Our day of travel home was an absolute blur. We were awake from 7:30am, until 3:30am the next morning. All I recall of it was keeping tabs on the closest washrooms for Little M, making a run for the washrooms at the back of the plane upon take off with Little M in arms, and hobbling incredibly long distances on a throbbing leg.
The bright, modern airport of Houston was a jolt of modernization and accessibility of so much 'stuff' and food. But it wasn't comforting. It was overwhelming and over-processed - from one extreme to another. I just wanted our plot of land - home.
We arrived through our front door this morning at 2:30am. Before I landed my first step, my lungs deeply filled with the familiar smell of our house - clay plaster, timber beams, and a tomato seedling grow-op... My body begins to decompress. Our 80lb dog climbed up on the huge beanbag sac Little M and Hubby collapsed on, with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.
We slept until around 11am the next day. No groceries in the house (thank goodness for my sister coming by to clean our refrigerator while we were gone!) , so we went for brunch and then shopped for all our familiar foods. Ahhhh... produce! I missed fresh produce so much, but it was funny to see the tiny papaya's stacked up and so incredibly expensive. They were bigger than footballs in Nicaragua and so common.
We examined our garden on the way out to brunch. Only one variety of spinach survived in my greens (lettuce, spinach) rainbow. Peas are fantastic, carrots are kicking butt alongside daikon radish. Kale, eaten to the stem again, even under the row cover. I'm hunting down whatever is doing this and getting revenge. Jerks. The garden looks great! My tomatoes indoors are so tall, I have to take them one by one to the greenhouse while holding their stems. Very tall and lanky due to reaching for the sunlit window. Not ideal, but I'm so very proud and thankful they survived. LOVE OUR GARDEN! LOVE. IT.
Little M took out my stitches after dinner (I cut, she pulled, hubby held the light). hmmm... most of the skin closed to itself, and some... not so much. We named my new scar "Frankie" (Frankenstein). Hubby's face says it all and then he adds, "after a couple days you better start on the Vitamin E". uh, yeah. I can feel the lump under the skin where the facia stitches are still, or where the wound is still healing. part of the shin is numb, must have cut nerves.
There is such a lovely feeling of "Ahhhhh" - a shoulder relaxing, deep breath release of being where you call "home". It is a place where you carve out your place in the world that is most connected with your own style, energy, preferences, knowledge. Being away is adventurous and it offers so very much to learn of the world we live in and the world inside of us. But there is that state of being on alert, learning new things about your environment, striving to understand the language, traffic, customs etc., that takes a level of energy too. It is a great thing about travel that it pushes ones' normal; to bring back new things to ones' own life. But it is equally lovely to just be home - the one place in the
world I rest my head with those I love in peace.
I know there are deer and coyotes that cross our fields. I know
whatever is in our home, is by our selection. It is where I have the
right to rest, to grow, to love and be loved. It is the place we know we are safe, at peace, where we allow ourselves to be most vulnerable and most silly. There is nothing like "Home"
*follow up note: As it turns out "Frankie" grew an internal infection which is why it did not close completely. That lead to another round of antibiotics and doctor's orders for no running, jumping, lifting of heavy things for 3- 4 weeks. At the end of that time, all healed up well and Frankie is now just another scar on "The Great Skinless Wonder" (my nickname as a kid).
Tuesday 12 June 2012
Monday 11 June 2012
Nicaragua - The Long Road Home
The day previous was divided from today by a couple hours of sleep I got with Little M, while hubby went for his last surf. We were all a little groggy, but Little M slept well in the hours she had, her fever stayed down, as did her fluids. Huge relief!
Buck and the boys were not able to return the night before, so we said our 'goodbyes' amidst heartfelt 'thank you's with Chica, Ali & Kate, who were also a little groggy. We will see them on the other side, back home. Good times and challenges brought us closer indeed. They are all incredibly kind and lovely women.
