As I loaded our video production gear, I felt a surging sting in my foot. I walked to another room and looked at my foot. I saw redness but no cut, nothing carved into my skin. Had I scraped my foot against equipment? Had I strained something?
I returned to the scene of the sting to search for another potential culprit: a scorpion. I moved aside equipment but saw no such alien-like creature creeping along the floor. Nothing jumped out.
I left and motioned for Loren to come over. I said I imagine this is what a scorpion sting feels like. She grabbed me a bag of ice for my foot. Then she returned to the same scene and proclaimed she uncovered the hiding scorpion, which blended into a floor with similar colors and squiggly lines. She retrieved a contraption she had purchased to capture such creatures and transferred the scorpion to the outdoors. I preferred a different outcome for the arachnid, which I called curse names normally reserved for humans.
I have lived in the desert nearly two decades and, for the first time, a scorpion had gotten me. Loren had warned me not to walk barefoot. I stay away from those menacing-looking creatures and now one actually touched me. I stepped right on it and its powerful sting.
My foot did not swell. I saw no breaks in my skin. But the sting throbbed and I imagined a spray of venom. Loren finished loading our vehicle and I positioned my foot beneath the bag of ice. When I slipped on socks and shoes, I realized just how sensitive the surface of my skin had become.
During the drive that day to Tucson for a video shoot, I elevated my foot in front of an AC vent. The air surging against my foot felt good. But stretching my foot hurt. I felt little relief the rest of the day.
After a few days, the sting subsided. However, my big toe took a few weeks to fully recover. Ironically, we have not seen a scorpion in the area since. But we know they’re out there, lurking. We’ve tried to coexist with these creatures. But things just got personal.
