Curse of la viuda negra

I got bit by a black widow Thursday night, camped out on a remote beach in southern Baja. I woke up to an oddly deep stinging sensation above my elbow, groped around for my headlamp, turned it on and found the little beast half alive in my sleeping bag. Shit. Black widow. I flipped him in a ziplock, woke up Aimee, told myself not to panic, and then drove 45km up the dark, winding highway to the nearest town (population 4,000). I found the town's little health clinic, checked myself in and let two underaged nurses (who never asked my name) shoot me up with 200mg of hydrocortisone. Then they just sent us on our way. I stumbled out into the dark, nauseous and nearly doubled over with cramping. I'm still riding out the symptoms. I can only describe it as similar to having a railroad spike pounded into my elbow while suffering from a combination of the flu, break-bone fever and the bends in between alternating bouts of delirium and nausea. We should be back on the road tomorrow!