Copperhead snakes are the most colorful of the three common poisonous snakes found in Arkansas. Those three would be the water moccasin ("cottonmouth"), rattlesnake (of various types) and the southern copperhead (as opposed to the northern copperhead). I'm not counting the coral snake, a fourth poisonous snake that can be found in Arkansas. It isn't that common, thank goodness.
Copperheads are pretty because they have python-like markings, coppery instead of greenish. The intensity of the markings varies with the time of year and how recently they've shed their skins. You can check out copperhead photos of course on Google images. The colorful markings contrast with the rather dull markings of water moccasins and rattlesnakes.
So, when a small copperhead bit me on the foot last Thursday, just after 6 pm, as President Obama was giving his jobs speech (good for him!) and I was about a third of the way into the Bayou Bartholomew trail, I identified it quite easily. "Small" means I'm guessing it was about 8 inches long, maybe even 10 inches. I didn't try to look at it all stretched out, and only got a glimpse of it in amongst some leaves on the trail, where it was curled after it bit me, cringing I guess from the pain of me stepping on it.
I was wearing sandals, the number one stupid thing to do, and I had just been running and had slowed down to a walk. While I was running, I was watching the ground, the trail, closely, and it wasn't covered in leaves. After I stopped running, there were quite a few dead leaves on the trail, but--number 2 stupid thing--I was not watching the trail looking for snakes (the only reason I look down at the trail when I'm walking or running is to look for snakes). I was casting ahead in my thoughts to something like what I'd have for dinner, or I don't know what. The snake bite makes it hard to recall what was going on in my mind just before it.
I wasn't sure it was a snake bite, at first. "What was that?" was my first thought--exactly what I'd read a few years ago in an article a woman wrote about getting bitten by a small rattlesnake she stepped on while wearing sandals. She had that same first thought. I also wondered how a stick could have poked me from the side like that, but having read that woman's article (in The Sun magazine), and having thought about it quite a bit since, I almost simultaneously realized, "Snakebite!" Which was confirmed when I looked down and saw the copperhead kind of writhing down there in the leaves. I didn't see its head or tail, but from its body width, I saw it was small, but no little bambino. The bite itself didn't hurt. It felt like a tiny electric shock more than a piercing of skin. There was no blood from the bite wounds. They were just two little red marks.
I wasn't angry with the snake, but that has everything to do with not feeling any pain from the bite. Well, also the snake can't be blamed for what was really my carelessness--my momentary carelessness, which is all it takes, whatever kind of accident it may be. Within just a few seconds after being bitten, I headed for my car in the parking lot, about a half a mile back along the trail. As is often the case, no other cars were in the parking lot, and Charlie McNew, a friend and also my insurance agent who sometimes bikes on the trail, was not there either. My dog Jessie was with me, but not at the moment I got bit. I called her a few times and was concerned I'd have to leave her while I drove to the hospital, but she was following me when I got to the parking lot and looked back.
I called my friend David Matthews on my cell phone while I was walking to my car, asking him to bring a bag of ice and meet me in the parking lot. But the hospital is about as close to the trail as his house is, only about two miles, and he told me his truck was so low on gas he was afraid he'd run out and his dad was on his way to pick him up to get some gas for his truck. He said he'd meet me at the emergency room.
My sandal was rubbing the bite as I walked, so I took it off. I've actually tried walking barefoot on the trail before, but the tiny gravel surface would begin to hurt my feet. The tiny gravel didn't bother me on my walk back to the car though, a walk that was more of a hobble, with as little weight on my bit right foot as possible. (The bite was on what I would call my instep, midway between toes and heel.) With the bite not even hurting, I briefly considered just going home and putting ice on it myself.
I might as well have done that. The emergency room nurses put ice on the bite, elevated my foot slightly on the gurney they put me on, and also stuck an IV port in my left arm in case I started having a severe reaction and needed an injection. They also monitored my heart rate and blood pressure.
My foot and lower ankle swelled up, but didn't significantly change color. The only things that hurt very much were the ice pack itself (only when I took out the towel the male nurse had put between my foot and the ice pack, since at first I couldn't feel the cold of the ice pack; I later put the towel back) and the insertion of the gigantic IV needle. After about three hours, when a doctor finally showed up (in my case, I had to wait anyway, so that time lag was no problem for me) I was given an injection of pain medication and antibiotics, and prescriptions for both of those. Matthews drove me to his house in my car (he'd also gotten some water for Jessie and then taken her to his house while I was in the emergency room) where I spent the night in the guest bedroom (my former bedroom when my brother Jeff and I lived there).
I drove myself and Jessie home the next afternoon, and things just gradually got back to normal after I was able to start hobbling around on Saturday, although I wasn't able to get out on my own until Sunday, and then only briefly, with a sock on my right foot. I took the antibiotic for four days (the doctor had recommended five), but didn't bother to get the pain medication prescription filled. Now the swelling is almost completely gone, and I'm left with only a story to tell. Well, the little red bite marks are still there, but are barely noticeable.
