“On the subject of mushrooms, it is easy to tell who is an expert and who is not: The expert is the one still alive.”
Donal Henahan, American journalist and Pulitzer Prize-winner (1921-2012)
It was a cool morning, perfect for sipping coffee and watching the world awaken from the front porch. Bluebirds flitted from phone wire to electric pole and back. Woodpeckers hammered a-rat-a-tat-tat. Highway noises drifted across the empty fields where cornstalks stood only a few weeks before.
Sam noticed something white near the sedge field and thought he’d better check it out. Both Wilhelmina and Harry, the cats, are mostly white and it gives us a chill to see a lump of white that doesn’t move.
On his return he held a most perfectly-shaped mushroom. Under the cap of the mushroom was a thin filmy skirt, like a ballerina skirt. The mushroom was delicate and lovely. Sam immediately asked Google what this exquisite mushroom might be.
Google said the mushroom is called the “Death Cap mushroom” or “Angel of Death,” with the scientific name “Amanita virosa.” I thought maybe we shouldn’t touch it, so I folded into a paper towel and tucked it away.
Reading about the Death Cap mushroom, Sam stumbled onto Richard Eshelman’s mushroom experience. Eshelman’s firsthand account of having eaten the Death Cap was scary and thought-provoking. Here’s the short of Eshelman’s story:
On a balmy November day, Eshelman went for a walk in the woods. He rested and mediated, then decided to go home before going out for an evening of dancing with his girlfriend. On his way out he eyed mushrooms. Being fairly familiar with “Inky Cap” (Coprinopsis altramentaria) mushrooms, he picked three, took them home and fried them up in olive oil for dinner.
The next morning, he awoke with a queasy feeling, similar to the time he had food poisoning. The feeling quickly moved into a gastric tsunami. With his mushroom guide book, he matched the mushroom and his symptoms to the Death Cap. The guide said the poison would destroy his liver. There was a 20-50 percent survival rate. Eshelman called the Poison Control Center. They suggested he return to the area and find a mushroom for identification, then get to the Emergency Room immediately.
At the ER Eshelman was given IVs and a black charcoal liquid, which he threw up, while the Amanita was being confirmed by Cornell University. The ER team informed Eshelman he was being transferred to a hospital Intensive Care Unit on standby for liver transplant. Tests showed his liver was being destroyed and his kidneys were being damaged. He would possibly need kidney dialysis if he survived.
At the transplant hospital Eshelman’s vitals were monitored, and he was assured a liver transplant team was waiting. Miraculously, in the night Eshelman’s liver count peaked, then started down. The kidneys were still compromised. He would be in the hospital for another week but he survived. Sixty-six percent of patients admitted to the transplant hospital for Amanita poisoning had died.
Eshelman did some self-examining of the many things that happened in his ordeal. Millions of Americans eat wild mushrooms annually with no problems. He admits his critical situation happened in not taking the time to properly identify the mushroom.
I once took photographs of several beautiful and colorful mushrooms and sent them the Scott Enlow, organic farmer extraordinaire. He responded with force, “Do not eat any of these!”
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