Nelly

I am including here, the piece I wrote on Nelly as I worked through her death in counseling. The idea of this piece was to include as many sensory details as I could. How I felt. What I was thinking. Things like that. I have excluded a few parts of the story as I want to make sure if her family was to read anything on my blog, it would not upset them. Those excluded parts are marked with .....

I'm including this story now, and then, in the days to come, I plan to talk about what writing this helped me see about this situation and life in general. Much of this may be redundant to what I have already written on the blog about this situation, but again, this was an "assignment" and I wasn't avoiding redundancy. I totally understand if this is not of interest to many of you.

I love to write. I adore it. Why then am I having such trouble figuring how to write this time?

I suppose I should just jump in and start from the beginning. It’s just that I am just not sure where the beginning is.

I guess the beginning would be my first memory of Nelly. My first memory of Nelly was on the first day of diving. It was a Wednesday, November 4, 2009.

We were on the “newbie” boat. The boat for diving novices. My husband was on the boat with us even though he was not a novice. He used to dive when he was a teenager but had gone back to the beginning with me so that we could do the whole process together. That included dive classes and training and now, our first “real” dives.

So Nelly. I remember Nelly on that first day. We were on the boat, and I noticed that she was talking Spanish with our dive instructor, Martin. Since we were in Cozumel, Spanish was not abnormal. But it was abnormal from someone in our group. “We” were a group of individuals attending a Wilderness Medical Society (WMS) conference in Cozumel on dive and travel medicine. I wasn’t associated with medicine in any way. But my husband was. He is a family medicine physician with the U.S. Air Force.

I remember immediately noting how easily she shifted from Spanish to English. ..... I remember noting that she had a hearty laugh and a big smile. She was a bit soft-spoken but friendly and kind. She looked like a woman with a good heart, a sweet spirit, and a gentle nature. Later she would begin talking about her children, and I asked her how many she had. “Two boys,” she told me.

There were approximately 14 divers in addition to the boat captain, a few deck hands, and two dive instructors. Simply based on where we were seated on the boat, we were divided into two dive groups. As I look back, I realized what a roll of the dice that was. The spot we sat in determined the life-altering events that would soon transpire.

Our first dive was 45 minutes away. As the boat took off, Martin walked over to us. A skinny man with a thick mustache, he pulled seven of us together. There were three couples: JB and myself, Josh and Emily (a newly married ER doctor and lawyer), and Spring and Alan (an ER doctor.)

The seventh individual was Nelly. Since she didn’t have a spouse present ..... she was paired with Martin.

Martin kneeled down in the middle of all of and said that we would be under his eye. He told us that since his English, “Was not so good,” Nelly would translate if we got confused. Many times during the next thirty minutes, we’d look to Nelly to help us with the words we were stuck on. She easily translated. We learned that she was from Puerto Rico and that Spanish was her first language. Her English, however, was nearly perfect.

That day we dove twice. The first dive was our first and there were a lot of kinks to work out, but it was breathtaking to say the least. The second dive got started late and as a result, turned into an unexpected night dive.

I remember seeing Nelly looking a little nervous before the night dive. I asked her as I prepared to jump into the water if she was okay. “I’m just a little nervous about it getting dark,” she said. I encouraged her, telling her that Martin would take care of her. She nodded. “I know he will,” she replied.

Nelly was not a good diver. She was nervous. She breathed fast. She got in our way. She had trouble with every aspect of diving. But because she was so kind, it didn’t really bother any of us. At least it didn’t bother me. We were patient with her. Martin was patient with her.

I remember that evening telling JB that I gave Nelly a lot of credit. This did not come naturally to her. She was not in the correct shape to be diving. Honestly if I were her, I would have just said this was more trouble than it was worth. But she was obviously a determined person who didn’t want to let her fear get the best of her. She was a pediatric intensive care physician so she obviously had determination.

Thursday.

It’s funny. I can vividly picture Nelly sitting in a chair next to the dock, waiting for our boat to pull up. There was a chair next to her. But sometimes I am a little hesitant in striking up conversations with new people. So I chose a chair behind her instead of taking the open one next to her.

Now, looking back, I sort of wished I had sat by her. As it was, I didn’t get to talk to her as much as I could have. I did learn that her two sons were adopted from Guatemala. I also talked to her on the boat about her bilingual skills. She told me she dreamed in both languages. People who can speak multiple languages so well, always impress me. And for that reason, Nelly impressed me.

I was walking behind Nelly as we headed to our boat. .....

Thursday was the last day Nelly would be alive. Thursday would be the day she would die.

Here is the point in the story that I want to try to use more sensory details. I want to try to share how I was feeling. This is where it gets a bit more difficult.

Dive one. Nelly was the last one in yet again. I can still see her handing her mask to Spring, asking Spring to dip it in the bucket of water at the foot of the boat so she could defog it properly.

As we began our descent, I remember being awestruck by the beauty I witnessed. It was as if we were descending into the deep end of a huge pool. It was gorgeous. But I was nervous. Where was Martin? I couldn’t find him. I saw everyone else in our dive group except Martin and Nelly. For a moment I thought maybe they had gone back to the boat. Gosh I wish they had. But there was Nelly and Martin descending. Slowly. He trying to help her stay calm so she didn’t go through so much air. She had a bigger tank this time.

We dove. I remember having to “push” Nelly out of the way a few times as she often lumbered into our line of sight. Again, I wasn’t frustrated. I respected her determination.

My last view of Nelly was under the water. She was buddy breathing with Martin because she was low on air. Later Martin would tell us that she wasn’t out of air. She was just getting panicked about the amount of air she had (700 psi which was plenty) and so he wanted her to save her air so she didn’t get too nervous.

That’s when I started floating to the surface. My tank was running low and I couldn’t stay neutrally buoyant. I fought my ascent but ultimately gave up and surfaced. My buddy, my husband, surfaced with me.

John looked off in the distance as we came up to the surface. A storm was rolling in. “Look at the sky,” he said as the waves picked up. A few more minutes passed and then Nelly surfaced.