Chica. Oh how I wish we had more time on the water together! So many waves to catch, my friend! "la vez próxima"
We returned to the Roberto Clemente Clinic to settle our balance with them - the tiny clinic we have become intertwined with, under less than ideal circumstances. To build such a place, to have such amazing people working so hard with such heart is very unique. It has a special place in my heart for which I am thankful for. I have a good sized row of stitches up my shin, but like the rest of my scars, and my unlady-like beliefs, they all proudly carry a story. This one will carry the remembrance of people with heart - both friends and the clinic.
Off we went, chasing Managua down the dusty, red roads - a three hour drive through the Nicaraguan countryside. We didn't have a map, just a screen shot of a Lonely Planet section of map and directions from our new friends, "Turn right after you go over the speedbumps.... you'll pass by the brightly coloured toadstools... right at the 'Papa Johns'..." I was a little uneasy, raising my eyebrows at hubby when they were saying it, but the directions couldn't have been better in the landscape we were in. We loved our drive and team work.
Little M slept on and off in the back, her tum holding off, but still not 100%. She was chipper and on the mend, studying a vile which contained a little Africanized bee that had met its demise. It is pretty cool when you can say your own child is one of the best people you have ever met. She is resilient, kind, intelligent, positive, goofy, compassionate and just of love. I am so incredibly thankful and proud to be her momma.
We passed through the "colourful toadstool" craftsmarket in Masaya. I'd love to visit that place one day with more time. Very cool. My eyeballs stayed behind at a roadside antique store... "oohhhhhhh..."
Finally we arrived at our hotel in Managua. We went for a lovely dinner together, then settled in for sleep for our final leg home...
Buck and the boys were not able to return the night before, so we said our 'goodbyes' amidst heartfelt 'thank you's with Chica, Ali & Kate, who were also a little groggy. We will see them on the other side, back home. Good times and challenges brought us closer indeed. They are all incredibly kind and lovely women.
Chica. Oh how I wish we had more time on the water together! So many waves to catch, my friend! "la vez próxima"
We returned to the Roberto Clemente Clinic to settle our balance with them - the tiny clinic we have become intertwined with, under less than ideal circumstances. To build such a place, to have such amazing people working so hard with such heart is very unique. It has a special place in my heart for which I am thankful for. I have a good sized row of stitches up my shin, but like the rest of my scars, and my unlady-like beliefs, they all proudly carry a story. This one will carry the remembrance of people with heart - both friends and the clinic.
Off we went, chasing Managua down the dusty, red roads - a three hour drive through the Nicaraguan countryside. We didn't have a map, just a screen shot of a Lonely Planet section of map and directions from our new friends, "Turn right after you go over the speedbumps.... you'll pass by the brightly coloured toadstools... right at the 'Papa Johns'..." I was a little uneasy, raising my eyebrows at hubby when they were saying it, but the directions couldn't have been better in the landscape we were in. We loved our drive and team work.
Little M slept on and off in the back, her tum holding off, but still not 100%. She was chipper and on the mend, studying a vile which contained a little Africanized bee that had met its demise. It is pretty cool when you can say your own child is one of the best people you have ever met. She is resilient, kind, intelligent, positive, goofy, compassionate and just of love. I am so incredibly thankful and proud to be her momma.
We passed through the "colourful toadstool" craftsmarket in Masaya. I'd love to visit that place one day with more time. Very cool. My eyeballs stayed behind at a roadside antique store... "oohhhhhhh..."
Finally we arrived at our hotel in Managua. We went for a lovely dinner together, then settled in for sleep for our final leg home...
Sunday 10 June 2012
Nicaragua - Day 19 Little M's Scare
(I think I am missing a day or two...)
Today we had our final full day here, and what a day it was... Hubby went for a morning surf. Little M and I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and began to clean up our apartment.
