned the North wall all kinds of lovely

Fri 20 Nov '09 7:10PM. The guy next to me gets bread with his dinner and it’s not even pureed.

Sat 21 Nov '09 10AM.

Laying back in bed this morning I luxuriating in a long, slow love session with my tooth brush, which culminated in that fresh from the dentist feeling. The doc just paid a visit and was impressed with the state of things. The swelling has gone down enough that the skin on my foot is starting to look like a rumpled paper bag. I can make out where ankle bones might be. It’s still a funny patchwork of red and yellow, it looks better on the whole and is less uncomfortable. She gave me the green light to head home this afternoon. The rest of the team has been planning a serious birthday party for me which I’m pretty psyched to be able to attend.

Sat 21 Nov '09, 6:30PM.

Home again, Home again, jiggity jig.

Post Script

For my b'day the Peruvians, Marcos and Elvis, made ceviche and grilled fantastic meats...that were not pureed before consumption. Three cakes, one with over a kilo of chocolate!

Bocci: Team France vs Team Peru vs Team USA

Tuesday 24 Nov '09, mid-day:
Swelling is going down in bits. The color is still...variable. My foot now shares some properties with the green foam used in flower arranging. Squeeze it and the impression stays. There's a tiny isosceles triangle where the fang found it's mark.