I can vividly see her break through the surface of the water. She instantly spit out her regulator and said, “I ran out of air.” I swam over to her. She looked scared. My mind instantly returned to all the lessons we learned about helping a troubled diver in our classes. I inflated her BC vest so that she could float on the surface.

She looked scared. She looked panicked. I remember that her cheeks seemed to get more flushed with every second that passed by. I swam to her and took her hand and began stroking her arm and talking to her. I said things like, “We are here with you. We aren’t going anywhere. You are not alone. Just relax. Take it easy. It’s going to be fine. The boat is on its way. Martin will be up on the surface soon.”

The waves were getting higher. She kept getting splashed in the face. She said her vest was too tight so she took a bit of the air out. JB asked her if she wanted to put her face in the water with her snorkel so as to avoid getting hit by the waves. She said she could not do that. As she said it she shook her head violently from side to side. JB nodded and instead adjusted her body position so that the waves would hit from behind instead of head-on.

I was still calm, but I remember, with every passing minute, feeling a bit more anxious. I kept looking over my shoulder at JB. I would give him a face that said, “Is everything okay? Is she going to be all right? Is there anything else we should do.” And he would return my glance with a face that said, “It’s okay. She’s going to be fine. Keep doing what you are doing.”

I was looking to him for approval. I was looking to him for comfort. I was looking to him for guidance. I was also wondering why he wasn’t doing more. He was the doctor so if he wasn’t concerned I shouldn’t be either. My mind danced back to the times our boys have been sick. Sometimes I would worry, but John would instantly tell me that I was overreacting.

I remembered when our son Elijah was born. I can’t remember if I thought of that then or if I am just thinking of it now. I remember that Elijah came out doing very badly. I had asked JB, before his birth, to make sure that as soon as he was born, he told me that the son we waited ten years for was okay. But in the operating room, he came over to me, and behind his mask, I could only see his eyes. His eyes screamed in one split second, “I should say something comforting but I have nothing to say because things are very, very bad.”

I saw John’s face in my dreams for months to come. I began pulling at my arm restraints. They had to drug me to calm me down. I fought falling asleep the whole time.

JB wasn’t giving me that face on the water. Later he told me that he was a bit seasick. He also didn’t want to crowd someone having a panic attack.

The thing was, we were so busy dodging waves, trying to get us and Nelly above the water, that there wasn’t much time to do other things.

I wonder right now, as I write this, if Nelly would have died if that storm wouldn’t have come in. If she wouldn’t have swallowed as much water. Maybe she would have stayed more calm.

Martin came to the surface. I don’t remember how we communicated with him that something was wrong with Nelly, but we did. Somehow. He immediately swam over to her. They began conversing in Spanish. I remember wishing I could understand what they were saying. I wish now, afterwards, I would have asked Martin what they said. Later Martin told me he took off her weight belt. Later I wished I would have done that.

As Nelly and Martin conversed, she almost appeared to be desperate, terrified, panicked, and in great fear. Martin’s tone in reverse was encouraging, but he also seemed to be a little scared as well.

We saw the boat in the distance. It had completed it’s pick-up of the other dive group and was heading our way.

I kept talking to Nelly. She would nod. She would tell me okay. She would look at me out of the side of her eyes and try to provide an understanding smile.

The boat arrived. They threw us a rope. I can picture JB. He was by the ladder. The left side of the ladder. Martin was on the right side of the ladder. The other dive instructor from the other group, dove into the water. He was in front of the ladder.

It was at this point that I got scared. While Nelly was able to grab the rope, I remember that her face looked blue. Literally blue. It had been getting more and more flushed, but now it looked blue.

I remember Martin telling us as the boat came that Nelly would be getting on the boat first. I remember thinking, “Duh!” Of course she would.

As the boat pulled up, Nelly asked me to hold her hand again. We had gotten separated a bit amidst the attempt to all hold onto the rope. Emily was behind me. I remember that Emily and the other members of our dive group looked confused. They hadn’t surfaced early enough to figure out everything that was going on.

Nelly was still conscious when they got her to the ladder. I felt relief that she would soon be on the boat. I wanted so badly to get her onto the boat and feel peace. I remember feeling an incredible urgency to get her and all of us out of the water. Things would be so much better in the boat. And back on land.

Nelly made it onto the first stair of the ladder. I remember feeling that the timing of this storm was so bad. The boat was going up and down with incredible force. She tried to get to the second stair.

And then she passed out.

For some reason, in my memory, I picture her in a black swimsuit here, even though I know she was wearing her wet suit with blue trim.

I remember thinking that if Nelly were to pass out and fall in the water, she would die. That was the first moment I thought that something bad might happen. She already had her BC off. She had no way to float if she were to fall in the water. She was a heavy woman. The boat was bobbing uncontrollably.

She could not fall in the water.

My husband was with her. Martin was with her. The other dive instructor was with her. The other dive team on the boat pulled her in. The people in the water pushed her in.

And somehow they got her onto the boat. I remember thinking: They just saved her life. If she would have fallen in, she would have died.

But she was going to die anyway.

I was hanging onto the rope. Emily was next to me. I didn’t want to get into the boat until I had to. I wanted them to fix Nelly first.

But John was calling me over. He was insisting that I got into the boat before he did. Later he would tell me that he could not have focused on what might be needed in the boat until I was in the boat.

As I worked my way up the ladder, I could see Nelly lying face down. It was at that second that I heard the Navy GMO say, “So are we starting CPR?” She rolled Nelly over with Martin's help nd she began chest compressions.

I did what I knew I should have done. I sunk into the back of the boat, under the cover that would protect me from the coming rains. There were five doctors on board. They would take care of things.

JB followed me out of the water. Within five minutes, everyone was out of the water and they were in full swing of CPR. My husband was running the code. The other docs were rotating chest compressions. Martin was doing mouth-to-mouth. Alan would later intubate.

