Fish Revenge

“How would you like it if you had a big hook stuck in your mouth?” is one question a fisherman often hears from those who don’t necessarily agree with fishing.  Well to answer the question, I didn’t like it at all!

Yes, in the summer of 1992 I found myself at the business end of a rod and reel.  It was one of those God-awful hot Texas summer days.  Cindy and I had been at a wedding near the southeast Texas town of Edna.  The air that day was so thick with humidity that you had to nearly wade through it.  The wedding was for one of my college roommates, Mark.  There were several of us there who had also been roommates at the university formally known as SWTSU.   One of the guys, JB, lived near Smithville and he and his wife Kara invited us all over to visit after the wedding.  So myself, Cindy, JB and his wife Kara,  and Trey and his wife Fiona all got together for an after-wedding reunion.

Girls being girls, their idea of a reunion was to sit and visit about things that, well, we men could actually care less about.  In fact, we would just as soon have an anvil dropped on our toe than have to sit and suffer through discussions about pregnancy and morning sickness.

Turns out we were in luck.  JB had a pond nearby that just happened to be loaded with catfish.  Trey always has a rod and reel stashed behind the seat of his truck, and JB had an extra that I could borrow.  (And that, ladies, is why we men require having more than one rod and reel.   One might never know when a buddy is going to drop by and failed to have brought his own gear.)  So we loaded into the back of JB’s truck and headed to the pond that was on the ranch where he worked.  This pond was more like a lake in miniature, with both a boat dock and pier.

The day was already getting late by the time we arrived, so we wasted no time and just tied on what ever hook we had available, which in Trey’s case didn’t include hooks specifically used for catfish.  But he did have some old 3/0 plastic worm hooks laying in the bottom of his box.   For bait we used what we had available, which happened to be puppy chow dog food.   The dog food was shaped like a donut, with the hole in the middle, and worked perfectly when you just slipped it over the hook and let it hang.  And the fish loved it!

The fish were biting fast and furious and darkness was arriving quickly.  I had just brought a fish onto the pier when Trey hooked up with a really nice one.  It would probably have gone 10 pounds and he was going to need some help.  It was nearly dark now and it was difficult to see the fish.  I quickly lay down on the pier so as to get my arm closer to the water for that long reach to the fish.  I wrapped my hand around Trey’s fishing line and followed it to the water. As the fish surfaced I leaned over as far as I could and tried to get my hands around it.  As soon as I touched him he shook violently and something slammed me in the mouth on the left side.  And then I felt a continued and painful tug on my mouth that had me scrambling to my feet in vain attempt to relieve the pressure, all the way to my tippy toes.  As I was coming to my feet I reached up and felt fishing line coming out of my mouth and I grabbed hold to pull back on it.  By that time Trey was trying to swing his fish over away from the water and I was yelling something unintelligible like “aahahahahwhwhwhwhwhahahahah-staaaawwwwwwwwwppp”.    It took Trey a good 5 seconds of pulling to figure out that the fish was gone and he was about to put me on the stringer instead.

Once he realized that he had me hooked up he relieved the pressure on my face.  One of my merciful friends reached over with his pocketknife and cut the line.  We bumbled around on the pier for a couple of minutes as I tried to figure out what to do.  Trey grabbed his flashlight and shined it on my lip.  JB said, “ooh that doesn’t look good”.  “Do you think you can pull it out?” I asked.   He replied “Wow, I don’t know, it’s in there pretty good Kendall.”   I asked, “Can you just push it through?”  The grey look on their faces and the accompanying hiss from air being sucked through pursed lips and across clenched teeth told me the answer.

Taking Trey’s flashlight I went to the truck side mirror.  “Oh crap”.  This hook was completely buried in my lip.  Of this 3/0 worm hook, all I could see was about a half inch of shank, the eye, and a 6” tail made of 20lb test monofilament.  And the hook wasn’t poking through to the inside.  The point had entered the left side of my upper lip and imbedded itself perfectly so that the point, barb, and curve of the hook were buried in the flesh rather than mercifully passing through.  There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this. 

