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Okay, I had to share the following tale. As pathetic as this story is, keep in mind the preceding is one hundred percent true. The injury I sustained ruined the morel season for me last spring.

It was the Sunday prior to Easter Sunday in 2017. I’m strolling through the woods with my wicker basket, surveying the woods for the elusive morel. Upon glancing up, I see about 6 nice ones up ahead in a clearing. In my mycolust, i charge forward and attempt to step over a downed cedar tree. I hit my shin directly in one of the dead limbs so hard, I actually thought for a second I may have broken my shin bone. I hissed, looked at the spot and noticed but a little blood. I limped over and picked the morels.

Fast forward to Wednesday. I teach HS biology and by the end of the day, I was limping pretty good. I spend the afternoon off my feet. By Thursday, the whole bottom half of my leg was swollen. I could see bruising and cellulitis. My wife wrinkled her nose and said “that’s infected”. I had to argue with her, of course. I told her I just banged it real good and there’s no reason that would cause an infection. She was singing a solo at her church that evening, which meant I was obligated to go. I wasn’t feeling well and took my temperature. Yup, a fever. I carried on anyway, hypothesizing the symptoms were psychosomatic in a defense to stay home.

After showering and putting on my stupid, itchy church pants, I squeezed around the injury site on my shin a bit. The pus rolled out like thick, white toothpaste. Yuck. I sent my wife and son off to church, telling them I had to do some bathroom surgery and I’d be following them ASAP. I had some forceps and started poking around. I could hear/feel them “click” on something in the hole on my shin, but I couldn’t get a hold of anything. Finally, I got a grip of something, pulled, lost it, found it, pulled, lost it, found, pulled and...this stick come out.

I couldn’t believe it! Huge! Every bit as long as a finger digit and maybe as big around as three paper clip wires. More pus. Lovely.

So, I patch myself up, put on my stupid, itchy church pants and drive into town. Sitting through the service and listening to her lovely singing (no sarcasm...she’s good), I was sweating bullets and could feel my wound weeping. Afterwards, she wanted to go out to dinner to “celebrate”. Miserable experience. No mercy for me.

The next morning, I went to urgent care first thing. Tetanus shot, antibiotics, diagnosed with cellulitis and a staph infection. Thing is, it didn’t end there. Had to go to the ER a week later and to my physician a few weeks after that. I now have a strange, funnel shape scar on my shin, even a year later. Last week, it ruptured again and I pulled yet another shard of cedar limb out of that hole.

The worst part? I only got 6 morels last spring and was too laid up to do any more hunting after that.

I’d be proud of this injury had I sustained it hunting wild boars with a spear from horseback, but getting it morel hunting?
Not so much....

Be careful out there!
 

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I just read a read a book that talks of injuries (such as yours) that many people get hunting "burn" morels; downed timber, suspended logs, leanings snags and sharp branches. These represent many hazards to navigate and require full attention. Of course, injuries can and do happen everywhere. When we least expect it . . .

The woods require our attention regardless of where we are. Insects, snakes, animals, plants, terrain, creeks and rivers, other folks . . . the list goes on. As my Dad always said, "Respect Mother Nature".

I do pray the worst of your injury is behind you and that you continue to mend.
 
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