I flashed back to an episode of ER. They were doing CPR on someone. John turned to me and said, “I hope you know it isn’t like this in real life. In real life it is different. In real life, usually, when a person gets CPR, they don’t make it out alive.” He quotes some stats. Twenty percent of those who require CPR come around.

For some reason I had a feeling Nelly wouldn’t be one of them.

The only time that I was valuable during the next thirty minutes as we sped toward some unknown dock where an ambulance was supposedly waiting, was when they decided to load Nelly off of the boat. They needed all of us to line up so we could move her from the boat to the stretcher on the backboard that they had tied her to with weight belts. The boat was still rocking like crazy and it was pouring down rain. As I stood there in the rain, waiting to help Nelly cross from water to land, It was freezing. Absolutely bone-chilling.I remember wanting so badly to get warm but knowing this was a time where my own needs were as irrelevant as they possibly could be.

I asked JB later if he was cold, standing in the rain, while all of those not involved waited underneath the boat’s covering. He said he didn’t even know it had really been raining. He hadn’t been cold at all.

The ambulance took over from this point. Two of the doctors and Martin went with her to the hospital. Everyone else, including John, returned to the boat.

The other dive instructor asked us if we wanted to continue the day’s dives. Was he joking? We all shook our heads vehemently and he took a deep breath and said, “Thank you.” I was told later that the head of the outfitter had required him to ask that. That they cater to high-end clients and they wanted to make sure everyone was pleased with their service. They didn’t want to cut us short.

I thought of how absurd this was. Someone was very hurt. She may die. Or, as John told me on the ride back to our hotel, she may permanently neurologically effected by this event. Who the heck cared about diving?

The head of the WMS met us at the dock. I recognized him from a breakfast we had shared one morning earlier. He ushered us to a suite where we had a “decompression session.” JB talked he and the head of our scuba outfitter through everything that had just happened. During this, there was a call. It was from the hospital. I’m not sure who specifically. But we were told that she had a pulse and had pinked up.

Two hours later JB would wander into our room where I attempted to read on our hammock. When he said, “Hey,” to me and turned the hammock so that I was facing him, I knew what he was going to say. “So,” he said, and glanced out at the water. “So, she died.”

How did I feel at this moment? Sick. Like I was in a movie. Like this could not possibly really be happening. I realized that this would be with me for the rest of my life. I would never get this day out of my head. I didn’t cry. I was more mad.

I also wanted to know why she died. I wanted someone to tell me it was for a reason that none of us could control, no matter what we did.

But the autopsy report would later just say she drowned. Her heart looked fine. No evidence of an embolism.

She didn’t drown. I was with her. She was talking thirty seconds before she passed out.

Maybe I should write more. About meeting with her sister the next evening and recounting the events. About being asked if I could remember her having a wedding band on when I held her hand because she didn’t have one on at the hospital and they couldn’t find it in her room. About giving a police statement with John in our room and recounting the events so stoically – so matter-of-factly.

About missing my two little boys so much more than I had just a few hours earlier.

But for now, I will stop here. She died. I was the last person who talked to her. She asked me to hold her hand again. I told her, “We are here. The boat is coming. Hang on Nelly. We’ll have you on board in a second.”

And then she died.

Put the cheese on both sides

Here's something I learned yesterday.

If you are going to make grilled cheese and and cut it up into tiny pieces for little kiddos to eat . . . and if you are going to add deli turkey meat to that sandwich, then you need to put a piece of cheese on each side of the meat. Otherwise, the top half of the bread doesn't stick to the sandwich and when you cut it into tiny pieces you will end up with a bunch of open-faced little sandwiches and a bunch of sections of just plain bread. And you'll have to weed through the whole pile of squares to try to find pieces that actually have meat or cheese on them.

Here's another thing I have learned recently. Or maybe relearned.

Yes, I think it is relearned. I think the first time I learned this was during the five years we spent yearning to be parents.

Life is hard. Just when you think you have it altogether and everything seems to be flowing smoothly, you can get surprised by something new.

Nelly's death surprised me.

I haven't written about it since we have gotten back from Mexico and the main reason is, that I haven't been able to. I've tried. I've started numerous blogs. But I can't.

Here's a fact I haven't talked about on my blog before. And, incidentally, one I wasn't sure I would ever discuss on these pages.

I've been being treated for anxiety and depression for a few months now. Since Elijah was about six months old. It may have been postpartum depression. We aren't sure. But either way, I've been dealing with that. I've been seeing a psychologist. Not really for counseling. I haven't really had a lot of things to discuss in that regard. But she's been teaching me skills to cope with anxiety. To help me get through difficult times.

Our trip to Colorado was where things got really bad. Travelling in airports and being delayed. I had numerous times that without JB calming me down, I may have had a full-blown panic attack . . . anyways the details of what lead to me seeking help can be saved for another blog.

I am not sure why I haven't mentioned this on the blog before. I guess, I felt a bit guilty. A bit guilty that I was depressed and dealing with anxiety after being blessed with my two wonderful packages of joy. I didn't want people to judge me. I didn't want people to worry about me. So I told a couple of people but otherwise, just kept it something private.

But Nelly's death changed all that. My psychologist shifted from just teaching me skills to deal with anxiety to counseling me in the aftermath of a difficult situation.

And she gave me homework. She told me that she wanted me to write about the event. To write every detail. To write how it made me feel. To focus on sensory details instead of facts.

I told her that I loved to write but that since I had gotten home from Mexico, I hadn't been able to write about Nelly. That something about it was too painful to return to. She encouraged me to do my best.

This whole week I've been trying.

I've been working on the piece for awhile and it is "due" tomorrow. It's not my usual writing. It's not very organized. It feels discombobulated. It just isn't what I want it to be. I can't seem to make sense of all the details and get them onto paper.

I'm trying. And when I'm done, eventually, I may try to share parts of it with you.

But I have had a few people email me and ask me how I am doing with all of this since I haven't written about it again.

