“Help! I need somebody! Help, not just anybody. Won’t you please, please, help me?” — The Beatles, 1965
My uncle, a Korean War vet, asked me the other day if there are a lot of sea urchins in Bonaire. We leave soon for the month of February there, and I plan to snorkel often.There’s not an overabundance, I said, but they’re around. Sea urchins are spiny. If one is stepped on, the spines will puncture the skin, probably break off, and cause pain and infection. The spines are sharp and very brittle. They easily go through water shoes. They are prone to breaking off inside a wound, and can be challenging to remove.
A friend went to Puerto Vallarta, and managed to step on a sea urchin. He hobbled back to shore, and was told that needed The Beach Doctor. Okay, John said, call him over.
An old Mexican fellow came over carrying a bag. He wore an old, tattered tee shirt and shorts. In somewhat halting English, he told John he could take care of his foot for 10 U.S. dollars. John didn’t bother to try to bargain. He just wanted help with the urchin spines in his foot. Ten dollars seemed like a bargain.
The Beach Doctor pulled a half liter Coke bottle out of his bag. It was filled with clear liquid. He told John to take a big drink. And another. It tasted like tequila, although John was no tequila fan. His fondness was for good Irish whiskey. The Beach Doctor sloshed tequila over the foot, over his hands, and over his spine removal device. He handed the bottle back to John, and told him to sip on it steadily as the work was being done.
The surgical instrument was a straightened out fishhook. He used it to dig out spines from John’s foot. The bright Mexican sun illuminated the job. It took a little time, and the tequila started to taste a little better.
The Beach Doctor reported that he’d gotten all of it. He bandaged the foot, accepted his dollars, and went on his way. He left the remaining (unbranded) tequila with John.
There was another guy who stepped on an urchin. Ron was a psychologist that did a lot of work with convicted felons. He went to The Bahamas, where his injuries occurred. Ron sought medical attention of the more conventional type, in an urgent care clinic.
The conditions appeared clean by medical practice standards, and Ron was treated by a licensed physician. The instruments were gleaming and purpose built. Anesthesia was accomplished by site injections of xylocaine or something similar. Sterile technique was addressed with hand washing and gloves and betadine.
But the outcome was very different. Ron suffered infection, which proved persistent. It was thought that perhaps a fragment of urchin spine had broken off in his foot. Eventually, after weeks of crutches and antibiotics, surgery was performed. A small bit of spine was found and removed. More antibiotics were employed. Crutches were replaced by a cane, and, in time, Ron, a healthy, fit, young man, was restored to good foot function.
The cost, borne by his health insurance, was well in excess of the $10 U.S. Beach Doctor had charged John – and there was no free booze thrown in.
As I get ready to paddle around in the Caribbean, I resolve to be cautious, especially as I walk into and out of the water. I’ll look down and shuffle my feet to alert sting rays and scorpionfish that I’m coming; they would rather move away rather than be stepped upon. Urchins move too slowly to get away. I’ll watch for them.
If I should happen to step on an urchin, I’ll seek treatment from a proper physician, in a proper clinic. I think the odds are better that way. But good odds don’t guarantee good outcomes.
