I Got Stung by a Scorpion in Mexico and Now You’re Gonna Have to Hear About It
These are the rules, I didn’t make them
[[Hello, I did not expect to be writing you again with another Personal Emergency Story so soon, but here we are. A brief acknowledgment before we get started- this post is laced with (what I consider earned) profanity, so if you’ve got a delicate constitution, well…why are you subscribing to this Substack in the first place??]]
I don’t know what you imagine shouting if you are struck by a highly venomous animal, but as it turns out, I am someone who shouts, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?” In retrospect, if you are in a group vacation house and it is 7:30am and you are hoping to summon help quickly, this is not particularly effective. But my initial emotion - before even pain or fear- was unmitigated rage at both the universe and this arachnid (already on his way to the great beyond), and that does say something.
If you know me, you would know that I have a deep respect and (I would say healthy) fear of wild creatures that can do significant bodily harm. I am not the someone readily willing to brave the odds of severe mishap to have a particular gorgeous view or unique adventure. I will take the experience of a well-trodden hotel room over an AirBnB constructed out of a cave and potentially full of bats any damn day. About 15 years ago, I traveled to a similar location to this weekend’s in Mexico (out into the hills and mountains and jungles past Puerto Vallarta) for a friend’s birthday where we ended up staying in open-air huts (help me, Jesus) and seeing our fair share of scorpions and I essentially self-medicated with a bottle of Pinot Grigio every day I was there. Innocence lost, as they say.
This time, we were in a lovely house, though equally remote and without a vehicle of our own. I was the person who rolled in, immediately screened the setting and launched a litany of scorpion-related questions. People were walking around this place barefoot like we were on the Santa Monica beachfront and I took notice. I am a threat-assessor, at heart.
12 hours later, I was clip-clopping around my room in my house sandals and my man1 came at me like I was about to steal the last scorpion at the breakfast table2. (I did not actually see him before the strike.) Now, at first, the smack just felt like a really bad bee sting, but it escalated pretty quickly into pain throughout my foot (and eventually leg), and most alarmingly, a barrage of respiratory symptoms (inflamed sinuses, throat swelling and tingling in the mouth and lips), and while the group seemed indecisive about whether we should take the housekeeper and her husband (GOD BLESS THE HOUSEKEEPER AND HER HUSBAND AND THANK GOD THEY WERE THERE AT THAT MOMENT) up on a ride to the nearest clinic, once my lips and throat caught fire, I would have thrown myself in oncoming traffic for a ride. Honestly, my father would KILL me if I died on a jungle hilltop and imagining him saying, “I hated how much she traveled” at my funeral was enough to will me into action. I was not about to give my dad the upper hand3.
On the flip side, I would not say this “urgencia” was my first choice for medical care (I never saw a single provider don gloves and they asked me what medicines I was allergic to after they administered the medicines) but given they were stocked with antidote, I was willing to not get bogged down in details. Trip friend Zack, an absolute ANGEL whose Spanish is flawless and who remained muy tranquilo as I withered like a Victorian consumptive, handled almost every detail of paperwork (please don’t empty my bank accounts, Zack!). Two doses of anti-venom and some cortisol later and I was released to go back to the Scorpion House to recuperate and contemplate my increasingly fragile mortality4. You might wonder why I didn’t go home to the U.S. immediately, and besides the logistical details of transportation, I also could not walk because a nerve running from my foot arch to my crotch was inflamed and sparking like the Disney electrical parade in a systems malfunction.
It is now three days later, and I have made it home. I mostly still can’t feel my right foot but the length of my leg is much better. And while the yoga teacher who taught a class to the rest of the group during my hospital visit told me I should use the downtime5 to consider what the universe might be teaching me, I’m opting to reconfirm what I already know: that motherfucker was not fucking kidding.
Obviously, it was male, because if a male is going to do anything, it’s embarrass you. And there’s nothing more galling than being the person paranoid about scorpions and then also being the person first struck by one.
Scorpions eat other scorpions amongst other arachnids they dine upon.
This is basically a post about my rage and spite issues.
It was also free because when they asked Zack if I had insurance, he said, “not in Mexico” and they basically shrugged and said, “let’s just call it even”.
Trust me, recovering from a venom poisoning is not when you’re gonna pick up a new hobby or enter nirvana, but sure.
This was a wild ride!!!
Scorpions eat scorpions!? 🫣