We went down and visited with Chica and the kids, and Ali and Kate for a while, and then hubby took Little M on a fantastic bike ride hunting for howler monkeys, swimming in two different pools, spotting termite nests in trees, checking the surf breaks... Those two have such incredible adventures together. I also had some really nice time just hanging with the girls, as their hubbies had gone on a day trip to get groceries and take BamBam back. I wish I could stay longer, they are a great pack.
In the evening, the gals held down the homefront as their hubbies were having some auto difficulties and could not return home. We had no more dinner supplies, so Hubby, Little M and myself decided to go out for dinner one last time. Little M seemed tired, but still wanted to go.
We arrived at the little sports bar, outdoor restaurant. We ordered pizza and a fish entre. Little M had a tummy issue, and then fell asleep, curled up on my lap before the food arrived. Hubby and I ate our dinner, having a nice chat about the close of our trip. Then when it was time to go and I went to pick her up, I noticed that she was burning up. No sweat, just burning up and her heart was racing. We got her to the car in to the air-conditioning. We made it back home, fully undressed her, put her in to an air-conditioned room, in bed and began packing up.
As we continued to check in on her, her temp continued to rise. Around 9pm, it just seemed not right. With Little M having had a febrile seizure in the past, I went to Chica to see if she had any fever meds to head it off at the pass. She gave me Children's Acetaminophen. I went back and administered it to Little M. Within minutes, she wanted to go to the bathroom. She threw up and continued throwing up. She broke down saying her arm and leg hurt, her head was so sore. We'd never seen her like that. Even when she was sick in the past, she was always such a trooper and so resilient, at worst, just falling asleep, even directly preceding her seizure and when she had pneumonia. Her strength has the ability to fool us in to thinking she is better than we find out she is and we've been mindful of that when issues come up with her. This time, what she was expressing was beyond what we'd seen of her before.
She was keeping nothing down. I knew I needed to lower her temperature. She and I climbed in the coolest shower a tropical shower will offer, and did my best to cool her head, neck, back. She cried inconsolably, saying she was too cold. "I just want my momma! I want to go home now. Can we go home now please? I want my momma!"... My heart leapt. Was she delusional? I was right there with her with her eyes open, but seeming to just look beyond. I just kept reassuring her.
The hours passed, with vomiting, diarrhea, fever diminishing, then going back up to 38.8'C armpit (internal temp of 39.3'C). Our concern was because the day was so incredibly hot and she had been out and about quite a bit. Did she get enough hydration? Everyone was feeling the affects of the sun that day, but no one seemed to have any gastro issues etc.. She was incredibly hot, but still not sweating. Her temperature was measuring just below the 40'C mark, after her temp began to drop (heat stroke is defined by a body temperature of 40'C or higher). All of her symptoms were symptoms of Heat Stroke, which is beyond heat exhaustion. Unlike heat exhaustion, heat stroke includes damage to the nervous system function and can cause organ damage, or be fatal if untreated.
At around 3:30am, her fever started going back up quickly and she began vomiting again. She couldn't keep anything down. When I gave her the showers, or put cool cloths on her burning skin, she cried out "I'm too cold momma! Please stop! Please stop!". To that point in her life, I'd never heard her wail like that. My heart was in my throat. I told her to look at me. I asked her to trust me, and she did. Fighting back tears and horrible discomfort on the cold shower floor, wrapped in icy towels being drenched with cold water, she just trembled and whimpered.
When her temperature hit 39'C again, I asked Hubby to talk to the property manager about where to go for help. He woke him as well as Chica, Kate and Ali. I think he woke everyone, but the kids. I was kind of miffed with him. Amidst my storm of thoughts, I didn't want to wake them again too. He responded that Chica would kick my ass if I didn't ask for help. She affirmed that when she came up. The three of them rallied around us and our little girl. Kate, the pharmacist, was checking meds and potential issues if it were heatstroke. Chica was just there reassuring, supporting. They brought Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes. Ali stayed with Chica's sleeping little ones.
