August 16 – “The stabbing”

The other day (Well, it was on my birthday, actually) I had a run-in with a hardhead catfish.  Anyone who has ever fished the Gulf of Mexico or Galveston Bay knows immediately what I’m talking about.  We took all the kids down to the beach for their sand and salt water fix.  Gotta keep the sand between the toes of those Waco and LaMarque kids lest they forget their roots.  I took along a pole in case one of them wanted to try for a fishie or two.  The water was pretty rough, and I only had some dead bait, so I really didn’t expect much.  And my expectations were essentially met.  One small whiting.  A tiny little croaker.  And then … the big hardhead. 

I had been having a little trouble with the reel, so it was a bit more difficult than usual to get him reeled in.  Once he was close enough I grabbed my needle nose pliers and reached for the hook.  About that time he decided to make another run.  Coming to the end of the line he left the water and launched, side barb up, right into my left forearm.  And stayed there.  And with the tiny little barbs working overtime, and him wiggling to release himself from the hook, (how shall I say this?) it was quite painful.  The fin was imbedded.  So much so, in fact that I had to forcibly pull it out.  I could tell that it tore up lots of tissue.  Nothing quite like a puncture wound, but add to it the poison involved, and the pain is … not fun.  By this time Josh had arrived to offer his assistance.  Apparently Chris had seen the whole event from the shore and had proclaimed, “He got him.”  Between us we got the evil catfish unhooked and tossed back to wreak his havoc on some future angler.  I remember holding my arm up so Josh could view the unmistakable flow of blood coursing into the water.  It was way too tempting not to add, “Well, then.  Now I’m just attracting the sharks.”  Josh has always had a particular “endearment” for that species.  I even rinsed it off a time or two in the miraculous healing waters of the Gulf of Mexico, much to his chagrin.  We had been there for a few hours by this time, so we packed up the kids and headed on home.  I was instructed to get a shower first, and then get my arm under some hot water.  Sounds kind of counter-productive for a wound that is swelling and throbbing, but that’s the initial stage of treatment for a catfish stab.  The heat draws out the toxins and actually relieves the pain significantly. 

And then came the discussion about whether or not to go to the doctor.  Not that much of a discussion, really, when you’re married to a nurse and have an EMT Intermediate-trained fire fighter for a son.  I couldn’t get an appointment at the clinic right around the corner from our house.  Chris called once and then I called, but both of us ended up talking to an answering service.  The one she talked to said the nurse would call us back.  The one I talked to said the clinic wasn’t even answering their phone.  So Josh and I hopped in the car and drove over there.  Sure enough, they didn’t have any openings, but I made an appointment for a few weeks away to finally get established with a doctor there.  I haven’t had one since before Hurricane Ike.  That was in 2008, so I guess it wouldn’t hurt.  We left there and drove on over to the minor emergency clinic.

As Josh was parking the car, my phone rang.  It was the nurse from the clinic we had just left, calling to tell me I really needed to be seen, and recommending I go to the minor emergency clinic.  When she finished her speech, I told her I was pulling into a parking space at the clinic as we spoke.  That threw her for a second or two, but she did come back with, “Well, that’s the first time one of my patients has followed my advice so … so … quickly.” 

Once inside and checked in, the nurse called me back to the blood pressure table.  He pulled up my chart, verified my address, and began his questioning with, “Other than the diabetes, are there any other medical conditions we should know about?” 

I replied, “Wait.  Diabetes?  If it says diabetes you are in someone else’s chart.”

He leaned forward, as if that would change what he was reading, “No it’s your chart.”

I looked at Josh, shrugged my shoulders and quipped, “Well, if I have diabetes, please don’t tell my wife.  I’ll never eat anything that tastes good again.”

He wasn’t sure how to deal with that, but did acknowledge that perhaps I didn’t have diabetes after all.  The doctor came in soon after and did his inspection.  He ordered an x-ray, but it showed no trace of catfish eggs or any particle remnants of the fin.  He had the nurse wrap it up, ordered some antibiotics, and sent me home.  Great birthday start.

Psalms 8:6-8 says, “You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet: all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.”

Father, thank you for giving us access to those fish you created.  They are great for food.  It is really tough when they fight back, though.  Amen.