snakes and ladders

Things were definitely getting better.

Skills were improving, I was learning, and any dependency I had on Chris teaching me was fast disappearing. First with Mick S the week before, and now with Damien the week after.

I was climbing ladders.

Reefers and Wreckers has three fully qualified teachers- Mick R, Chris, and Damien- a permanently cheerful bloke with a great way of teaching groups. I arrived to be told by Chris I would be with Damien who was also teaching a young lad (I'll call him 'J') at a similar stage to myself.

Actually, J was further ahead. He was doing his dive exam when I arrived (something I had yet to do- the open water course has a written exam of fifty multi-choice questions that require a pass mark of 70%).

We hit the pool and I did the buddy check with J whilst Damien stood off- okay, so here's me, a (just on the lower side of) 40, learning with a 12-13 year old.

I don't have any ego to speak of so this wasn't hard- however, I was old enough to be his dad and it must have been strange for him to have an adult at the same stage of learning.

I've always been good with children- considering I hated them as a child and couldn't play with small children younger than my age at all- I grew into someone who loves children and has all the time in the world for them. It started with learning and later teaching Jiu-jitsu in my youth, progressed to Dragon Boat Racing (I was a nationally qualified coach and helm for two years and trained a lot of 'scratch' or amateur / charity teams), and finally worked with several childrens stage productions- whether directing the show, running the stage, props, etc.

Plus, I have two daughters (8 and 4 at the time of writing this blog)

So bonding with J wasn't hard (at least for me)- I found him to be quiet, studious, attentive and a little nervous (okay, Its like looking back in time at myself through a mirror! He even had dark hair like me!).

The lesson started really well. Fear? What fear. Even though I was a student, even though J was more advanced than I was (I told him he could take the lead on the skills because of this), I couldn't help keep an eye on him. That's just me. Diving might be considered an insular sport but lets face it- you have more fun diving with a buddy, and I automatically translated that into the thought process "your buddy is your first responsibility- after making sure you're safe yourself"

Bit like the principles of first aid:

principle one- do not become a casualty

principle two- give effective first aid

This applies to everything in life. In short, unless you take care of yourself- physically, mentally and emotionally, you can't 'do' what you need to do to be effective- in whatever it is. Riding a bike, doing your job, being a friend or a parent, or in this case, learning to dive.

So I spent the lesson watching out for J and enjoying it. Caring for someone else- not in a superior or sanctimonious way, but in a matter of fact, gentle, because you have to and you want to way- drove any thoughts of fear from my mind.

At one point (about 30 minutes in, we'd been under the water for around 20 minutes straight at this point- the longest I'd ever done in a single teaching session) I signaled to Damien that I couldn't see and wanted to clear my mask. It's nice to have the confidence to surface, clear the mask, and descend again to join in without any complications.

Up to this point, Damien watched both of us equally but had to spend more time with J than with me. It's one of those things- some people are slightly slower or find certain tasks slightly more problematic. I'd taken off my rig and replaced it on the floor at the deep end, done the same with the weight belt at the deep end, and done the weight belt at the surface (you hold it on your waist and roll into the slack, letting it naturally wind around your body- it's quite a cool skill when you think about it because you do it gracefully. Like so many skills, it becomes an aquatic ballet in the silence of your breath within the dance floor of crystal blue).

I'd become confident. I'd actually become complacent. Big mistake.

The final skill of the night was to take off the rig and put it on whilst at the surface. Damien had a little trouble showing us because the procedure is as follows:

Switch to snorkel, un-clip the releases, reduce slack on the shoulder straps, undo the waist belt so the rig is loose on your back, slide your left arm out, pull the rig around to your right, take the rig off your right arm, sit on it, allow the rig to slide up your back when your arms feel for the loops so as the rig slides up your back, it slides up your arms and onto your back. Pull shoulder straps, fasten releases, replace regulator.

Damien found a momentary problem sitting on his rig and it ended up in his right hand whilst he trod water before he pulled it beneath him. Stupidly, I thought that was the procedure- take it off, hold it to the right, then put it beneath you and finish the procedure.

