Tetanus, Anyone?

—03.03.2000—

Nothing much to report from the dream world. The last couple of nights have been strange, mostly James Bond stuff but with tractors. I can only remember snippets. But the chase scenes were so slow they’d bore you to tears. “Man, the bad guys were after us and we were approaching this turn, and then about ten minutes later we were still approaching the turn but we were a little closer, and then...”

——

Yesterday I took a slice off the top of my knuckle inspecting some ancient farm equipment. An interesting looking, but thoroughly rusty, old bicycle had been cornered by an equally oxidized, absurdly gruesome looking, contraption equipped with an array of six-foot-long blades. (Chicken scooper? Cow poker?) Surely this evil implement had had its heart set on devouring the old bicycle for some time and had obviously been spending the last few years lunging in for the kill. Most of this farm stuff happens very slowly you see.

So I went to rescue the old bicycle from certain death and pushed the blades out of the way to make my move. Then, to my surprise—fwip!—the evil beast sliced my finger with a speed I’d scarcely thought possible. Miffed, I sucked out the rust, spat it onto the grass, and left the old bike to its fate.

Not knowing too much about tetanus, let alone when my last shot was, I thought it best to look up the subject on the always-handy Encyclopedia Britannica website. As it turns out it was absolutely useless in allaying my fears. “...germ ubiquitous in the soil... produces one of the most deadly toxins known to man... dangerous even in superficial wounds...” Even though I thoroughly cleaned the cut I thought I could feel my jaw locking up that evening.

I asked Hans about it this morning while we were putting the supply line for the public toilets, a big plastic hose pipe, back into the cove, down by the pub, for the start of the tourist season. Yes, that harbinger of spring, the toilet hose pipe.

His response: “No, you should be fine.”

“Ok, but how do I know if I’m not going to be fine.”

“You’ll die overnight. It all happens very quickly.”

Then after a pause he asked, “Have you got any TCP?”

Tetanus Curing Potion! Of course... “No... I didn’t bring any.”

I wanted to ask him more about this wonder drug but he kind of walked off as he’s want to do now and again.

So great... There I was, at risk of contracting Tetanus with no TCP in my medical bag. Only a few weeks ago I was talking bravely about us needing “wolves at our door to keep us fresh.” Yeah—unless one of them actually bites.

To his credit, Hans later dropped by with a bottle of the wonder stuff he’d mentioned. I soon realized though that its curative properties were not as specific as I’d first thought. It turns out that TCP is something akin to Pinesol in the medical world. Dilute it 5:1 for gargling, 3:1 for pimples and 2:1 for cuts, scrapes and bruises. What’s more, I recoiled in wide-eyed disbelief, when the smell hit my nose, an ungainly combination of old bowling shoes and out-of-date pool cleaner.

Unfortunately I checked the expiration date only after I’d suspended my better judgment and “applied liberally” as directed. It read mar01, with no indication as to whether that meant this year, last year or 1982. Perhaps the pool cleaner component had expired.

If I’m still alive on Tuesday, I’m going to St. Mary’s for a tetanus shot.