Copperheads are pretty because they have python-like markings, coppery instead of greenish. The intensity of the markings varies with the time of year and how recently they've shed their skins. You can check out copperhead photos of course on Google images. The colorful markings contrast with the rather dull markings of water moccasins and rattlesnakes.
So, when a small copperhead bit me on the foot last Thursday, just after 6 pm, as President Obama was giving his jobs speech (good for him!) and I was about a third of the way into the Bayou Bartholomew trail, I identified it quite easily. "Small" means I'm guessing it was about 8 inches long, maybe even 10 inches. I didn't try to look at it all stretched out, and only got a glimpse of it in amongst some leaves on the trail, where it was curled after it bit me, cringing I guess from the pain of me stepping on it.
I was wearing sandals, the number one stupid thing to do, and I had just been running and had slowed down to a walk. While I was running, I was watching the ground, the trail, closely, and it wasn't covered in leaves. After I stopped running, there were quite a few dead leaves on the trail, but--number 2 stupid thing--I was not watching the trail looking for snakes (the only reason I look down at the trail when I'm walking or running is to look for snakes). I was casting ahead in my thoughts to something like what I'd have for dinner, or I don't know what. The snake bite makes it hard to recall what was going on in my mind just before it.
I wasn't sure it was a snake bite, at first. "What was that?" was my first thought--exactly what I'd read a few years ago in an article a woman wrote about getting bitten by a small rattlesnake she stepped on while wearing sandals. She had that same first thought. I also wondered how a stick could have poked me from the side like that, but having read that woman's article (in The Sun magazine), and having thought about it quite a bit since, I almost simultaneously realized, "Snakebite!" Which was confirmed when I looked down and saw the copperhead kind of writhing down there in the leaves. I didn't see its head or tail, but from its body width, I saw it was small, but no little bambino. The bite itself didn't hurt. It felt like a tiny electric shock more than a piercing of skin. There was no blood from the bite wounds. They were just two little red marks.
I wasn't angry with the snake, but that has everything to do with not feeling any pain from the bite. Well, also the snake can't be blamed for what was really my carelessness--my momentary carelessness, which is all it takes, whatever kind of accident it may be. Within just a few seconds after being bitten, I headed for my car in the parking lot, about a half a mile back along the trail. As is often the case, no other cars were in the parking lot, and Charlie McNew, a friend and also my insurance agent who sometimes bikes on the trail, was not there either. My dog Jessie was with me, but not at the moment I got bit. I called her a few times and was concerned I'd have to leave her while I drove to the hospital, but she was following me when I got to the parking lot and looked back.
I called my friend David Matthews on my cell phone while I was walking to my car, asking him to bring a bag of ice and meet me in the parking lot. But the hospital is about as close to the trail as his house is, only about two miles, and he told me his truck was so low on gas he was afraid he'd run out and his dad was on his way to pick him up to get some gas for his truck. He said he'd meet me at the emergency room.
My sandal was rubbing the bite as I walked, so I took it off. I've actually tried walking barefoot on the trail before, but the tiny gravel surface would begin to hurt my feet. The tiny gravel didn't bother me on my walk back to the car though, a walk that was more of a hobble, with as little weight on my bit right foot as possible. (The bite was on what I would call my instep, midway between toes and heel.) With the bite not even hurting, I briefly considered just going home and putting ice on it myself.
I might as well have done that. The emergency room nurses put ice on the bite, elevated my foot slightly on the gurney they put me on, and also stuck an IV port in my left arm in case I started having a severe reaction and needed an injection. They also monitored my heart rate and blood pressure.
My foot and lower ankle swelled up, but didn't significantly change color. The only things that hurt very much were the ice pack itself (only when I took out the towel the male nurse had put between my foot and the ice pack, since at first I couldn't feel the cold of the ice pack; I later put the towel back) and the insertion of the gigantic IV needle. After about three hours, when a doctor finally showed up (in my case, I had to wait anyway, so that time lag was no problem for me) I was given an injection of pain medication and antibiotics, and prescriptions for both of those. Matthews drove me to his house in my car (he'd also gotten some water for Jessie and then taken her to his house while I was in the emergency room) where I spent the night in the guest bedroom (my former bedroom when my brother Jeff and I lived there).
I drove myself and Jessie home the next afternoon, and things just gradually got back to normal after I was able to start hobbling around on Saturday, although I wasn't able to get out on my own until Sunday, and then only briefly, with a sock on my right foot. I took the antibiotic for four days (the doctor had recommended five), but didn't bother to get the pain medication prescription filled. Now the swelling is almost completely gone, and I'm left with only a story to tell. Well, the little red bite marks are still there, but are barely noticeable.