What I can say right now is that I am doing fine. I'm sleeping fine. I just feel changed somehow. I feel life's fragility in a more concrete way. I feel a bit more scared and a bit more aware what a vapor this life is.

And I'm second-guessing myself. I just want to go back and change something and have her live. And have her go back to her family.

But I can't. And I'm working through that. By myself and with help.

As I continue to process it, I'll share bits. But for now, I'll work on my writing piece that may eventually meld into something I share on the blog.

If you lived here with us, I'd share my grilled cheese with you too. Despite my error, it was still really yummy. :)

book report

So, before my trip becomes too distant, and I forget the books, I read, I need to do my book report. So, here we go. (And don't worry -- I don't spoil any plots here!)

The Rescue by Nicholas Sparks: Read this on the plane on the way to Mexico. Not nearly as good as The Notebook, The Wedding, A Walk to Remember, or Dear John but a light, easy read that does encourage you to keep reading. Love story that includes a child with special needs.

Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult: Excellent book! I liked this much better than her book My Sister's Keeper. Very interesting look into the Amish community. Picoult is a fantastic writer and definitely does her research. A warning however. I would not suggest those dealing with infertility or pregnancy loss of any sort read this book. However, otherwise, this was probably my favorite read of the trip. I am now planning on reading a lot more of Picoult's books!

Shades of Blue by Karen Kingsbury: All right so I admit it. I was a little leary of a Christian fiction writer. Overall, there aren't many I have read that can pull off great writing mixed with the Lord. But Karen Kingsbury is fantastic! Not quite as good as Jodi Picoult, but just the same, I really loved this book. It's a very quick read. However, a warning, it deals with the topic of abortion. If you have had abortion near to your heart, I believe that you would find this book healing (but better to ask someone who is more knowledgable on the topic than I am). However, if you are dealing with infertility, this might be too much for you.

One Tuesday Morning by Karen Kingsbury: Another winner! Loved it! A longer read and a bit deeper than Shades of Blue but wow! What an interesting story. Possibly a little "unbelievable" but still, very good. This is the first in a 911 series that she did. Way good. There is a brief reference throughout the book to the loss of an infant at birth, but otherwise, probably a pretty safe read for all groups. I plan to read tons more of Kingsbury's books!

Double Minds by Terri Blackstock: I have not finished this yet, and quite honestly, I am not sure I will. It's also a Christian book, and it just feels a tad corny to me. It's written pretty well, but I am not sure that it's good enough for me to finish it.

While we were away

So this may be the most pictures I have ever put in one post. But there are so many I want to show. So here we go.

Firstly, before we left for Mexico, we had a few days in Fort Lauderdale. Joan came down to our neck of the woods on Sunday morning so we could take some family fotos. Take a look:



In addition, both Gramas and Joanie took a TON of photos during the time they had with the boys. Mom and Joanie would watch them during the day and my parents took over in the evenings and on the weekend. Here's just a few of the pics I liked most when I got their collections:

So there you have it. There's probably a story behind every picture, but since I wasn't there, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

As for me, I am adjusting to my first day watching both boys since we have been back. JB had Tuesday and Wednesday off (for the storm that never was and then for Veteran's Day). Actually, however, today was sort of cheating as I took the boys to nursery for Bible Study (man I love that study!) and then to the second half of our wifia lunch.

Slowly but surely I'm getting back into the swing of things. One thing I know for sure is that I love my boys (and my dog) a ton. I am not ready to leave them again for quite a long time. We had a great time and are so glad we did it, but I am so glad to be able to kiss 'em whenever I want to now . . . yes, even Scrubby.

Speaking of Scrubs, he must play sooooo hard at dog camp. He has basically slept for three days straight. He'll take a minute to wander out and check on us, but then it is back to bed he goes. It's kinda nice having a lazy dog. Isaac played his trains on Scrubs' back for nearly thirty minutes last night without the dog moving once. Ha!

All righty, time to post this.

Cozumel, Mexico Snaps

Well today has been a good day. Because of Ida, the Clinic was closed down today. So, JB did not have to work! He did a lot of email from home, but we were able to get unpacked and reorganized, or at least attempt it, together. In addition, he has tomorrow off as well in celebration of Veteran's Day! This sure is a nice way to return from vacation.

Ida ended up basically completely missing us. It's been overcast and dreary but otherwise, non eventful.

Yesterday's drive went amazingly well from deciding at the last minute to leave and throwing everything in the van and taking off. We took one hour long stop at Chik-fil-A, but then, when it started raining, and we realized that we wanted to get Scrubs that evening, we decided not to make another big stop again. We did the trip in nine and a half hours. We thought it would take more like twelve. The boys were utterly fantastic.

Truth be told, I did not take our camera out on our Mexico trip until the very last day. I thought of it a lot but was just a bit lazy. So these pictures taken on the last day are really rainy and windy due to Ida's passing of Cozumel. Here they are nonetheless:

This picture shows our scuba shop (closed for the storm) and the dock that we took off from.

You can see the change in color in the water here which is where the reef is. Cozumel is part of the Great Maya Barrier Reef, a system that extends from the Northern Yucatan to Honduras and is the second largest in the world.

Here's a pic of the pool outside our hotel. It was a gorgeous temperature during our entire trip with the wind coming off the water and the chairs were actually protected from the rain under the thatched umbrellas.

This is the open hallway leading to our room. Our room is on the right.

Here I am in my favorite spot -- the chair/hammock outside of our room. I spent a lot of the week right here reading, listening to the wind and waves. It was fantastic!

A view from our balcony.

The only picture of the two of us that JB took on our last day while waiting for our taxi to take us to the airport. They had these great lounge chairs in the lobby -- we loved them!

I wanted to once again thank you all for the prayers and encouragement we received during our trip surrounding our travel, the storm, and the death of Nelly. It meant the world to me. We are both doing very well. I am still having trouble sleeping due to rethinking the event, but John tells me that this will get better. I am making peace with what happened slowly. I would appreciate you to continue to pray for me as I deal with the "what-ifs" surrounding her death. I continue to try to change the end of the story in my mind by doing something different in the water. I know with the Lord's help, I will find a way to deal with this tragedy and place it properly in my mind, but for now, I am still learning.