Things were not getting better. Every time she drank sips of gatorade, she threw it up. Considering the potential for things to go really wrong if it were heat stroke, we decided it was time to go. We packed up, drenched Little M in cool water, brought a bag of ice to keep icing her, wet towels, gatorade, and we flew down the dirt roads in the 4am darkness, to the Roberto Clemente Health Clinic - the same small, local clinic I'd been to days before to stitch up my leg. We had also, coincidentally been there earlier in the day, to drop off school supplies to donate to the children. Hubby had chatted with the ambulance driver while we were there. We knew if things were really bad, we would be seeing him again to take us to Managua, hours away to the country's main hospital. We were becoming very familiar with this clinic. In between those moments that keep a mother doing what needs to be done in situations like this, I ached to just be home, but having this clinic here meant the world.
We pulled up and the glass door to darkened clinic opened as we unloaded from the car. The man went to get Dr. Flores, the same doctor who attended me. He came in to the florescent lit room shaking the heavy sleep from his mind. He looked and spoke to me as her momma, but I couldn't understand enough Spanish to get the technical stuff. Hubby took the reigns and Kate inserted concise questions including some meds she had brought with her.
Dr. Flores examined Little M. She seemingly began to perk up a bit. Dr. Flores deciphered it to be a gastrointestinal bug, rather than heatstroke. At the time, I really wished I could get more clarity as to why he thought it was a gastro bug, rather than heat stroke, so I could erase the urgency from my mind. He did not have a readable thermometer (only an old glass mercury thermometer, that he couldn't find the reading mark on), so that chunk of info was not apparent to him. He prescribed a suppository to help bring her fever down, and one other med. Very quickly she began to respond. We went to pay, but he insisted we just leave it, and to come back in the morning when things were a bit better to check in. He was incredibly kind.
The four of us returned as the new day found its light. As the sun rose, so too did Little M's spirit. We pulled up one last time, to the complex weary and exhausted. Hubby walked Kate back to Chica's and gave our huge thanks. I took Little M back up to our apartment. She was already feeling better though incredibly tired. She had just been through a relentless storm.
It is 7am now. Hubby is sleeping with Little M, keeping an eye on her and trying to get much needed sleep for our navigation back to Managua to start our journey home. I am packing up all our things, eager to just be in the comforts of our own home. I checked in with www.justanswer.com Pediatrics and got a 'second opinion' that validated the course of action we were put on. One symptom that did not fit with heat stroke was her diarrhea. Who knew diarrhea was so fantastic?...
We are so incredibly thankful Chica, Kate and Ali, for being right there with us getting no sleep to rally around our little girl, and us. They were a force of maternal strength that meant the world in those moments. We are also thankful (again) to the Roberto Clemente Clinica for their wonderful care and for being there 24/7 for all those who need it. It is a tiny clinic with a huge heart. Most of all, of course, we are thankful Little M is safe, and on the mend.
This trip has not been everything I was expecting (ha ha...). It's had some great ups and some bummers. But the bummers, in the days to come, will show their silver-lining. Five hours till we begin our journey home... "home..."
Today we had our final full day here, and what a day it was... Hubby went for a morning surf. Little M and I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and began to clean up our apartment.
We went down and visited with Chica and the kids, and Ali and Kate for a while, and then hubby took Little M on a fantastic bike ride hunting for howler monkeys, swimming in two different pools, spotting termite nests in trees, checking the surf breaks... Those two have such incredible adventures together. I also had some really nice time just hanging with the girls, as their hubbies had gone on a day trip to get groceries and take BamBam back. I wish I could stay longer, they are a great pack.
In the evening, the gals held down the homefront as their hubbies were having some auto difficulties and could not return home. We had no more dinner supplies, so Hubby, Little M and myself decided to go out for dinner one last time. Little M seemed tired, but still wanted to go.
