Dog Bite

June 16, 2015

     One of the things that has to be accepted by anyone above a certain age living on their own is the possibility that death will come calling and only you will be there to let him in.

     Last year in Caunes I had a migraine headache in the middle of the night so bad that  I thought I would breathe my last, but for a neighbor who called a doctor.  On my way back from Ojai, California to Palm Springs last February, a patch of synovial fluid behind my left knee was aggravated to the point of causing the entire calf to swell to twice its size,  the result of six hours behind the wheel.  A trip by ambulance to the emergency room led to a correct diagnosis, although for a while I thought perhaps I had a deep-vein thrombosis, or gangrene from a broken toenail.

     Anxiety is always the best response to a perception that something is not quite right with the body, but that does not, of course, make the path to an accurate diagnosis and treatment any easier.  In the close moments I've had over the past year, the thought has occurred to me that it would be highly undignified to die of any of the things I have imagined might be wrong with me.  I'm really all for dying in my bed, preferably while sleeping, if it comes to that.  But you don't always have a choice.

     Yesterday I was bitten by a dog.  The dog that bit me, Alba, is the eleven-year old bitch belonging to Roselyne Amen, a neighbor with whom I have become friendly working on the church bazaar.  Roselyn is a retired nurse, and the woman who came to my aid last year.  I was in the midst of a brief visit related to the church bazaar, when Alba struck.

     Roselyne was showing me the embroideries she was preparing for sale.  I was admiring them when Alba came over and parked herself alongside me.  I bent down to pet her on her back and,  --WHAM! --Alba sunk her front teeth into my thumb.

     Believe me, if you've never had a dog bite from a family pet, you don't know what you're missing. What Alba did with her teeth wasn't an abrasion, and it wasn't a cut: it was a puncture, nice and round.  Actually, four punctures, because two teeth penetrated my flesh first.  Then, as I screamed and tried to withdraw my hand, Alba's grip loosened, but not her aim: she bit me again in another part of the thumb.  Fortunately, I was able to yank my hand away before Alba could do more damage.

     I was so surprised, I could only jump up and down to try to rid myself of the pain, all the while yelling, "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

     Roselyne ran over immediately, found Betadyne and band-aids and dressed the wounds.  "She's untouchable", Roselyn now told me.  "I can't even brush her.  I think she suffers from back pain, so she's especially sensitive where you touched her.  I should have told you."

     Should she ever have!

     Of course, I asked whether Alba was vaccinated against rabies.   "No", there's no rabies here, and it's expensive.  So since there isn't any, I don't.  Do you want me to call the vet?"

      I did, and Roselyne duly phoned.  The vet told her to come by in an hour, and I offered to pay half the vet bill.  Alba is a house dog, a dirty one, for sure, as she can't be brushed or bathed, but she doesn't mix with other dogs or stir beyond Roselyne's house.  Still, I wanted a vet notified in the worst case.  So Roselyne took Alba to the vet, who gave her a form to fill out, and said he would check on Alba in fifteen days.  Meanwhile, I went to my doctor in the village, Dr. Laetitia Salomon.  Her secretary got me in to see her right away, and I was duly bandaged and told the same thing about rabies that Roselyne had told me.

     I slept like a baby last night and was up early to greet Nicole, who helps me clean, and Fabien, the electrician installing my heating and air conditioning system.  All went well while they were here.  After they left I went in search of Roselyne and, finding her, paid her my share of the vet bill.  I also saw Dr. Salomon,  by chance:  she was doing an errand in her car.  She asked how I was, and I said "Fine".

     I was relaxed, thinking the worst was behind me --until, while washing my hands when I got home, my bandage fell off, and I saw that my thumb had swollen to twice its size.

     I know of two people who died of blood infections that went untreated immediately.  So that's another one of my phobias, septicemia.  I called Dr. Salomon's office, and was once more told to come down immediately.  Dr. Salomon wrote me a prescription for amoxicillin, which I promptly obtained at the pharmacy down the street and swallowed with a glass of water.  I was in such a rush to get to Dr. Salomon that I walked out in my house slippers and left Beau behind.

     "That swelling, it's not on account of infection, it's just inflammation", said the pharmacist.  "The swelling in the thumb ought to go down in 48 hours.  You've nothing to fear, but you can take the amoxicillin as a prophylactic."

      I was more than happy to do so.  On your own, you can't be too careful.  Fortunately, the medical help required is available in the village, and in the worst case, there are good private clinics in Carcassonne.  That is not the case in many of the most remote villages in France.  Every summer the news reports how dire the situation is each August when the few doctors that work in the hinterlands leave.  It is now very difficult to find a substitute to care for patients in the villages in August, when virtually all of France is on vacation.

      I am lucky that I did not decide to live in the Massif Central or one of France's other mountainous areas, where a ten minute walk to the doctor's would have been impossible.  French medical care (as I hope my account has demonstrated) is among the best in the world, particularly when it comes to basic care.  Unfortunately, because of the hardships associated with living in remote areas, medical school graduates don't want to work there.  So this summer, the news will again report on the dangerousness of August for the inhabitants of mountain villages.