Anyways, I'll be doing other posts on this later I am sure. For now, just a thank you.

Houston

We are in Houston. Due to the storm, we left Cozumel late and missed our 4pm connection in Houston. The next flight wasn't until 7pm. So we are waiting for that in the Houston USO room. We are going to be getting back so late that we will not be able to get to Orlando tonight as we had planned. JB is suppposed to be back at work on Tuesday, but with Ida narrowing in on the panhandle, everything is up in the air. I'll keep you all posted.

Thanks for all your prayers during the trip. It was life changing with Nelly's death, but it was also a very great vacation for JB and myself. We got the rest and reconnection that we really wanted. It was a very relaxing trip. I have read four books so far, and as promised, book reports will follow!

Ida

Saturday, late afternoon now. Watching Hurricane Ida carefully. It`s been raining here during much of our stay. Not that I have minded. I have sat by the pool some and swung in my hammock some and all of our dive adventures remained scheduled. And besides, the rain doesn`t effect a hammock on a covered porch or a bed for unlimited respite inside. It`s been sorta nice not to worry about sunscreen or sweating. It`s been a perfect temperature accompanied by a cool breeze during our entire vacation.

But now that we are scheduled to leave tomorrow, I am anxious to see my boys. We are scheduled to fly out at 12:20pm central time. Please pray that we get out before the storm. Contintental is saying we will leave tomorrow. So all we can do is wait for that. It`s a tiny airport here so there is no way to get on an earlier flight. We will fly to Houston and are supposed to arrive back in Fort Lauderdale to see our boys at 7:30 tomorrow evening. Right now it appears Ida, who is now up to a hurricane again, will be here sometime tomorrow. We don`t know what time. In addition, they aren`t sure where Ida will go after that. Toward the panhandle?

I think she is following us! :)

It`s not like having to stay here another day would be crushing. A beautiful resort with lots of great food, dessert galore, and a snack shop that I have recently discovered has oreo cookies of all varieties. But we are both ready to see our boys. Pray the Lord guides our steps and makes the path smooth during the next 36 hours. We are starting to really, really miss them. I want to hug them both and kiss their cheeks so much.

Muchos gracias.

Closure?

An average size man. Thin. He walks with a limp. Holding an air tank years ago, he jumped in the water and the tank broke his knee he explains. He is married. When asked about children he says that they have tried but do not have any. I tell him our story. In his very broken English he explains that he would like to adopt but adoption takes money. I have no response.

He talks of the scuba gear he would like to buy, "When I can save the money enough," he explains. I take a deep breath. He has been a scuba instructor for twenty-five years, and he still does not have his own equipment. I think of playing basketball for my entire career in borrowed shoes.

Before the dive accident that would change all of our lives, I had asked him about his job. "Do you love it?" I had asked. "Oh most certainly," he had replied. "Don´t you get tired?" I followed thinking of leading two, four, six dives a day. "Oh most certainly," he echoed again.

His shoes are torn. He carries a simple dive bag. He has a mustache. A big smile. He is happy. As he gathers our group of seven around him on the boat for our first dive, he nods in Nelly´s direction. "My English . . . not so good," he says to the group. I tell him otherwise. I tell him he sounds very clear to me. "Oh, just you wait," he laughs. Then he turns to Nelly. "So Nelly," he begins, putting the emphasis more on the first part of her name instead of the last, "Nelly will be my translator if you cannot understand."

Nelly smiles. It´s an infectious smile. A smile that pulls you in immediately. She has curly brown hair and beautiful eyes. She explains that Spanish is her first language. She was originally from Puerto Rico. She learned English in her late teens. She now lives in Florida where she works as a pediatric emergency medicine doctor. She is a new diver as well. Only a few times in the water. She is still learning like us. But she is excited. She has a wet suit on that she obviously owned, not one she rented from the dive shop like all of us. She is holding her mask and snorkel and her fins are perched by her feet.

I have always been infatuated by people who can speak multiple languages. Jealous. Wishing I could do the same. I ask her about it during our ride out to our first dive site. She tells me that she dreams in both languages now. That they flow simultaneously. I watch as she and our dive instructor joke around with each other. She switches from Spanish to English as if unaware.

* * * * *

But now, those moments have passed. We are sitting in a room. The six of us that were in Nelly´s dive group. The six of us and Martin. The skinny dive instructor with the broken English. We sit in a circle. Instead of Nelly being there with us, her sister sits in her place. She is crying. Someone hands her a tissue. Then another. She tells us this has been the hardest two days of her life.

We tell her the same.

She is kind. She looks just like her older sister. That same cute smile. The same infectious grin. The same build. Obviously sisters. She tells us that she is here in an attempt to find closure and to bring that closure back to her family. We tell her we want to help her find that closure.

But the truth is, we are hoping to find our own closure in that room as well.

John begins. He recounts the story. She asks questions. She turns to me. She asks about the conversations her sister and I shared at the top of the water.

¨Was she talking?¨she asked. "Oh yes," I say. "When she emerged, she was having a full conversation with me," I explained. And I go into details of the time we shared waiting for the boat to arrive. I censor my words, trying to make them as encouraging as they possibly can be. But I tell her the truth. All of it. I tell her we were holding hands. That moments before she passed out she asked me to hold her hand again, our previous grip separated by the waves.

There is more truth that I shared with her. And someday I will write that truth here.

But not today.

We talk for some time. Alan, the emergency medicine doctor on board with us, continues John´s story at the point that John left it. When they loaded her onto the ambulance, the door shut with Alan on the inside and John on the outside. So Alan continued with a description of their trip to the hospital, how she became more pink and that things looked like they were improving, and ultimately how her heart finally gave up the battle.

The sister nods. She is not crying now. She is listening. Intently. As if these words will be something that she uses to comfort herself and her family for the rest of their life.