We arrived at the little sports bar, outdoor restaurant. We ordered pizza and a fish entre. Little M had a tummy issue, and then fell asleep, curled up on my lap before the food arrived. Hubby and I ate our dinner, having a nice chat about the close of our trip. Then when it was time to go and I went to pick her up, I noticed that she was burning up. No sweat, just burning up and her heart was racing. We got her to the car in to the air-conditioning. We made it back home, fully undressed her, put her in to an air-conditioned room, in bed and began packing up.
As we continued to check in on her, her temp continued to rise. Around 9pm, it just seemed not right. With Little M having had a febrile seizure in the past, I went to Chica to see if she had any fever meds to head it off at the pass. She gave me Children's Acetaminophen. I went back and administered it to Little M. Within minutes, she wanted to go to the bathroom. She threw up and continued throwing up. She broke down saying her arm and leg hurt, her head was so sore. We'd never seen her like that. Even when she was sick in the past, she was always such a trooper and so resilient, at worst, just falling asleep, even directly preceding her seizure and when she had pneumonia. Her strength has the ability to fool us in to thinking she is better than we find out she is and we've been mindful of that when issues come up with her. This time, what she was expressing was beyond what we'd seen of her before.
She was keeping nothing down. I knew I needed to lower her temperature. She and I climbed in the coolest shower a tropical shower will offer, and did my best to cool her head, neck, back. She cried inconsolably, saying she was too cold. "I just want my momma! I want to go home now. Can we go home now please? I want my momma!"... My heart leapt. Was she delusional? I was right there with her with her eyes open, but seeming to just look beyond. I just kept reassuring her.
The hours passed, with vomiting, diarrhea, fever diminishing, then going back up to 38.8'C armpit (internal temp of 39.3'C). Our concern was because the day was so incredibly hot and she had been out and about quite a bit. Did she get enough hydration? Everyone was feeling the affects of the sun that day, but no one seemed to have any gastro issues etc.. She was incredibly hot, but still not sweating. Her temperature was measuring just below the 40'C mark, after her temp began to drop (heat stroke is defined by a body temperature of 40'C or higher). All of her symptoms were symptoms of Heat Stroke, which is beyond heat exhaustion. Unlike heat exhaustion, heat stroke includes damage to the nervous system function and can cause organ damage, or be fatal if untreated.
At around 3:30am, her fever started going back up quickly and she began vomiting again. She couldn't keep anything down. When I gave her the showers, or put cool cloths on her burning skin, she cried out "I'm too cold momma! Please stop! Please stop!". To that point in her life, I'd never heard her wail like that. My heart was in my throat. I told her to look at me. I asked her to trust me, and she did. Fighting back tears and horrible discomfort on the cold shower floor, wrapped in icy towels being drenched with cold water, she just trembled and whimpered.
When her temperature hit 39'C again, I asked Hubby to talk to the property manager about where to go for help. He woke him as well as Chica, Kate and Ali. I think he woke everyone, but the kids. I was kind of miffed with him. Amidst my storm of thoughts, I didn't want to wake them again too. He responded that Chica would kick my ass if I didn't ask for help. She affirmed that when she came up. The three of them rallied around us and our little girl. Kate, the pharmacist, was checking meds and potential issues if it were heatstroke. Chica was just there reassuring, supporting. They brought Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes. Ali stayed with Chica's sleeping little ones.
Things were not getting better. Every time she drank sips of gatorade, she threw it up. Considering the potential for things to go really wrong if it were heat stroke, we decided it was time to go. We packed up, drenched Little M in cool water, brought a bag of ice to keep icing her, wet towels, gatorade, and we flew down the dirt roads in the 4am darkness, to the Roberto Clemente Health Clinic - the same small, local clinic I'd been to days before to stitch up my leg. We had also, coincidentally been there earlier in the day, to drop off school supplies to donate to the children. Hubby had chatted with the ambulance driver while we were there. We knew if things were really bad, we would be seeing him again to take us to Managua, hours away to the country's main hospital. We were becoming very familiar with this clinic. In between those moments that keep a mother doing what needs to be done in situations like this, I ached to just be home, but having this clinic here meant the world.
