I get bit by a scorpion and need help fast!

Not an easy place to find emergency medical care. The best I could hope for was help cutting my wedding ring off my hand.

Nong District - Savanakhet Province - Lao Peoples Democratic Republic

I knew I should have had my wedding ring cut off my finger before leaving for Laos. I’ve gained 20 pounds since my marriage thirty-six years ago and the ring was beginning to feel a bit snug on my finger. In addition to having packed on weight my knuckles have swollen, a consequence of a minor arthritic problem.

I feared that any injury causing my hand to swell would result in the ring cutting off blood supply to my finger. Working in remote areas as I do, I figured I would have one devil of a time getting help to remove the ring, much less medical care for my hand.

It was sentimentality that held me back from having the ring removed and enlarged. I can’t recall having that ring off my finger anytime in the past thirty-six years. I convinced myself that if nothing had happened in four decades to require removing it, what was likely to happen now?

This morning my luck ran out. I was inspecting a pair of damp socks, seriously pondering whether I might get one more day’s wear out of them, when a scorpion that had snuggled inside during the night nailed me with its curved stinger. The little sucker had ten fingers to pick from and it chose my ring finger! Having raised bees for years I’m not much bothered by insect bites and stings. But this sting had zing. On my own personal pain scale I’d rate it on par with the day I learned that it is not a good idea to fish bread out of the toaster with a metal knife.

For years, through many trips to Africa and Asia, I’ve rarely departed from my morning habit of vigorously shaking out my boots. That daily ritual is the best defense against spider, centipede, or scorpion stings to the foot. Then, after years of vigilance, to be stung by a scorpion lurking inside my sock! My pain was both psychic and physical. As my hand throbbed I felt moral indignation welling. Then reality dawned on me, “ It isn’t indignation welling; it’s my finger swelling!”

Lucky for me I got stung in camp, just a couple of miles from Nong Village. Buntavee, my driver, grabbed the car keys and we headed to the local market where a Vietnamese jeweler was reputed to sell gold chain and repair watches. To save time we left before my interpreter could be found, figuring my plight was obvious and needed little discussion.

The jeweler took control of the situation. After rooting around in the drawer where he kept his tools, he emerged with a vicious looking pair of metal shears. I wondered how he was going to wedge the blade of those shears beneath the ring which was quickly disappearing beneath rolls of puffy flesh. Apparently the jeweler had similar doubts because he paused to scrub his hands as thoroughly as a surgeon. I briefly regretted not having my interpreter with me to clarify that it was the ring, not the finger that I wanted removed.

With his hands properly sanitized the jeweler attacked the ring with the shears. He worked deftly, but ineffectively; apparently he miscalculated how much harder my 14-karat ring was than the softer gold jewelry popular here in Laos. When the jeweler’s shears failed to even seriously scratch my ring, he switched tools and started sawing at the band with a fine metal blade. Meanwhile, Buntavee got revenge for every slight I’ve every inflicted on him by all but standing on my finger to compress my ballooning flesh.

Minute by minute the swelling gave the jeweler less margin for error but I convinced myself that I was in capable hands. Who better than a watch repairman to perform delicate tasks with precision tools when time is of an essence? Through my pain I took encouragement from the tiny measure of gold dust that I saw collecting on my beet-red finger. After nearly ten minutes the jeweler’s blade finally broke through the band and all it took was a little work with pliers to set my finger free.

It could have been worse. I’d rather be stung on the finger than the toe, or on a few other delicate body parts that I value highly. Here it is, the same day, and I’m able to write this journal entry, the sting having left my two typing fingers unscathed. I’ve got my damaged wedding ring safely tucked away and will have it recast in a larger size when I get home.

Getting stung by the scorpion finally removes the dread that I’ve had for years over the possibility of it happening. Like many things in life the actual experience wasn’t nearly as bad as the anticipation. So much for scorpions. That leaves just centipedes and cobras on my shortlist of Asian bites to fear.