Thinking of Diving

The first time I dove, anywhere besides a pool, I nearly panicked. I was 35 feet down in perfect crystal clear water off the Turks and Caicos islands, when I realized I was all by myself. My sister was slowly coming down the anchor chain. My older sister and the instructor were still at the surface. I was all alone. And my only thought was...surface...surface...surface. Scuba divers are taught that the worst possible thing they can do is shoot to the surface (it's the fast track to the bends). But that was the only thing in my mind. It felt weird to be on the sandy bottom looking up. It didn't feel natural. I worried that I wasn't breathing. I took a deep breath and worried that I couldn't breathe. It didn't make sense. Then I did the strangest thing. I took my mask off.

It was my first instinct other than shooting to the surface. Instead I pulled my mask off and put it back on. I cleared it. I checked my pressure gauge. I checked my depth gauge. And then I knelt quietly in the sand and waited for the rest of my group. And I was fine after that. I used the routines that I'd been taught to steady my nerves. And once that initial moment was over I started to enjoy. I was diving in some of the prettiest water I'd ever seen. There was coral everywhere along with fish and sponges. I even saw a barracuda that first dive. I wasn't completely comfortable but I wasn't anxious. I loved that first dive and the ones after it. I still get nervous before every dive. I have a horrible fear of drowning. But I love the colors and the wildlife. I love the sound of bubbles rising. I love the feeling of weightlessness where nothing but my own breath (and my buddy's) is important.

The first fish I saw underwater

It's been a couple years since I last dove. I herniated a disc diving and haven't been since. But this past weekend I finished reading a fascinating history of diving and memoir and have been thinking about getting back in the water again. I'm no longer too nervous to dive and the experience is so worth the fear. There are underwater worlds to discover, and I know that I've been trained well enough that I can enjoy them safely. When the summer comes, I'll be back in the water, ready to dive.

Learning Courage

Twelve years ago I would hardly leave the house after a snowfall. If snow fell, even flurries, when I was out and about I would rush home. I hated to leave the house with even a small amount of ice on roads. I had Jeff drive me to work for years on snowy days. I was scared. I lost sleep on nights snow was predicted. I worried endless over forecasts. I had the Weather Channel constantly up all winter. I was truly afraid of snow.

We had a blizzard this past week with 10 inches of snow and 40 to 50 mile an hour winds. I woke up Thursday morning, the height of the storm, and cleared off my car. I let it sit and warm. Then I drove to work. Slowly, ever so slowly, but I drove. I won't tell you that it was fun. Many of the streets hadn't been plowed at all. The ones that had were skating rinks of ice. When the wind it, the car skidded to the side. It was terrible. I was one of a dozen people who made it into work. It was announced at 7:30 that the state offices would be closed until noon, an unheard of thing (in 13 years we've only closed once).

The next day I also got up and drove to work. I've ingrained in myself that not going is not an option. The commute was far better than the day before but still slick. Still slow. As I sat at my desk I listened to people come in and talk about how terrible their drive in that day was. I listened and in the back of my head I thought "yeah but yesterday was worse". And I realized that I was now one of the brave ones in the office. I was one of the people who drove in terrible weather. It wasn't that I was not afraid, far from it. But I did it. And I started to think about the definition of courage. It's not being unafraid, as I always thought. It's about being afraid but doing what you're afraid of anyway.

More Wise Words

In the same quote document I pulled the quote in the previous post, I found this gem from Salman Rushdie. I need to memorize this quote. And practice it.

I’ll tell you a secret about fear: it’s an absolutist. With fear, it’s all or nothing. Either, like any bullying tyrant, it rules your life with a stupid blinding omnipotence, or else you overthrow it, and its power vanishes in a puff of smoke. And another secret: the revolution against fear, the engendering of that tawdry despot’s fall, has more or less nothing to do with ‘courage.’ It is driven by something much more straightforward: the simple need to get on with your life. I stopped being afraid because, if my time on earth was limited, I didn’t have seconds to spare for funk—Salman Rushdie (The Moor’s Last Sigh)

Glossophobia

No it's not the fear of shiny things. And it's not the feel of slick floors. It's a much more common fear and one that has kept me from posting for the last couple of days. Glossophobia is the fear of public speaking, something that I and most of the rest of the world shares. Fear of public speaking (or stage fright) is the most common fear in the world. It's more common than fear of spiders or the dark or clowns (and we all know how creepy those clowns can be).

