What It's Really Like to Experience a Rattlesnake Bite
Written on
Chapter 1: The Perils of Rattlesnake Ownership
Rattlesnakes are far from ideal pets, a lesson I learned the hard way.
A quote by Susan Wheelock comes to mind: “To be old and wise, you must first be young and foolish.” Recently, Wheelock shared a humorous post titled "What’s The Dumbest Thing You’ve Ever Done?" It sparked a wave of confessions, and I found myself recounting my own tale of a rattlesnake bite—a story I feel compelled to share fully.
Reflecting on my youth, I realize I had many seemingly bright ideas that led to disastrous outcomes. One such idea was the decision to keep a rattlesnake as a pet.
I acquired a rattlesnake named “Harold” from a character known as “Wheelchair Willie.” Willie had obtained Harold from a group of Hell’s Angels, who had a rather unique method for collecting debts—placing Harold in the mailboxes of those who owed them money.
When the borrowers opened their mailboxes, they’d be greeted by Harold’s rattling, often leading to prompt repayments.
One fateful day, two men brought Harold to my apartment, where I housed him in a 5-foot by 2-foot plastic aquarium in my bedroom. It didn’t take long for me to realize how poor this decision truly was.
Man vs. Nature
One evening, I decided to take Harold out of his aquarium and into the bustling living room. As expected, the young women shrieked and fled outside, while some braver souls dared to approach. A few touched his scaly skin, and I, feeling overconfident, held him multiple times.
This complacency led to a fateful moment when I loosened my grip just a tad too much. In an instant, I felt a sharp pinch in my right hand. To my disbelief, Harold had sunk his fang into my knuckle, and a small pool of yellow venom began to form.
Panic ensued as I dropped Harold, and the room erupted in chaos, with everyone scrambling away like characters in a slapstick cartoon.
Within five minutes, I experienced numbness in my lips and tongue—a clear indication of a serious bite. We rushed to the emergency room (ER) of a nearby hospital.
“Am I going to be okay?” I inquired of the nurse, who gave me a grave look and replied, “I don’t know.”
Her lack of reassurance did little to calm my nerves.
Uncertainty
The ER doctor soon entered, questioning me about the incident. After an hour of waiting, I watched as he consulted various books and contacted the Poison Control Center for advice on treating a rattlesnake bite.
A wave of dread washed over me; it dawned on me that no one at this hospital had any experience with rattlesnake bites, and I had yet to receive any antivenom—the crucial treatment for such an injury.
In moments of crisis, many claim to see their lives flash before their eyes; I, however, envisioned a future filled with my loved ones—friends celebrating at a party and family mourning my death, with me conspicuously absent.
As my heart raced and my anxiety peaked, I feared the worst.
The Dangers of Rattlesnake Venom
The swelling in my hand grew, accompanied by excruciating pain. Eventually, the doctor returned to inform me that the antivenom had been ordered. While this brought a slight reduction in my anxiety, my symptoms continued to worsen.
Three hours later, the swelling had reached my shoulder, and the pain was so intense it felt as if a hot knife was stabbing my hand with every heartbeat. Dizziness and weakness set in.
Rattlesnake venom is a treacherous concoction of over 50 proteins, metals, and other chemicals designed by nature to wreak havoc on living beings. Its toxic proteins destroy tissue, hinder blood clotting, and induce various neurotoxic effects.
By hour four, the pain became unbearable. Painkillers did little to alleviate my suffering. After a dose of Demerol that made me vomit, I found temporary relief for only twenty minutes before the agony returned in full force.
“Where is my antivenom?” I demanded, and a doctor finally revealed they had it but were hesitant to administer it due to the risk of anaphylactic shock.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they injected the antivenom into my left arm. My veins, once blue, transformed into a vivid red, and I felt my face and arms twitch as the neurotoxic effects of the venom took hold.
Two hours later, after another round of Demerol, I managed to doze off, interrupted every couple of hours for blood draws.
I awoke around 11 AM the next day, tired but feeling significantly better—the pain had subsided, and the swelling was gradually going down. I spent an additional day and a half in the hospital before finally returning home for some well-deserved rest.
My friend Ben later informed me that chaos erupted after Harold bit me. Someone accidentally crushed him with a coffee table, and another friend took it upon himself to decapitate the poor creature.
Harold had endured a rough life, imprisoned in mailboxes and subjected to my foolishness, which ultimately led to his demise.
A Night of Reve