Once Bitten

I was bitten by a raccoon last week. When the subject comes up, people inevitably say "attacked," and I'm always quick to correct them ― I don't feel as though I was attacked. It was just a nip, on my right arm, a few inches above the wrist, from a familiar raccoon that was just a bit too eager to get to the food I had.

You could probably say I deserved it ― I've become comfortable around the raccoons, and I haven't exactly been discouraging them (by which you might also say "I've been encouraging them"). This one in particular has become very, very comfortable around me, and so at ease with the peace and quiet and the leisurely pace here that she often turns up in midday, while any potential competition is still comfortably snoozing away. It's better that way, before my son is home from school later in the afternoon, and everything becomes more hectic.

(And before you ask, no, that behavior in and of itself is not necessarily an indication of rabies.)

In fact, she behaves more or less the same as any other raccoon I've ever known (I've been watching them here for many years), so I wasn't terribly concerned that she may be rabid. There was still a chance she could be carrying the disease, though, so while there really was no choice for me but to seek treatment, that presented a terrible moral dilemma. The only way to confirm rabies in an animal is to ― well, I'll spare you the gruesome details, but she would have had to have been trapped and killed, and I was horrified by that possibility, even if it might spare me a course of treatment. She's a nuisance, yes, but she's a nuisance mostly of my own making, and I don't consider her to be a danger. I would be devastated if I were responsible for her needless death.

As it turns out, though, the authorities didn't seem concerned enough to take such action, which was a big relief (albeit a big surprise). If you've managed to trap or kill the animal that bit you, they'll gladly oblige you in testing it for rabies ― but apart from that, you're on your own. They'll treat your illness, though.

As to that course of treatment? You know, it wasn't nearly as awful as I was expecting. I already knew that the barbaric days of a series of very, very painful injections to the abdomen (it was necessary to have a large muscle group that could withstand so many) had long past, but I still had to have several the following day ― five or six of them, I think, in various parts of my body. And then one today, another later this week, and another next week. And a Tetanus Shot, just to be sure.

I haven't had a shot since ― you know, I can't even remember the last time I'd had a shot. (I've had some blood drawn over the past year or so, but that's it.) It hasn't been nearly as painful as I had expected ― that might have been because I did not look. I do not like needles. Needles make me very anxious. I remembered the time, ages ago, when my then-girlfriend was being treated for Lyme Disease, and we somehow arrived at this idea that I could give her a series of weekly injections of antibiotics (or whatever it was). But when the time came, I couldn't do it. I just could not do it.

We've been trying to discourage this raccoon ― or rather, encourage her to fend for herself. Maybe even sleep in a bit. This habit she has of turning up during the day has already attracted some attention, and I'm concerned that it might become her undoing.