RD201904

I

n search of some kind of closure,

the following September, Garrett

and I revisit the bridge where I was

bitten. This time we’re joined by Rob-

ert Hansen, who edits the journal Her-

petological Review, and Rob Grasso, a

Yosemite park ecologist. We find the

pair, dressed in safari gear, flipping

over rocks and logs with a rake.

Garrett and I strap on protective

Kevlar chaps, as though we’re pre-

paring to disarm a car bomb. Hansen

rolls his eyes when he sees us.

“They don’t want to bite you,” he

says, then wades deeper into the oak

trees, where he thinks he has heard

the high-pitched zzzt of a baby snake’s

rattle.

We’re here because the snakebite

did more than scar my ankle. I feel

fine physically but have been con-

sumed with an unfamiliar sense of

vulnerability. To be snakebit also

means to experience a period of

bad luck, which is what I’ve lived

through since the ordeal. Shortly

afterward, our dog Mud got hit by

a car. He survived, but weeks later

we had to put down our other dog,

13-year-old Lucy. A friend sustained

a severe concussion while we were

biking. Another broke his neck

skiing. Yet another lost his dad to a

stroke.

Plenty of good happened too. That

I lived comes to mind. Waking up to

Bridger every day. My parents bought

a house near our home in Los Alamos

to be closer to us.

But I felt broken. Fear was no longer

My family kept me company

in the hospital, camping

out in the parking lot every

night and cheering my incremental

progress with me as I recovered.

4 DAYS

LATER

108 april 2019

Reader’s Digest