Because they will be.

Martin talks as well. He shares the story from his perspective. From Nelly´s dive instructor´s perspective. He tries to speak in English so we can all understand him, but the sister is from Peurto Rico as well so occasionally, when he cannot find the words, he slips into Spanish.

Even though I do not speak Spanish fluently, somehow, I seem to understand what he is saying during those moments.

The sister shares the coroner´s report. Nelly did not have a heart attack and she did not suffer a diving-related death. The coroner believed that basically, she drowned. That she was breathing in water and that she couldn´t get air. I asked John to explain on the way back to our room. He said he couldn´t. "It doesn´t make complete sense," he said. In the end, John explains, we won´t know exactly how she died. We will only know the reasons that she didn´t die.

We take a picture together. Our group. Our group and her sister. We promise to share the pictures. We offer our words to her family members if they need them. Any of her family including Nelly´s husband and children. Any of them can call us if they want to hear the story from our mouths. We will do whatever we can to help them process this grief.

I thank the sister as well. I tell her that Nelly´s life will forever transform mine. That I will remember her when the stresses of my life threaten to push me down. I will remember that a fight with a friend or a frustration with a coworker will pale in comparison to the greater picture of life that Nelly helped bring to me.

I also thanked her for coming. Seeing her sister, we were able to get a bigger and better picture of Nelly. We were able to see who she was aside from the few hours we spent with her. Her sister told us that Nelly loved adventure. That she died doing something she loved. That nothing could stop her when she wanted to do something. That her whole life she had wanted to be a doctor. That she was 44 years old when she died. That she had two sons. They had been adopted from Guatemala. They are young. The five year old does not quite understand. But his older brother is struggling. But they will help him get through it.

After the sister wandered bleary eyed back to her room, John and I ended up walking back to the lobby with Martin. His eyes were filled with tears. "I was thinking of opening my own dive shop soon," he said. "But now. I do not think I can. I think maybe this was a sign. I think I need to stop diving."

The grief is crawling over him. It is holding him. His shoulders slump. He is shifting from foot to foot. He does not know how to process what happened to him. "Never," he said. "Never anything like this ever happened to me. It is my job to take care of her diver," he said, his English becoming more broken as the grief became stronger. "How can I be diver again?"

John sat with him and explained the process of grief. That he should not make any decisions for weeks or months, until what had happened had time to work its way around in his brain better. "I will do as you say," Martin said. We talked for awhile longer. He hugged John. He hugged me. Dive instructor is in his blood. That became evident when he shifted back to trying to explain to me why I lost buoyancy control at the end. He said I should buy my own BC. He said that my skinny frame but long length made the one I was wearing not a good match. I started to explain to him that I didn´t think I would be diving enough to buy my own BC, but I didn´t.

"I will never forget you," he said as he made his way to his bicycle to pedal his way back to his small house in downtown Cozumel. He hugged John again.

John nodded. "Well tomorrow, I am going to dive with you again," he said. "You can´t get rid of me that easily."

While I type this, that is where John is. He is diving with Martin. Martin said he worried no one would ever dive with him again. They are out there with him now. John and the other four members of our original group. I wanted to go. But I can´t. Not right now. Yesterday, I did let John talk me into snorkeling. I didn´t want to. But I am glad I did. Getting in the water, the same water, was actually healing for me. I realized that during the twenty-four hours that had passed, I was becoming afraid not only of diving but of the ocean itself. The snorkel trip helped ease that. I dove down to the ocean floor with John, something I had never done while snorkeling before, always content to float on the surface.

I told John that scuba diving had freed me in the water, even if I never actually dove again. He wanted me to dive again while we were here. Told me he was afraid I would never do it again. I promised I would. That I understood this was not a common occurrence. When the circumstances are right and I am ready, I will go again. I won´t let fear dominate my life.

But for now, I will sit by the pool. In the days and weeks to come, I will write more. I will recount the entire story. Probably not at once. In pieces. I will be working through this for a long time to come. I will share more details. But for now, that is all I have.

I will say that despite this unimaginable tragedy, JB and I have had a wonderful week together. We have had the time together, just the two of us, that we needed. We have relaxed. And while sleep has been difficult (thank the Lord for Ambien), we feel that we will come back to the states with the rest and bonding that we so desired.

Tomorrow we leave. And at some point, I will share more.

But that is all for now.

Thinking of home

I thought I would take a minute to think of my boys. Each day both Moms and Joanie send me an email update. Joanie also sends pictures. Here are a few of my favorites:

Isaac playing in the puddles with his new grocery cart. Isaac LOVES to push things around. I am sure this toy will be a favorite for some time.

I think that is a little tiger in his hand. How sweet.


Apparently, Elijah is now pushing this across the room by himself while walking. Does that consitute a walker? Or are we just very close?

My little guy. Okay. I admit it. I see his Daddy in this pic for sure.

Just a break to think on my boys. We are doing our best to relax. I have spent the morning sitting by the pool. It´s overcast but peaceful. I ordered a banana smoothie. I finished the book Plain Truth (an excellent read but not recommended for my infertility friends) and am now into a Karen Kingsbury book. So far it´s great. Shades of Blue I think it is called. My Ipod is playing classical music. The wind is dancing softly on the pool.

JB is in the conference and recently stepped out to tell us that we are scheduled to meet with N´s sister (I´ll use N for the gal who passed until I feel comfortable sharing her name) tonight at 8pm. I will let you all know how that goes.

It goes without saying to mention that we all covet your prayers. Please keep praying. Everyone associated had difficulty sleeping and is having difficulty coping. But we are all doing our best to enjoy the remainder of our holiday. It does seem hard to allow yourself to relax, as someone mentioned in a comment on my previous post. But we are trying to do just that as best we can.

Typing in my brain

I realized that I type in my brain.

