This post has nothing to do with the subway; if anything, just with not taking the subway out of New York City.
There are two tenets of mushroom-picking:
1) do not eat anything you can't identify with 100% certainty, and
2) to reach 100% certainty, neither a book or the internet suffice, you must rely on an in-person expert.
Some hubris possessed me the morning of Saturday July 16: I'd awoken early after going to bed late, it was hot, I was out for a walk, and there were bright white young mushrooms greeting the sky, beckoning me as the edible shaggy manes have done many times in Canada. The lure of an exciting story of successful nature foraging in the big city, as well as the prospect of a delicious free meal, pulled me closer. They looked ever so slightly different from the shaggy manes I'd eaten previously, but upon pulling out my phone and looking at internet pictures, they seemed very similar, and some site or another told me that shaggy manes are among the most easily identifiable, and showed me two distant look-alikes that didn't really look alike at all. It also said that they could vary in shape a little, especially between young and old, from oval to goose-egg-shaped. They were enticingly fresh and young and I picked them.
Here are pictures of a shaggy mane, an equally edible shaggy parasol, and of the mushroom I found:
I made a quick facebook post with the picture to my dad's page - my parents taught me all I know about mushrooms - he wrote that it didn't look right, but someone else wrote that it looked like a shaggy mane to them. I cut my mushrooms open, and tried a little bite raw: it tasted a bit bland but fine.
Not dying after ten minutes, I disregarded a Kyrgyz friend's warning about the dangers of mushrooms, and cooked them in sunflower oil with salt, pepper, and rosemary. I had them with cranberry pecan toast with coconut spread, and a fruit-and-spinach smoothie, and they were delicious!!
I had read that the onset of symptoms in case of toxicity usually occurs between 20 minutes to 4 hours after ingestion, so after all went well for forty-five minutes, I posted to my dad's page (in our Swiss dialect), "Still healthy and sassy!" ("No gäng xung u böös!")
And off I went to teach.
Since this story doesn't end here, I suppose you have some inkling of what might have happened.
I'd eaten my mushroom meal at 10:45am, and at 1:45pm, just before the end of my last student's lesson, I started to break into a cold sweat. Something was wrong, and eventually I excused myself - as soon as I reached the washroom I vomited out my entire breakfast. I felt much better, and, emboldened by some other encouraging thing I'd read on the internet that said that symptoms would disappear after expulsion of the toxic substance, returned to my student and exclaimed cheerfully, "Isn't the body amazing? It knows when something is bad for it and just knows to kick it out!" Eleven years old, he made an excited kick in the air in agreement. We continued on, but, ten minutes later the chills returned and I had to leave the room for a second time. Again I felt better after, but when I returned to the room, my student's father had arrived and both looked concerned about me. I still planned to join them to go look at bows, but decided to call the poison control center just to get informed.
The poison control center answerer took my name and details, laughed when I said I'd vomited everything out, explaining that at three hours after ingestion, only 30% was left in my stomach and the rest had been absorbed, but then explained that I should be worried if I was vomiting six hours after ingestion. She said it would be helpful to identify the mushroom, and asked if I had a specimen or a photo. I said yes, and where could I send the photo to? She said they had no such contacts, but thought that if I went to the Emergency Room I could show the photos there. I was sure that no physician would know the answer unless they were also a mycologist, which seemed an extremely unlikely possibility to me. I looked up the New York mycological society, and some other mycological society, but both only had contact forms, no phone number to call.
I began vomiting more and more frequently, and couldn't complete the contact forms. The nausea reduced me to an embryonic position on the carpeted floor, and I had no expendable energy even to speak. I had sent my student and his family away when Rebecca, one of the administrators of the school, came to close up. She handed me the small garbage can when I needed it, and stayed with me, but said the family had insisted to stay close by on call, in case they could help by driving me to the ER or anything, so had just gone to get lunch nearby. I soon realized that I was too ill even to consider walking to a car. Could I wait it out in the school on the floor? It seemed tempting for I couldn't move and the prospect of an enormous hospital bill was prohibitive. But as I felt worse and worse I thought, is there anything that can be done in the hospital that can't be done on the floor of the school? Could they pump my stomach? I asked Rebecca to call the ambulance.