We pulled up and the glass door to darkened clinic opened as we unloaded from the car. The man went to get Dr. Flores, the same doctor who attended me. He came in to the florescent lit room shaking the heavy sleep from his mind. He looked and spoke to me as her momma, but I couldn't understand enough Spanish to get the technical stuff. Hubby took the reigns and Kate inserted concise questions including some meds she had brought with her.
Dr. Flores examined Little M. She seemingly began to perk up a bit. Dr. Flores deciphered it to be a gastrointestinal bug, rather than heatstroke. At the time, I really wished I could get more clarity as to why he thought it was a gastro bug, rather than heat stroke, so I could erase the urgency from my mind. He did not have a readable thermometer (only an old glass mercury thermometer, that he couldn't find the reading mark on), so that chunk of info was not apparent to him. He prescribed a suppository to help bring her fever down, and one other med. Very quickly she began to respond. We went to pay, but he insisted we just leave it, and to come back in the morning when things were a bit better to check in. He was incredibly kind.
The four of us returned as the new day found its light. As the sun rose, so too did Little M's spirit. We pulled up one last time, to the complex weary and exhausted. Hubby walked Kate back to Chica's and gave our huge thanks. I took Little M back up to our apartment. She was already feeling better though incredibly tired. She had just been through a relentless storm.
It is 7am now. Hubby is sleeping with Little M, keeping an eye on her and trying to get much needed sleep for our navigation back to Managua to start our journey home. I am packing up all our things, eager to just be in the comforts of our own home. I checked in with www.justanswer.com Pediatrics and got a 'second opinion' that validated the course of action we were put on. One symptom that did not fit with heat stroke was her diarrhea. Who knew diarrhea was so fantastic?...
We are so incredibly thankful Chica, Kate and Ali, for being right there with us getting no sleep to rally around our little girl, and us. They were a force of maternal strength that meant the world in those moments. We are also thankful (again) to the Roberto Clemente Clinica for their wonderful care and for being there 24/7 for all those who need it. It is a tiny clinic with a huge heart. Most of all, of course, we are thankful Little M is safe, and on the mend.
This trip has not been everything I was expecting (ha ha...). It's had some great ups and some bummers. But the bummers, in the days to come, will show their silver-lining. Five hours till we begin our journey home... "home..."
Wednesday 6 June 2012
Nicaragua - Day 'I can't remember' (18) "Cranky Hag"
I think I'm keeping pretty positive considering almost a third of my trip has been compromised. Today was a blue day. I had a short fuse today, cranky hag. REALLY nice people around. They are making it really difficult to be such a "cranky hag", as a matter of fact. Chica, and Buck being so hospitable and giving hugs (Chica) and beer (Buck). Ali and Kate, radiating that primal glow. Kate offering me wonderful waterproof tape so I can at least go in the pool - bless her. Bam Bam with his dry humour and good food.
And then Buck starts rattling off his observations of idiosyncrasies Nicaraguans do. One of which, I think I nearly popped my stitches and peed myself at the same time when he showed us (and apparently BamBam is the one who 'does it' really good). As far as these two go, Nicaraguans have a way of pointing with their lips. Like stuttery, kissy-lips, with head still, but lips going in the direction of the subject the person is wanting to point at. I haven't laughed so hard at a person in a very long time. Probably as hard as Buck and BamBam, and the gang here laughed at me as they sat beneath "The Tree of Death" at the beach one afternoon.
