Not our time to die

My ordeal began on the afternoon of Tax Day, April 15th, after tea time at 2 p.m. when Tom decided the soil was too moist to roto-till in our garden plot. He spied ‘something’ in the ground. Only 2 green shoots were above, but a white fat root penetrated below. Digging to a depth of almost a foot, the tuber broke so Tom only retrieved about ½ of the growth. 3 in around; 6 in long. What was it? A giant daikon radish? In the Burpee catalog I though it resembled a giant white radish. But neither were planted in the garden spot where it was found. Only corn. After a cleaning we chewed a bit of it raw ascertaining it was not a daikon or white radish. Tasteless. I cooked it up after cleaning, peeling and chopping it into pieces. I sampled a teaspoon which was bland but ‘not too bad.’ Tom who said he didn’t like it, warned that it might not be edible. I called him a coward; afraid to die. Tom told me later, he planned to eat it anyway if I served it.

While reading about dysentery, gangrene and scurvy in Andersonville Prison, 1864, about 3p.m., I began to feel unwell. The ordeal was just beginning. Nauseated. Queasy. Eventually vomiting (which I am not prone to do). Diarrhea. I knew my body was hell bent on rebellion. During a brief moment in a chair I thought about the green shoots again and said to Tom, “It’s a poison hemlock.” He rushed out to dig one up ( we grow them wild everywhere) and yes... the huge tuber was a poison hemlock. Off to the computer to become informed. Yes, it’s poisonous, no, the amount varies in lethality. Breathing can be a serious problem. Why was it so huge underground when leafy green plants already in March were growing everywhere, having wintered over without distress? Poison hemlock is a biannual. The same plant does not return each year. Our ‘find’ must have been in the ground for 3 years ( maybe 5) growing and growing subterraneously.

Back to the progression of my ordeal. I was the canary in the coal mine, victim of poison. Vomiting and diarrhea continued intermittently now. Retching came in a series of three heaves, each more intense. I sweat. I teared up. I shook. I cramped. I dared not vacate the toilet bowl. The vomiting was unbelievably violent. A brief sit or an upright stance was soon corrected by another round in the fight of my body revolting, trying to rid itself of the poisonous invader. One teaspoon! Tom inquired about the emergency room but I couldn’t ‘move.’ Besides, only by calling the Life Squad would any emergency attention be rendered.

By 5 p.m. my stomach had cramped under the retching and felt like it was inside out. Never in my life have I been so wretched ( scared too) for a day. My clothes were soiled. My throat was sore. Finally able to briefly lay in bed, the ‘shakes’ began. Alternating between fevered and clammy, I was a prisoner of the poison in my system. I prayed a thank you that Tom and I did not eventually eat the bowl of poison hemlock because we both would have been died. 7 p.m. was finally rest and nap time. The searing pain of the diaper rash had set in. The exhaustion from repeated vomiting, the dehydration, a repulsion for food and living. I cured a sleepless night due to a serious headache by rising at 4:30 a.m. and taking 2 aspirin. Finally 2 hours sleep. The morning after? Painful sore throat, hoarse voice, cough, painful raw diaper rash, weariness, lack of appetite. Never again. Never again.