I remembered the poisoned rat I'd once seen in my local park, fully concentrated just on surviving, taking no notice of me as I approached. Now I know what it feels like, I thought. (And of course the poisoned roaches after an exterminator. Horrible. Never in my apartment.)
In my case, any extraneous effort made me vomit again, and when the paramedics arrived, though I was grateful they were there, I didn't even move to say hello, and knew I was being curt and impolite. They said we needed to go and I said I couldn't move. They assured me the ambulance had air conditioning (it was a hot day) and I said, "I'm freezing." They asked me various questions which all annoyed me - was I pregnant, did I smoke, had I had any alcohol, do I take prescription medication, do I take supplements - no, no, no, no, and no. "Nothing? Maybe that's why you're feeling this so strongly," - ha, I thought, maybe they were right, I have no tolerance, my finely-tuned system isn't used to abuse! But I did just eat bad mushrooms. They asked about the mushrooms, had they been cooked, were they from a restaurant or a supermarket - no no I picked them in the park, I was stupid - well, I heard them think who would do such a silly thing - and it was deserved, I knew. Rebecca showed it to them on my phone, of course they couldn't recognize it either.
The burly paramedics soon realized that I wasn't acting about how terrible I felt, and seeing I couldn't walk out of the school, decided they would put me in the chair, and needed me to climb into it. At first I was disappointed it wasn't a stretcher - how would I sit up? Once in it, I realized, slumped over, how cool this gadget really is.
We were on the fourth floor of the walk-up, and as we got to the first set of stairs, the paramedic warned me, "It's going to be bumpy" - but it wasn't, at all. I think he was lifting me by himself, while the other went ahead, and I think the chair had some kind of tracks on the bottom so I was gliding down. I've tolerated these stairs for six years, with heavy books and instruments, sprained ankles and crutches ... now, I was being carefully shuttled down, like royalty. As I think any teacher at the school can imagine, it was a true once-in-a-lifetime experience to enjoy!
We got into the street, and I blinked in the sunshine. A normal scene, but I was in the middle of the street. I wondered if this might be the end of my story, just like that - logically that seemed not great, but I had no emotional reaction to the thought; my body was tied up with just being. They transferred me from the chair into the stretcher and put me inside the ambulance, handing me a very smartly designed ring-topped bag, into which I vomited a few more times. Still freezing, I asked for blankets.
Rebecca came with me, taking care of my violin and things. It was a short ride to St. Luke's hospital, and as we entered the ER again we had to explain what had happened. Again there was the moment of incredulity of the nurses as the paramedics told her I'd picked the mushrooms ... yes yes I know, I was stupid, I thought - but are they going to pump my stomach now?
I was wheeled to my spot and waited. The patient next to me was yelling profanities about his treatment in a big boomy voice and it didn't even bother me, but the nurse returned and kindly said she was wheeling me to a better spot - "No-one needs that when they're not feeling well." Ah, I thought, yes, I'm not feeling well - too focussed on being I wasn't really self-aware enough to recognize how I was feeling.
At the new spot, they took my temperature and some blood and attached a heart monitor and put in an IV, to help replenish all the fluid I'd lost. I refused anti-nausea medication as I felt better every time I threw up, expelling more toxin, I assume. As the nurse was about to leave I asked her, "I don't really know how this works, but is there something else you do - can you pump my stomach?"
She replied that that was something from TV that doesn't really apply to real life - also that for snakebites they have antidotes but for mushrooms they don't, and in any case it was now over four hours since ingestion so all they could do was manage symptoms.
Thinking of the impending bill, I said something to the effect of, so why was I in the hospital?
She explained that it was very good that I had come; that we would find out if the mushroom was only toxic and if the symptoms would start to go away, or if it was poisonous and they would get worse, in which case they'd need to do "other treatment." I thought of the IV too and was sure that was helping; I didn't feel able to drink at all, certainly.
My student's father, arrived, and took over for Rebecca, who had stayed all this time. (My student and his mother had gone home via subway.) A doctor came, and the business department man came. He wanted my name and address, but after I said it and he didn't get it right I sent him away saying I'd tell him later, I was too sick, and threw up again. I was still shivering under three blankets.