So when I took the rig off (okay at first) and held it to the right, i sank. I'm negatively buoyant as we all know and didn't have the thrust to keep myself up. I went under beneath the level of my snorkel- water flooded the tube, I tried to clear it (the blow hard down the tube to snort the water out) and when I tried to breathe again, I was still beneath surface so water entered my mouth once more.

The flashback to my near-drowning at the age of seven didn't help. I was no more than 12" beneath the surface of the pool holding onto a rig that was dragging me down- I'd missed the instruction about 'inflating the BCD before you start this' so I was holding a weight in my right hand whilst trying to fight to the surface and breathe with my legs and left hand.

Somehow, I managed it. Barely clearing my mouth and trying to breathe in, going under again, forcing myself to clear my lungs and kick harder till I got my mouth on the surface again and gulped air. Water poured again into my mouth- this was my fear, and it was happening now.

I'd rolled badly on the dice. You can get as far on the board towards a 100 as you can, you can climb as many ladders as you land on, but it just takes one snake to send you back to the start.

I spotted the ledge- there, four feet beneath the lip of the deep end, running around the wall. Fighting, trying not to panic but doing it anyway, thrashing towards the edge dragging my rig. Sense should have told me to let go of the rig and let it float away, but it was part of the test- I had to get it back on and I wasn't parting with it for anything. It took around thirty seconds from the first sign of a problem, when the fear freezes your veins and turns your spine to ice, reason deserts your mind and all you can think of is trying to stay alive one second at a time.

I reached the wall panting, clutching the tiles, holding on with one hand and supporting my weight on the ledge with a fin. J had succeeded and was fine- but I wasn't.

I put the rig back on at the edge and with Damien's encouragement tried again but this time cramp denied me the chance of success. I finished the lesson, in my mind, a failure. Every skill bar the last one passed and this had nearly killed me. I couldn't help the thought- if I'd drowned, would I have been able to be resuscitated? The actual answer would be "it wouldn't have got that far" and even if I had swallowed water and drowned, the statistical chance of resuscitation would have been very high- but that didn't quell any fears.

Chris tried to be supportive- the truth was, she said, I'd run into difficulty and got myself out of it. When your mind is dark and fear closes the avenues of hope, you don't see the pragmatic. Yes, in hindsight, I had achieved something to be proud of- drawing success out of failure, life out of death, safety from danger, but I didn't see it. I'd even gone back for a second try until the cramp instead of quitting the pool there and then, which I suppose is also a noteworthy achievement- but again, I didn't think of that.

The other problem was i spent the rest of the evening in virtual silence, replaying the incident in my head and trying not to draw attention to myself- the rest of the crowd were having fun in the shop and they didn't need a negative person lowering the mood of the group. As soon as we got home I escaped the car as soon as I could.

Two days later I went into what could have been delayed shock. I'd been replaying the incident again and again in my head and the trouble with that is, you think the worst. You replay all the 'what if' moments and also have the 'what it it happens this Thursday coming'.

It's wrong, it's counter productive, and its also inviting the worse case scenario like a self fulfilling prophecy- but this is a life time of fear suddenly made real, and that's not easy to deal with.

But it's harder to walk away from. I wasn't going to give up- I felt sick, I couldn't eat, the smell of food made me retch, I was cold (blood drained from the extremities to protect the vital organs), and i was in bed for around 36 hours. If it wasn't delayed shock, it could have been the worst 36 hour virus I've had because I felt, literally, like dying.

But I was going through with this. If it killed me the following Thursday, then so be it- but I'd go trying. I couldn't walk away now. Was this bravery? Suicidal vertigo? idiocy? It was certainly fatalistic- but it was also hopeful- it was my way of dealing.

Is it too melodramatic to say "i nearly drowned" when I was in a pool with a dozen or more trained rescue divers all of whom could have administered CPR, oxygen, and saved my life?

One thing was sure- I may have failed that night in my mind, but it hadn't put me off diving.

And you know that snake I slid down? I realised it didn't go as far down the board as I first thought.