Stung by a jellyfish

Randell Stansfield, me, jellyfish, and Mark Twain

In June 2010, my last day in Hawaii before I moved back to Maryland, my dad and I went out for a last chance snorkel session to enjoy the reef there in Kaaawa. We kayaked out to the reef, and then got out of our kayaks and began snorkling in the magnificently blue ocean.

The reef was teeming with fish. It was magnificent. Just as good as snorkling out at Hanauma Bay or Shark’s cove without any travel effort whatsoever. The water was so clear, the fish were so vibrant, the coral was so pretty and the anemone were so magical.

Suddenly, I felt this electric shock zing all the way down my neck and back. It was startling and then instantly it was excruciating. I immediately shot out of the water and went to my dad. The pain just kept increasing and I whipped my head around to figure out where the pain was coming from. As I whipped my head around I felt my hand get stung. I felt my face get stung. I felt my back get stung again and again.

Apparently I had swam under a Portuguese man o’ war and it’s tentacle had gotten caught in my ponytail. Every time I moved my head, I whipped that tentacle around and restung myself. My dad figured out what was happening and he pulled the tentacle out of my hair.

I now had the task of kayaking back to the shore before I could seek relief for my stings. The short trip felt so far and with every dip of my paddle I could feel my back, hand, and face on fire. When I finally made it home and saw my Mom, I could no longer keep a brave face and I burst into tears at the pain.

She rushed me into the tub, swimsuit and all, and ran to get the vinegar. I huddled waiting for the relief of vinegar to take away the pain. The vinegar brought no relief at all. In fact, I swear that the vinegar made it hurt worse than before. I was stunned and completely dismayed. The thing that was supposed to make me feel better wasn’t working. My entire back was bright red and little blisters were starting to form at the heart of the most scarlet sections. I sobbed, afraid that relief would be a long time coming. My family had seen many stings before – my sister and my daughter seem have a magical affinity to jellyfish and have been stung a ridiculous amount of times. But neither had ever been stung like this. We were out of our depth on how to find comfort and were afraid a long, long drive to the emergency room was in order.

Googling for a solution, my dad found information stating that HOT WATER would bring help. Really hot water. We filled the tub with the hottest water we could and it was mere seconds before I felt blessed relief. The water was so hot I could barely tolerate it but everywhere that had been stung was soothed and for those parts of my body the water temperature was perfect. If the water cooled, the relief faded or if I came up out of the water, the pain returned. As long as I stayed in the hot, hot water I felt merciful relief.

As I laid in the tub in my bathing suit, with just my face and knees sticking out of the water, my dad pulled out a book he had been reading and read to me to help me pass the time. It was “Life on the Mississippi” by Mark Twain. He read a great section where two men were cussing each other out without using any modern swear words. I enjoyed hearing his voice as he shared the colorful dialog with me. We laughed at the cleverness of these supposedly “unlearned men” who could cuss each other out so descriptively and passionately.

My dad read -

“”Whoo-oop! I’m the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, copper-bellied corpse-maker from the wilds of Arkansaw! Look at’me! I’m the man they call Sudden Death and General Desolation! Sired by a hurricane, dam’d by an earthquake, half-brother to the cholera, nearly related to the small-pox on the mother’s side! Look at me! I take nineteen alligators and a bar’l of whiskey for breakfast when I’m in robust health, and a bushel of rattle-snakes and a dead body when I’m ailing! I split the everlasting rocks with my glance, and I squench the thunder when I speak! Whoo-oop! Stand back and give me room according to my strength! Blood’s my natural drink, and the wails of the dying is music to my ear! Cast your eye on me, gentlemen ! and lay low and hold your breath, for I’m ’bout to turn myself loose!”
All the time he was getting this off, he was shaking his head and looking fierce, and kind of swelling around in a little circle, tucking up his wrist-bands, and now and then straightening up and beating his breast with his fist, saying, ” Look at me, gentlemen!” When he got through, he jumped up and cracked his heels together three times, and let off a roaring ” Whoo-oop! I’m the bloodiest son of a wildcat that lives!”
…
“Whoo-oop! bow your neck and spread, for the kingdom of sorrow’s a-coming! Hold me down to the earth, for I feel my powers a-working! whoo-oop! I’m a child of sin, don’t let me get a start! Smoked glass, here, for all! Don’t attempt to look at me with the naked eye, gentlemen! When I’m playful I use the meridians of longitude and parallels of latitude for a seine, and drag the Atlantic Ocean for whales! I scratch my head with the lightning and purr myself to sleep with the thunder! When I’m cold, I bile the Gulf of Mexico and bathe in it; when I’m hot I fan myself with an equinoctial storm; when I’m thirsty I reach up and suck a cloud dry like a sponge; when I range the earth hungry, famine follows in my tracks! Whoo-oop! Bow your neck and spread! I put my hand on the sun’s face and make it night in the earth; I bite a piece out of the moon and hurry the seasons; I shake myself and crumble the mountains! Contemplate me through leather—don’t use the naked eye! I’m the man with a petrified heart and biler-iron bowels! The massacre of isolated communities is the pastime of my idle moments, the destruction of nationalities the serious business of my life! The boundless rastness of the great American desert is my enclosed property, and I bury my dead on my own premises!” He jumped up and cracked his heels together three times before he lit (they cheered him again), and as he come down he shouted out: “Whoo-oop! bow your neck and spread, for the Pet Child of Calamity’s a-coming!”"

On and on my dad read and I listened spell-bound, relaxing in my hot water, enraptured by the great writing and the animated reading. We chuckled together in awe of what a proper “cussin’ out” could look like and still be amazingly devoid of profanities. It was awesome. It was a moment in time I will always treasure.

Today the memory of that June day came to me in full vision while I was talking on the phone with my dad.

He and my brother had been out in the water of Kaaawa and apparently had another run in with a Portuguese man o’ war. This time it stung my dad. My brother got some pretty bad cuts on the reef trying to avoid the jellyfish. By the time I spoke to them, they were recovering and, like typical men, they were trying to figure out how to make their story more dramatic and interesting so they could show off their war wounds good and proper.

I laughed and said they would have to have REALLY good imaginations to top my REAL story of getting stung. Dad laughed and agreed. I mean really. How good could their story be if it doesn’t involve whipping themselves silly over and over with a jellyfish tentacle or soaking in a tub of practically simmering water while listening to the amazing writing of Samuel Clemens in the animated robust story-telling voice of Randell Stansfield? The answer is not nearly good enough, of that I am sure.