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.
