The Snake Bite

The Snake Bite by Gary Benton
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There are only a few things in the hills where I live that will get people to moving, and moving fast. Fires, something in the chicken coop at night, or a copperhead snake are all good examples. Of the big three the copperhead is the scariest and most dangerous. As far as I was concerned, as a child, it was the only one I worried about. The area I grew up in had plenty of snakes and you had to be very careful where you put your hands and feet. Feet were a real problem because we went barefoot most of the summer and we were constantly running through the woods, pastures and small creeks. However, while growing up, I only remember one person ever getting bitten by a poisonous snake and that was Bubba.

It was a hot, dark and overcast night because the clouds moved in front of the moon at times blocking out all light. It was a perfect night to play hide and seek. I was “it” and started my counting to one hundred as I leaned against the old cedar tree beside grandma’s house. An occasional glance around the tree gave me a good idea where most of the players were hiding. Only I really wanted to find Bubba because he was the best hider and was rarely found.

His brother P.K. could also hide well but he was not very much fun to look for. He would usually fall asleep and then we would all have to yell and scream to wake him up just to get him in the house for bed. I’m not sure why he even played; I know he didn’t find it exciting.

I finished my count and started “flushing quail” or finding the others. I had found three or four players and we all started up the hill toward grandpa’s pond. This pond wasn’t very large, about 100 feet across and maybe 6 feet deep. Mostly it was used to water critters and to do a little perch fishing on lazy Sunday afternoons after church. The hillside of this pond had a blackberry patch that covered the slope and the patch was quite dense. It was the perfect place for people and snakes to hide so I intended to check the patch for Bubba. I stood on the highest portion of the pond bank and scanned the patch below. There was nothing there that I could see but just as I turned to walk away I heard a loud noise and a horrendous scream come from the patch.

The patch was suddenly parted by a dark figure and the screaming continued. I ran down the trail to get as close to the patch as possible. When I got next to the patch I saw that the figure was Bubba and he was absolutely terrified and appeared to be in deep pain. I also noticed something dangling from his right thigh to about down to his ankle. Looking closely as the moon came out from behind a cloud I could see the dangling object was a snake, a copperhead. In my eyes Bubba was about to leave the farm one man short because I suspected he was soon to be a dead goose.

Growing up I had always figured from all of the stories I had heard that a copperhead was as deadly as a cobra, coral snake, or rattlesnake. Every adult I knew had also instructed me in the hills to never lose my cool when forced to react to a serious medical situation, like snakebite. Since we did most of our doctoring ourselves this made sense, it would keep most victims from going into shock and give the doc time to diagnose the injury.

Grandpa used to say “A feller doin’ the doctorin’ can’t think if-un everbodies a yellin’ and screamin’, so keep everything quiet and do some thinkin’ ’bout the hurt. Remember, ya can always panic later. Don’t do a body no good to lose yer cool.” Well, it was now time to try and “think.”

A couple of the bigger boys picked that fat boy up and packed him like a sack of oats down to the farm house where the adults were. I went along to learn what action you had to take when there was snakebite. What really scared me was if the bite didn’t kill him the hillbilly treatment most likely would. By this time the snake had been killed and was brought along as well, so the doc could determine what kind of snake bit Bubba. We all tried to enter the door at the same time, yelling, screaming and carrying on something terrible, so much for the keeping the victim out of shock.

Grandma cleared off the kitchen table and Bubba was not too gently placed on top, well, actually, he was thrown. His leg was swollen, he seemed to be in a lot of pain and he was breathing fast and sweating. If he had known what was coming he would have jumped off that table and ran into the night. As it was he just remained as still as he could and let doc grandpa go to work.

One thing about grandpa, he was not hurting for second or third opinions . . . every person in there had ideas about what should be done for that leg. I heard suggestions that included the magic healing salve, bleed the boy, and that the leg had to be removed to save Bubba’s life. That last suggestion got a real reaction out of Bubba and he started to get up, but grandma backhanded him and he flopped back down on the operating table.

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