Maybe an hour later, someone stopped by and I asked if I could go to the restroom. They brought a wheelchair and hung my half-empty IV bag on the edge. Probably thanks to the IV fluids, my GI tract expelled and flushed out anything and everything left. I felt much better.
The ER was busy and it took another hour or so before the nurse was free to check me out. I chatted with my student's father, who had taken charge of me as soon as he'd arrived. I was so grateful he was there. He said of course he was there, I'd taught his son for five years, and I should know I have friends in New York. Nonetheless, I know it's not easy for someone to take time out of their busy New York life, and, rather overcome with emotion, I thanked him profusely multiple times over the evening.
After the nurse took out my IV and walked me through my discharge instructions, I asked her, "Was I your weird case of the day?"
She answered, "You would have been, except for the guy who had inhaled so much angel dust he was throwing pens at us!"
She walked me to the business office, and as I thanked her immensely for her help and said how glad I was to be alive, she said, "Of course!" Then laughed and wagged her finger at me, "Don't do it again!!"
Since this is a public blog, I'll not go into my full financial details and insurance information, as discussed at the business office. Suffice to say that I was expecting an enormous charge - and in the end all I had to pay was $320, less than a typical visit to the vet for my cats! Will there be a separate ambulance bill? My understanding was that all was taken care of. In my state, I was about ready to cry and hug the two finance admins too.
My student's father was waiting patiently, and we walked to his car. He drove me north to my neighbourhood, and as he is a scientist, we joked that I should try the experiment again tomorrow to make sure that the toxicity was indeed from the mushrooms I'd eaten, and not the rest of the breakfast. It was good to feel well enough to joke again! He waited in the car as I went to the local supermarket to pick up electrolyte drinks. The manager of the store, who has known me since 2003, saw my plight and I told him what had happened; when I returned down the aisle with coconut water and kombucha and seltzer and apple juice, he brought me a small bag with sage leaves and said, "Take these, boil them in water, this is what I have always had for any stomach problems, and you see how healthy I am!" As grateful as I was for the leaves - and I followed is directions too - I was even more grateful for his care for me.
My student's father, Yong, drove me to my building, and I thanked him again profusely. He said I should let him know if anything worsened, and I promised it wouldn't! I gave him a big hug of thanks before entering my building. (I wish I could atone for the scare, but at least I hope I can show at least some token of my immense gratitude by arranging a thank-you gift for him and his family, and Rebecca!)
A neighbor I know entered at the same time I did, and I poured out the story to him. Funny, near-death experiences seem to make all else unimportant, and make clear who helps one survive. He urged me to rest well tonight.
When I got home, I broke down in tears, I was so grateful to be here. My flatmate came and gave me a big hug, and I poured out the story. Then began to feast on my apple juice and seltzer and coconut water, and just sat and chatted.
I was still weak, but when I phoned to tell my dad he was right, and most importantly to let my parents know I was alright, it was a relief to talk with them, and even to laugh at parts of the story.
There are two wonderful Swiss chansons by Fritz Wydmer that are fitting:
1) D'Ballade vo däm wo nie Zueglost Het The Ballade of Him Who Never Listened
2) D'Ballade vo de Schwümm The Ballade of the Mushrooms
And then I identified the mushroom:
A Chlorophyllum Molybdites, aptly nicknamed "The Vomiter"
... courtesy of the clear pictures and description at Urban Mushrooms .com: http://urbanmushrooms.com/index.php?id=4
I've since had that confirmed by the North American Mycological Association, as well as the Central New York Mycological Society. Why couldn't the Poison Control Center get in touch with them? I'm not sure.
I had my first real meal on Monday night. (It was not part of the Idiot's Chlorophyllum diet, which I do not recommend!!) It was delicious. I am happy to be back in the world.
I have a dimple in my chin, and I'm told in Swiss culture it means I'm a "Glückspilz" - a lucky person, literally translating to "Lucky Mushroom" ...
I'm glad this scary and exciting story had a happy end! I'm also glad you got out of it relatively unscathed (sans the feeling cold and loss of bodily fluids and electrolytes!
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