So when a gentleman from a different agency called me last week and asked me whether I would be willing to speak at his group's annual meeting, I said...um...oh....you know how much of a terrible speaker I am...well...Okay...sure....I'd love to. I'm so eloquent huh? So all last week I fretted about this speech but didn't bother to sit down and actually write it. Over the weekend I fretted more, and slept a lot less, and still didn't write the damn thing. It was only when Sunday night came that I started writing. On Monday (my day off) I worked up a proper speech, created a powerpoint to go along with it, and practiced a couple of time. On Tuesday I was moody, stressed, cramped up, and still not sleeping. I went home that night and practiced a bunch more times. I still wasn't feeling ready but Wednesday morning rolled around anyway. And I went off to speak.

It's strange how when you're talking about something you know, you end up not needing any notes. I spoke for 35 minutes, never once stuttering too badly. I took questions, I made jokes, and overall I think it went really well. Of the three people presenting that day I felt that mine was the most on target. And afterwards I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd had fun. I'd gotten some compliments. And I'd managed to actually sound like I knew what I was talking about. This is the fourth speech I've given this year and so far it was the most relaxing. I might be getting better. Shedding a little of that phobia. At least until the next speaking opporturnity comes around. Then it will be...well...um...you know how much I hate speaking...well...Okay and a couple more sleepless nights.

Getting Back on the Horse

I'm not always good about facing my fears. I still have problems with wax museums, no matter how many I've been to. Yes I'm afraid of wax figures. Completely irrational, I know. Based entirely on one horrible childhood experience. I'll tell you about it one day. I did manage to get over my fear of driving in winter so that now I can actually get to work and back without white-knuckling it. But currently I've developed a new fear. And this one is a bit more incapacitating.

I'm terrified right now of walking on ice. I have these great ice clamps for my crutches. I have YakTraks for my shoes. I can even walk with both feet on the ground. Yet through all this, I'm still terrified of walking on ice. So when the state was hit with almost a half an inch of freezing rain yesterday, I decided to stay home from work. Jeff didn't have class and I didn't want to walk outside. I've already had my crutches come flying out from under me on wet tile, and a small patch of ice on the driveway. I wasn't ready for hockey rink type ice.

I know this fear isn't irrational. My little sister texted me yesterday morning to say that I shouldn't go out. I took her advice (Thanks Em!) and emailed my boss. Everyone is very understanding, particularly with my situation but when I woke up this morning I knew I had to go. Even though the sidewalks are still very slick and there have been hundreds of falls throughout the city, I knew that if I didn't go out I never would. I'd be constantly afraid of the ice and never willing to set foot on anything slippery. So I went to work, and shocker of all shockers, I didn't fall. I didn't even slip once. The drive had been salted. The roads were in good shape. And I made it to work without so much as a misplaced crutch. It may not seem all that brave to you, but I consider it a first step in facing a mostly rational fear.

Saturday Night at the...Emergency Room?

Last night I learned the true meaning of terror. As most of you know, I've been dealing with Bronchitis for the last couple weeks. I do a lot of unproductive coughing, deal with mild chest pain, and complain to everyone around me. Last night, it turned scary.

I sat up playing until about midnight last night. I'd been a good day of visiting friends and relaxing and I was feeling good. Not even any anxiety. Most nights I wake up with some sort of coughing fit and last night was no exception. About 1:30 I woke up coughing, then gasping, then choking. My larynx decided that it was done with all the abuse it has taken the last couple weeks and closed in what is called a laryngospasm. I felt like I was suffocating. Jeff heard me struggling for breath and raced up the stairs. He arrived and helped me to the floor. I was light-headed from lack of oxygen. And apparently that was the magic remedy. As I lay on the floor my throat opened and I was finally able to breath again. Jeff bundled me into the car and we drove (rather quickly I must say) to the ER.