After a quick discussion JB offered to drive me to the Smithville Hospital ER to get it removed.   But first we had to tell my wife.  I wasn’t feeling very motivated to talk so when we arrived back at JB’s house so he went inside to let them know.  I said, “JB don’t freak her out or anything.”  So he walks into his house alone, a grey look on his face, “Um Cindy, can I talk to you in the other room?”  Naturally all three women look at each other, with Fiona wondering what has happened to Trey, and Cindy knowing it was something that has happened to me.  Because of course, she knows me.  “Kendall has had an accident, I mean, he is okay, but we’re going to take him to the ER”.  (Way to be subtle JB).  “He caught a big hook to his lip and we can’t get it out.”  I’m waiting inside the dark truck, and see her come dashing out of the house to check on me.  “Nice one” she says.  “Does it hurt?”  I mumbled, “Just a little, only it I talk or nude ny lits.”  With a pat on the arm suggesting no big surprise, she sends us away to the ER.

Upon arriving at the small town hospital ER I see that most of the seats are taken as I walk past hastily bandaged children, a broken arm, a guy with a migraine on overtime, and other assorted people waiting.  Moving towards the check-in window, my mouth covered by my hand, “Can I help you sir?” asks the plump lady sitting in her chair behind the desk wearing the traditional nurses cap as she reaches up to slide open the window.  “I haa a hook ing ny nouth” I replied.

“Excuse me” 

“I haa a hook ing ny nouth” I say again.

“I’m sorry sir I can’t understand you”

I look at her and pull my hand down exposing what is soon to be a popular facial piercing.  In revolt she gasps as her chair rolls back “Oh my God! Grace get over here!”  Past the initial horror the women pass paperwork to me, get my insurance card and set me in the chair next to the desk to fill out my paperwork.  So here I am dutifully filling out my paperwork with the clipboard on my knees.  In the space for “injury type:” I write ‘Hook in mouth’.  As I write, my chair facing towards the waiting room, the normally quiet waiting room spawns a growing murmur.  “Whadawhadayadahooktyamyamamouthwhamawhamahurtyadawhama shhh don’t stare Michael whamayama I wonder how that happened yadayada.”   Working my way through the pages a steady stream of curious kids and one homeless looking person somehow find themselves trolling past me, my clipboard, and my 3/0 mouth hardware, while trying not to stare.  I do my best to ignore them but at least I am able to find the humor in their innocent curiosity.  Paperwork complete I turn to the desk, and the nurse, never taking her eyes off my mouth, takes the clipboard from me like I have leprosy.  “Have a seat I’m sure the doctor will be right out to see you.”

Feeling like an ugly model, about to walk down a fashion show runway dressed in burlap, I hold my head high and ease down the middle of the small ER waiting room.  All eyes were upon me.  I didn’t look at any of them, but their faces were square with mine as the whispers and murmurs grew.  Words like “oh”, “wow”, “that looks like it hurts”, “ewwww”, “guess the fish got revenge” came from the murmurs and mumbles.

Sitting down in an empty chair, I find it ironic that the magazine choice is “Field & Stream” or “Outdoor life”.  I choose the prior.  It wasn’t a long wait until the doctor came through the door like Kramer from an episode of Seinfeld.  With his stethoscope hanging from his neck, the white coat flaring from his quick walk he stops right before me with his clipboard in his face as he starts his triage:  “Rachael with the broken arm where are you?”  With tears in her eyes she looks up, and he does a quick exam and determines her okay for the moment.  “Migraine.  Bob?”  He looks up, “Man I just can’t shake it, its been going for two days and I need some meds”.  The doctor knowingly looked at him.  Turning, he was standing directly in front of me.  “Where’s the guy with the fish hook in his mouth?”  He says, yelling loud enough for all of Smithville to hear.    The room is painfully quiet.  “Here” I mumble, looking straight up, pulling the June copy of Field & Stream down away from my face.

All of the doctors Hippocratic Oath and professionalism in check, he laughed, “Bhaaaahaaaahaaaaaaahhaaaaaa Oh my God can I take a picture?!”  I could understand the humor in it, in fact I smiled at his jovial response which in turn hurt like hell.  “Can ee just get da dan thing out uv ny nouth?”  I said wincing.  Remembering his oath, he professionally turned and had me follow him through the swinging doors.  Once inside the secluded exam room he once again was laughing and requesting a photo. He couldn’t wait to tell his doctor friends.  He wanted the story.  “How did this happen?”  I just wanted the stupid hook removed from my face.  While the doc worked, JB told the story.  After a couple of shots to deaden my lips, making them feel bulky and numb, he expertly pushed the hook through until it came out on the inside right at the corner of my mouth.  He then clipped off the eye, and pulled it on through. 

No stitching required, he gave me the obligatory tetanus shot and an antibiotic booster and sent me on my way.  We both parted with a smile on our faces, he having his day made and getting great material for the morning coffee and I for having survived another episode in my life.