My dad was bitten by a timber rattler while squirrel hunting in early August of 1962. The snake got him in the top of the foot and he said it felt like a wasp sting if a thousand wasps stung you in the same place at the same time. He was on a neighbor's property and made it to the edge of a hay meadow where he was able to discharge his rifle as the neighbor (who was cutting hay) killed his tractor and got his attention. The neighbor drove over, picked him up, and delivered him to my grandparents' house about half-a-mile away. There wasn't any phone service in that part of the county until late 1967 or early 1968, so my granddad drove my dad 13 miles down the road to a relative's house where he called the local hospital to verify they had antivenom and then drove him another 12 miles where he was then treated. It was about 30 minutes from the time he was bitten until he was picked up by the neighbor and a 45-minute drive to the hospital, so about 90 minutes when it was all said and done from time of bite until medical treatment was rendered. The physician first gave him a small dose of the antivenom to gauge his body's reaction before attempting to administer a full dose. My dad said the site of the bite (since it was in a bony area) had a large abscess, which the physician drained and disinfected. The physician determined my dad didn't have any allergic reaction to the antivenom, administered the full dose, and observed him for a couple of hours before recommending that he stay at least overnight in the hospital. My dad (who was 21) refused (because that's what you do when you're 21), was fitted with crutches and sent home where he hobbled around for the better part of a month. He was fortunate that he didn't have a lot of tissue damage that would've required something akin to debriding, just a sore foot and leg.
As for me, I just watch my feets.