I´m not sure what happens exactly, but when I am thinking, a lot, I will start to type. The words pouring out onto an invisible piece of paper. Sometimes it is a computer screen. Sometimes it is an old manual typewriter. Sometimes an electric one. Sometimes it is those black screens with green type that those from my generation used as we grew up.

The screen in my brain is currently filled with words. It´s just that I can´t seem to make sense of them. They are typing too fast. They are filling the screen faster than I can comprehend them. Nearly faster than I can type them. They are keeping me awake anytime I try to shut my eyes. Words. Sadness. Grief. Flying across the screen as my fingers try to keep up with typing them.

Five-thirty this morning, and I am awake. The Ambien that managed to shut the world down last night cannot shut it down this morning. I wake up. I go to the porch. I sit in my hammock. I finish the novel I have been reading. I cannot nap. The typing continues. I believe that it is my own personal way of dealing with stress, grief, pain.

At some point, and I promise this, I will recount the entire story. This will most likely be after we leave Mexico. After we, hopefully, have more answers. Her family has started arriving here in Cozumel. We are awaiting autopsy results. We will hopefully get them today.

. . . but the typing in my brain needs to come out . . . I need to share some of my heart . . . and so I will share just a few things . . .

I will quickly share that the JB and I were the first to ascend from the dive due to my inability to get my buoyancy correct once my tank began running low. She was the next to come up. She said she had run out of air, but as we swam to her, we realized that was not correct. We were able to inflate her BCD which meant she still had air in her tank. This BCD allows you to float on the surface. During the next fifteen minutes, I would stay by her in the water, talking to her, and watching her progressively lose her color and fight to breathe. On her way into the boat, she passed out. Once in the boat, JB would run the code and oversee the intubation (done on the second try even on a rocky boat thanks to an ER doc on board) until we got to the dock and to an ambulance and to the hospital. All in all there were five doctors and one fourth year medical student on the boat. Six doctors if you count the patient herself. I am not sure how it would be possible for her to have been in better hands.

When we arrived back at our hotel, there were people waiting for us. The people in charge of the WMS (Wilderness Medicine Society) and the people in charge of the dive group. They ushered us to a very fancy suite where we were given towels and coffee and warmth. This was one time I wished I drank coffee. The rain had left me frigid. We had a debriefing. We went over everything that happened. Her gear was quarantined. Pictures were taken. Everyone wanted to make sure everything was taken care of the right way.

JB, who had led the code in the pounding rain, was not even the slightest bit cold. He was still running on adrenaline. By the end of the evening, his body and mind were completely spent. He fell into bed and barely moved again.

Two hours after the debriefing, the conference resumed with the news JB had just given me in our room moments before. My new friend had died. She was gone. Her family was not here with her. She had traveled to Cozumel by herself. They were getting a call from hundreds of miles away that their wife and mother and sister and coworker and friend had died in Mexico during a recreational outing.

A few hours later JB reemerged in our room. He was carrying a few sheets of printer paper and a pen. He told me that they had pulled him out of the meeting. That the investigators wanted our statement. JB dictated. I scribed. The words came out incredibly matter-of-factly. We recounted the events as we recalled them. We talked stoically. It felt surreal. Someone was dead. We were there for her demise. I had stroked her arm and told her it was going to be okay. ¨We are here with you. Don´t worry. The boat is coming. Breathe slowly. Just relax.¨

At some point I´ll recount the entire story. But not now. It just doesn´t feel like the right time.

There is so much more to say. Some day I will say it. I so appreciate all the prayers, kind words, and encouragement. I was not planning on getting on the computer much while I was here, but I have needed it. I can´t figure out how to call home, and we aren´t sure how expensive it would be if we could, so words online are really providing me support and encouragement. I really need it.

This morning as I lay in bed next to JB, trying to make sense of what had happened, I told him I needed to type. I needed to get the words in my brain on ¨paper.¨For me, sometimes, writing is the only way I know how to try and digest my pain. I did it with infertility. I did it with other disappointments and my Grandmother´s death. And I think it will be the same in this circumstance. As in all events in our life, we are immeasurably changed by the direction our life takes. By small things that mold us into the person we become. This event will be no different.

That being said, I am sure you will read in the weeks to come, me trying to make sense of what happened. Right now I am just trying to stop the video from playing back in my mind. JB explained that I would keep replaying the video for some time -- trying to choose a different direction. Maybe, if we would have taken off her weight belt. Maybe if we would have signaled the boat for help immediately. Maybe if we could have gotten the waves to wash over her a bit less. Maybe something. Maybe if I would have said something differently, I would have been able to get her to calm down and breathe properly.

Of course, we don´t know the answers to any of that. We are hoping the autopsy will show us something. There is a chance we will learn that something had occurred which no amount of talking would have changed. A heart attack. An embolism. And other fancy doctor words I have heard thrown around that don´t mean very much to me without a thorough explanation.

But for now, for the next few days, I plan to type when I need to. I plan to try and get the words in my brain to be real words that will help me work through this grief that is encompassing everything I do.

Thank you for allowing me to do that. Again, incredible thanks for prayers and kind comments and emails. I have read every single one of them. Please pray for our dive master who was greatly impacted by this fatality. This scuba shop is incredibly reputable. This is only their second fatality in seventeen years. This is also the first fatality for the Wilderness Medicine Society.

I would also appreciate your prayers for one other thing. We are planning on leaving Sunday to go home. We won´t leave early. Leaving won´t change anything that happened. But there is also a depression, hurricane or tropical storm Ida I think, heading toward Mexico. Please pray we can leave before the storm gets here.

I´ll post again soon.

Somber

I am unable to say very much.

We just got word that the woman on our boat (please see previous post) passed away.

I am unable to say very much because I can´t figure out what to say. I am also unable to say very much because it appears that there will be a formal investigation of what occurred since this is an accidental death. JB and I were the two individuals with her from the moment she surfaced the water so apparently, I will be quite involved in any discussions. They have asked me not to say much more until that can be taken care of. At some point, I will share the whole story. I can say that she finished the dive successfully. The problems began to occur at the surface. Whatever happened was probably not related to a diving accident in the strictest sense of the word.

