Zoo zoo zoo

Yesterday, I visited the zoo. See, I've been reading "The Lost City of Z" (like I mentioned a couple days ago), and all the talk about snakebite convinced me that now is the best possible time to pursue the, well, snakebite treatment portion of the First Aid badge. And where better to learn about snakes than at the zoo?

Despite last summer's exploration of Prospect Park, I'd never visited the Prospect Park Zoo, which was very much intentional -- I'm a big wuss, and I reliably find myself getting depressed at the zoo. It's the same reason I can't have pets who need to stay in cages or tanks, or that the NY ASPCA's subway ads bum me out for the day. While I understand intellectually that zoos have a lot of merits -- public awareness, preservation/breeding programs, things like that -- I find it uncomfortable in the moment. The thing the PPZ had going for it, oddly, was its smallness -- they didn't have big, big animals with ranges of hundreds of miles. Most of the critters were pretty small, and that helps at least a little. (I have mixed feelings about the two forlorn sea lions there, but we'll take a pass on that for the time being.) Also, they have what may well be my new favorite animal, the Pallas's Cat.

Now, I went to the zoo largely to investigate what types of snakes they might have, but the answer was, sadly, very few. I only saw a corn snake (no photography in the reptile house!), and everything I learned about it is totally irrelevant to the First Aid badge -- the corn snake is a constrictor which, while terrifying, means it's not so likely to be a biter. Zoo trip? Fun but irrelevant. Phooey.

Now, it's time to return to my total not-research in "The Lost City," which has mostly featured the 1920s explorer Percy Fawcett loading up his boats and packs with dozens of different antivenom serums and informing aspiring explorers that a snakebite is dangerous only if it turns blue and doesn't bleed. Sadly, this isn't actually true -- some bites (from coral snakes, for example) don't lead to major symptoms for hours and hours. I would bet money, also, that the Fawcett expedition -- and any expeditions launched using the 1911 Handbook -- might suggest sucking venom from a wound. Not so, says my Red Cross instructor! First, ew. Second, you won't necessarily get out most of the venom anyway.

So what do you do for snakebite? Nothing too surprising, it turns out. Splint the bitten limb (but not too tightly), wash the area well, and keep it below the heart (which makes sense, after all). Some folks might steer you towards use of a Sawyer Extractor (which looks kind of like the lease useful syringe ever), but that appears to be optional. Really, this is pretty much it, and everyone -- everyone! -- I've spoken to or dealt with says one thing and one thing only: call for help. Really. Call right away.

I finished all this, though, and I wasn't really feeling satisfied. Whether calling for help is the thing to do or not, seems to run counter to everything the Handbook cares about -- being competent in the woods, away from home. Fortunately, the internet is an excellent and reliable source for information about how to ignore medical advice. So I leave you with something you probably should not actually do if you're bitten by a snake: pressure immobilization. This sounds fancy, but it's really just wrapping the bitten limb snugly (but not so snugly as to restrict bloodflow) with a series of bandages before splinting it. This restricts the movement of the venom through the bloodstream, which has the side effect of loading up the near-bite area chock full of venom and maximizing damage there, but this is (often) a worst case scenario kind of treatment. So let's not do it unless we have to, okay?