I was coming in from a session of surfing - can't remember which day at this point (thanks Buck). The swell was beginning to build a bit. As I was paddling in, tired already. I timed my 'arrival landing' between the waves, but because, from my perspective, all i could see what the back of the rolling wave, I didn't see that the tide was right at the point on the beach where the it began to sharply incline. When I did catch one in that would take me just to where I could dismount my board and cooly come out of the water with my board pinched under my arm nonchalantly, my leash tidily coiled up, all with an air of confidence and style ... oh jeez... (deep breath) Instead of that, I caught one wave and was on top of it when I saw that it was shore-dumping. I put the brakes on, as well as you can in the water, and navigated around being pitched over the falls and cracked in to the shallow sand. I saved face there, but continued beyond that, until my skegs dug in to the incline of sand, and stopped my surfboard dead in it's tracks, tossing me off like a pancake shucked off a flipper spatula. I'm not a pancake though - I'm a person. So rather than landing like a pancake on a plate, I was thrown in the wash of the broken wave, collided with the sandy incline and tumbled and rolled like a breaded raw chicken across the sand in front of them, to which Chica tells me later, my husband motioned the umpire spread of arms as yelled, "SAFE!!!"
Anyways. We stayed central at the apartments today, but by later afternoon, me and Little M went to the beach. The surf was picking up. Guys were coming out of the water with 'that' look in their eyes of being in a state of adrenaline. The only way I can describe it is an electrically charged clarity. My heart sank. Missing that challenge of just putting your body against the elements, digging, paddling, pushing. "Electrically charged clarity" that comes with being completely in the moment - hyperdrive meditation combined with survival and ability. I'm sitting on the beach.
grumble, grumble, grumble....
Hubby helped me psychologically lick my wounds. He gave me an ice massage to help the swelling, and just empathized. Sometimes to make things not so blue, it just takes someone understanding how you feel, ya know? Even though he mocked me, I love him.
And then Buck starts rattling off his observations of idiosyncrasies Nicaraguans do. One of which, I think I nearly popped my stitches and peed myself at the same time when he showed us (and apparently BamBam is the one who 'does it' really good). As far as these two go, Nicaraguans have a way of pointing with their lips. Like stuttery, kissy-lips, with head still, but lips going in the direction of the subject the person is wanting to point at. I haven't laughed so hard at a person in a very long time. Probably as hard as Buck and BamBam, and the gang here laughed at me as they sat beneath "The Tree of Death" at the beach one afternoon.
I was coming in from a session of surfing - can't remember which day at this point (thanks Buck). The swell was beginning to build a bit. As I was paddling in, tired already. I timed my 'arrival landing' between the waves, but because, from my perspective, all i could see what the back of the rolling wave, I didn't see that the tide was right at the point on the beach where the it began to sharply incline. When I did catch one in that would take me just to where I could dismount my board and cooly come out of the water with my board pinched under my arm nonchalantly, my leash tidily coiled up, all with an air of confidence and style ... oh jeez... (deep breath) Instead of that, I caught one wave and was on top of it when I saw that it was shore-dumping. I put the brakes on, as well as you can in the water, and navigated around being pitched over the falls and cracked in to the shallow sand. I saved face there, but continued beyond that, until my skegs dug in to the incline of sand, and stopped my surfboard dead in it's tracks, tossing me off like a pancake shucked off a flipper spatula. I'm not a pancake though - I'm a person. So rather than landing like a pancake on a plate, I was thrown in the wash of the broken wave, collided with the sandy incline and tumbled and rolled like a breaded raw chicken across the sand in front of them, to which Chica tells me later, my husband motioned the umpire spread of arms as yelled, "SAFE!!!"
Anyways. We stayed central at the apartments today, but by later afternoon, me and Little M went to the beach. The surf was picking up. Guys were coming out of the water with 'that' look in their eyes of being in a state of adrenaline. The only way I can describe it is an electrically charged clarity. My heart sank. Missing that challenge of just putting your body against the elements, digging, paddling, pushing. "Electrically charged clarity" that comes with being completely in the moment - hyperdrive meditation combined with survival and ability. I'm sitting on the beach.
grumble, grumble, grumble....
Hubby helped me psychologically lick my wounds. He gave me an ice massage to help the swelling, and just empathized. Sometimes to make things not so blue, it just takes someone understanding how you feel, ya know? Even though he mocked me, I love him.
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