Needless to say, I do not plan to dive any more on this trip. I am shaken, confused, saddened, overwhelmed, and rehersing everything I did and said a million times.

I was the last person to talk to her alive.

She has two young sons.

The last thing she said to me was, ¨Could you please hold my hand again?¨

Your prayers for her family and all of us involved are greatly appreciated. As JB said, he and his peers are used to this sort of thing. They are, ironically, here for a Dive Medicine Conference -- a conference designed to teach doctors how to handle accidents related to diving.

Talk about firsthand experience.

I, however, am not used to this sort of thing. I have never seen someone die. I saw some things in Africa including people that had already died. But I have never watched someone die in front of me.

At some point, there will be a time, I´ll share more. For now, just pray. I was doing very well being away from the boys. But now, my heart aches for them. I want to enjoy the rest of our trip but am not exactly sure how to do so.

. . . more to come.

Urgent Prayer Request

JB and I went on our third dive today. He and I are fine. However, a woman on our boat (I am not going to use her name here right now) had a panic attack at the end of the dive and what we believe was a heart attack. JB and I were the ones with her when we hit the surface and were with her until we got her on the boat. There were many doctors on the boat. JB really lead the operation -- directing orders and coordinating everything. They were working on her for about 30 minutes, until we were able to get to a dock and an ambulance came. Two of the docs continued CPR as they loaded her into the ambulance and took her to the hospital.

Not only are they concerned about her breathing but about neurological issues from her being unresponsive for so long.

I am asking for prayer for this woman. She has a husband and two young sons back in the states. She urgently needs your prayers.

Needless to say we didn´t do a fourth dive today. My third dive, until that point, was amazingly beautiful. But all of this has sobered that fact.

I will update when I know more.

Dives 1 and 2 completed

Yesterday afternoon we did dives one and two. I only have a few moments as we are doing our third and fourth dives this morning.

The assessment so far? It was beautiful. Felt like I was swimming in a salt water fish tank. The second dive got started a bit late and it ended up being pitch black by the time we surfaced. That, I would prefer to never do again. While I am not infatuated with the sport, I have told JB that I can see why people do it. It was magnificent. I do not think I´d become obsessed with diving, but I could see me doing it now and again when the opportunity availed itself. It was MUCH MUCH MUCH better than our practice dives and considerably easier as we weren´t being tested. We just had to dive. I could also feel my improvement from dive 1 to dive 2.

We had dinner last night with two other couples in our dive group. I am looking forward to diving again this morning, but will be glad for a few days of a morning and afternoon with nothing to do. Today, after we dive, JB will return to a p.m. session of his conference. I, will return to a p.m. session of my book and a nap and everything else relaxing.

Oh and JB got stung by a jelly fish yesterday. Really bad. His whole leg was red and burning. But, they had like five docs on board so not to worry! This morning, his leg looks good as new.

All right, bon voyage. Off to our dive boat!

P.S. I continue to get daily updates from the Moms and Joan. I love them! So does JB. We read them each evening together. It sounds like the boys are having a fantastic time. I miss them but know this is good for all of us! They are getting spoiled and kissed and loved on like crazy and I am getting totally rested!!

Heavenly

The pic above is stolen from our resort´s website. This isn´t our room, exactly, but it´s the closest one I could find to the room we are staying in. Our room is on the second floor so we have a balcony. Did I mention there is a hammock on the balcony? Heavenly.

The entire resort is open-air. The lobby, the hallways, everything. You are only inside if you are in your room or in a few of the restaurants. It´s amazing. The people are incredibly helpful and nice. I´m practicing a bit of my Spanish, but it´s really not needed. Everyone here speaks very good English.

Last night there was a welcome reception for the conference attendees. I met some other really fantastic women who were here with their husbands as well. Two of them did their first dives yesterday. They were very encouraging and told me that it would be wonderful and I would not be disappointed. They did tell me they went down to eighty feet. This caused me to catch my breath. I don´t plan on going to eighty feet let me tell you. But they said they didn´t even realize they were there. Hmmmm, not so sure about that.

We had a wonderful breakfast this morning. I am attempting to eat a lot of fruit and vegetables whenever the opportunity avails itself knowing that I`ll be pigging out quite a bit. The food is as fantastic as the rooms and the views and the hammock and the slippers and the robes and everything else.

Right now, JB has started his morning conference sessions. I, am doing a little bit of computer time before heading back to my hammock for some more reading. I also plan to hit the workout center at some point this morning. That`ll help alleviate my guilt for all the food I am, and plan, to eat.

As for books, I just finished The Rescue by Nicholas Sparks which wasn´t on my list but was given to me by a friend the day before I left. I enjoyed it. It wasn´t as good as some of his other books, but it was a good read on the plane nonetheless. I am now about halfway through Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult. So far, it´s a FANTASTIC read. It´s one of the reasons I need to hurry up and get off the computer so I can return to my book.

As for my boys, both Gramas and Joanie are sending me daily emails and Joanie is sending me pictures so I feel completely in the loop. I miss them like crazy but am so blessed to have this time to relax, that I can overlook how badly I wish I was with them. I soooo needed this vacation!

After lunch today we are off for our first two dives. Wish me lotsa luck.

We are here!

After a very uneventful travel day, we are at our amazing resort in Cozumel which includes free Internet! I am not sure how much I will post . . . partly because the keyboard here is different and I can only type at about half my normal speed. I also don´t know how much there will be too update you on. Since we don´t plan to leave our resort, the posts may get a little dull. Although tomorrow and the next day we are scuba diving so I can write about how that experience goes for me. As for right now, here´s what I can say: There is hammock on our balcony. Our balcony overlooks the beach. We ate lunch at the resort´s outdoor restaurant. There are slippers and robes and a flat screen TV in our room. There are pillows on the lawn chairs under umbrellas by the pool. I am so amazingly excited to be here.

. . . now onto relaxing!