I used to tell people all the time that with the number of times Jeff's been to the ER, I've never had the opportunity to go for myself. That part is true. I've never had to go to the emergency room for me. I've never had a reason. But as I walked into the waiting room (blissfully empty) I was shaking and still pulling a bit for air. The lady behind the desk asked for my name and birthday and then her eyes went wide when I told her I had stopped breathing. She immediately printed out a wrist bracelet and I was whisked behind the closed doors and set up on my very own cot. Since they were short on rooms I got a spot in the hallway. Jeff and I ended up spending from about 2 until 4 last night in the emergency room. I was attended to pretty frequently and everyone was incredibly nice. It made a scary experience a little more relaxing. I'm currently living on about four hours of sleep but I'm a little afraid of coughing. And sometime this morning I'm running out to get the "good" cough syrup I was prescribed.

But last night had to be the scariest night of my life. I've never felt that close to death and I have to say that a suffocating death would not be pretty. I can't wish that on my worst enemy. Today I'm still nervous that it will happen again but mostly I'm just happy to be alive. And counting my blessings. I think it will be a long time before I take breathing for granted again.

Sheer Terror

I'm not a horror fan. I can read some horror stories, and I enjoy older grade B horror films but most of the time I avoid the genre. And I'll freely admit that I'm very rarely brave. That being said I tend to be pretty even keeled. Few things bother me or offend me. 

But tomorrow morning I intend to put myself willingly through torture. No I'm not auditioning for the most recent slasher/torture film. Instead I'm going to the dentist for a checkup. 

Yes I can hear you laughing now. The dentist shouldn't bother me. I have a pretty clean dental record. No cavities since I was five. Never had a root canal or a crown put on. My teeth are thankfully still all my own. Other than having some wisdom teeth pulled I haven't had a lot of traumatic dental experiences. 

In fact dental work was pretty routine for quite a while. I'm not sure but I estimate that I had 13 years of orthodontia work. Braces, retainers, skin grafts, you name it. I got to the point I would just sit in the chair, close my eyes, and tell them to do whatever they needed to do. Monthly visits to the orthodontist almost always included some sort of painful device or at least the tightening of those painful devices. Braces should be implemented as torture devices. No need to waterboard, just have them deal with braces for 4 and a half years. 

And sadly my teeth aren't much better than they used to be. So lately I jump around between dentists looking for one who will treat me with kid gloves. I go for years between visits. And that makes each trip terrifying. I'm scared that my checkup tomorrow will end with comments like, "We'll have to schedule a follow up to do the drilling" or "I just think a retainer/braces would be the best option for you." Living nightmare. 

I have given blood for years with never a whimper. I have done MRIs, EEG, blood tests, and treadmill tests with no real worry. I even considered going under the knife just recently for a herniated disc. All without fear. But novocaine shots make me cry like a little girl. So wish me luck tomorrow. Hopefully it will again be another clean bill of health. Or at least not as terrifying as I'm expecting. 

Swimming with Sharks

Literally!! So I'm sitting at my desk eating lunch and trying hard not to hear the people in the breakroom when I hear one of the women mention a TV program she saw about swimming with sharks. And both women immediately talk about what a crazy idea that is. And who on earth would want to do that? And all I'm thinking is Me! I want to do that. Actually I've done that.



Mind you these are also women who keep referring to Orcas as sharks. So much so that I am tempted to go in and correct them. But I don't.



But this conversation gets me thinking about thrill seeking. Now I am a coward, self-proclaimed. I am not the thrill seeking type. Death is not an idea I'm comfortable with. But we just bought life insurance and I'm rated high risk because I scuba dive. And diving is something that I love and fear at the same time. I am enchanted when I'm down there. I am awed by the fish and coral. I've even swam through an underwater forest, an experience I will never forget. But I worry about diving too. Not the idea of a shark, sharks don't scare me. But drowning. I'm terrified of that.



So all I can think while I listen to this conversation is how there is a much larger threat than sharks underwater. The water itself. But the experience is so worth it that you just get past the fear. And remind yourself that your scuba instructor was an 80 year old man who had been diving for 50 something years. Who dove with the Navy when they developed tables, and dove to depths I can't even imagine. If he can do it, so can I.



By the way, most divers don't fear sharks but do worry about barracudas. Guess what my first fish I saw while diving was.

Photo by Gary Friend-NE Point Turks and Caicos