Who is watching your back?

I once dove with a Frenchman who was a world class freediver.  We were in 40-45 feet of water off of Green Turtle.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shoot to the surface from the bottom with his hand under his buddies jaw forcing him to face upward as his elbow and forearm squeezed his chest on ascent.   I rose to the surface and swam to them thinking he was unconscious but found them both laughing.  Jacques was just teaching us how to do a deep water rescue but neglected to tell the other three divers in our party.

Freediving is one of those passions that is best not done alone.  In fact freediver training specifies that you dive with a partner.  Too many things can happen in the two to four minutes that the average freediver spends below the surface.  Shallow water blackout is a term often misused by freedivers when they are actually referring to deep water blackout.  This is when upon ascent from greater than 10 meters the diver looses consciousness due to the rapid decrease in oxygen pressure dissolved in the blood of the lungs.  Anecdotal evidence exists of divers who have been saved by partners who were still going through the motions of swimming while unconscious.  Sometimes drowning is difficult to recognise.   Interestingly enough the majority of divers who succumb to black out are well trained, good swimmers in excellent physical shape.

There are several environmental hazards that can be prevented by a good partner.  As difficult as this may seem to believe for a non water person, often you can stare down a bull shark and he will turn away.  The problem being…you have to see them first.  With no one watching your back, you have a limited visual field.  I don’t know how many times I have cracked my head on coral or the bottom of a boat (last Sunday).  With a partner you are much more likely to make it through the disorientation resulting from a good wack to the top the head.  Fortunately for me I have been told my skull is too hard. 

Most people think that freediving is an unusual passion.  Are they driven because of fear of dying or fear of living.  I guess the same questions can be asked of mountain climbers.  They both push their limits and despite aggressive physical conditioning or rather because of it…they are more prone to death and or injury.

Those of you who follow my blog know by now that I am constructing a metaphor.  May we all be fortunate enough to have someone watch our back as we go through life…a friend or friends, a partner, a significant other…whatever.  Jacques Mayol (not the same Jacques mentioned above) was at one time the best freediver in the world.  At the age of 56 he was the first human to freedive past the 100 meter mark.  Jacques Mayol ended his life at the age of 73 on the Island of Elba.  Sometimes drowning is hard to recognize.  With no one watching your back it is impossible.

It could never happen here.

I am from a generation whose members all knew how to tuck and cover or run to the back of the classroom and hide under the blackboard/coat racks.  The nun’s attempts at maintaining the gravity and solemnity of the drill was always interrupted by Jimmy Curry’s bodily functions or Phil Anderson’s attempts to kiss  Patricia Generette.  Those of you shaking their heads in acknowledgment also realize that we were an anachronism of the cold war.  In reality it’s not practical to prepare for an atomic blast in St. Petersburg Beach where I grew up.  The only comforting factor was that consequences would include no longer being subjected to Sister Techla Marie’s harassment.

Fast forward to August, 2010.  I had dinner with some Cuban friends last night.  In their mid twenties they were forced to immigrate to the US or remain in a communist Cuban prison or work camp.  George moved to Florida with his lovely wife Consuela in 1960.  He worked 16 hours a day in the sugar factory in south Florida.  This was quite a contrast for the family had roots, heritage, wealth, estates and a country of their own several weeks prior.  There move to Florida and a new life was thought to be temporary.   The underground and Cuban immigrants knew that the US would never allow a communist country to flourish so close to its borders.  Shortly after George and Consuela arrived in Florida, Kennedy’s pitiful attempt at restoring a Democratic government failed spectacularly.  Consuela’s brother survived in the swamps of cuba for three months after the Bay of Pigs until finding his way to the Panamanian embassy where he would hide for another 8 months.  If you talk to any of the proud Cuban immigrants still waiting to return to their native shore, they will tell you that not one of them were prepared or could believe that the US  government would allow six million Cubans to live in what they considered slavery.  Keep in mind that Cuba..one of the largest producers of sugar in the world at that time must now import sugar.

The discussion drifted that night to Castro’s reappearance on the political front.  It seems that Castro’s dying message will be that we are soon to be consumed in a nuclear holocaust.  These are fear tactics the Cubans are used to in the states.  George commented that he is fairly certain that Cuba has a nuclear weapon left from the Missile Crisis (tuck and roll…3rd grade drills).  He sees many parallels in how the current Cuban regime secured power to the progression on the political front here in the US….through fear, divide and conquer, followed by the redistribution of wealth.   Sound familiar?   

We are on the precipice.  Do the Israeli’s really have less than a week to destroy Iran’s nuclear facility in Bushehr, before risking wide spread contamination once the nuclear fuel rods were in the reactor (John Bolton/Washington A/P file).  Surely the US wouldn’t let this happen.  Remember millions of ex pat Cubans knew the US wouldn’t let Cuba plunge into socialism. 

Maybe it’s time to practice duck and cover drills again.  Teach kids how to recognize the sound of incoming missiles.  It won’t do much good…it won’t be a missile here, rather several suitcases plastered with travel stickers from the Mid East and Europe.  That could never happen here……

Well, you can always come and visit me in Abaco.  We are already used to a nearly complete absence of useful electricity.  If you go to the grocery store in TC before wednesday, all you will get are lemons, plantains and some canned goods.  But…we can spear hogfish, catch crawfish and stonecrab.  There is a good supply of fresh water and I don’t believe we are in the crosshairs of North Korea, Iran, Cuba or a couple of hundred radical muslim groups with good travel agents. Were not concerned with the redistrubution of wealth…because there is not a predominance of monetary wealth here.

Sometimes its OK to be out of your mind.

“We  thought you were out of your mind”.  This was one of my congratulatory greetings when I finished the 1st Annual GTC/Sea of Abaco Swim-a thon.   The course covered 2.5 miles from the Treasure Cay side of the Green Turtle Cay ferry dock to Pineapples bar and grill.  Initially a birthday race between my son and me this marathon turned into a hugely successful fund-raiser for a young patient of mine with a brain tumor.

Often the only thing that prevents us from accomplishment are the artificial restrictions that we consciously or subconsciously place upon ourselves.  The Sea of Abaco race could be considered challenging from several perspectives.  The distance of 2.5 miles would seem the first hurdle to mentally overcome.  Commercial crawfishermen routinely spend 10-12 hours in the water.  During these warm summer months the sharks seem to enjoy leisurely cruises down the Sea of Abaco.  The most dangerous animals are however Homo sapiens.  Auto pilots and alcohol are a perilous combination.  Keep in mind that we would have  swimmers spread out the length of the Sea of ‘Abaco during the race.  Needless to say, I had several weeks of sleep deprivation during the planning stages of this event.  Maybe I was out of my mind.  But if this 14 year old boy with a brain tumor could smile and laugh in the face of the daunting task ahead of him, we could certainly organize a safe but mildly insane event such as the 1st Annual GTC/Sea of Abaco Swim.

As the planning of the event progressed we would soon learn there was no way to anticipate the number of participants.  How many chase boats would we need?  How many dinners should Pineapples prepare for the event party/fundraiser.  How many swimmers would we have and how could we insure their safety.  Due to the length of the swim, I wanted a minimum of 10 chase boats to follow the swimmers and run down boats speeding through the course. We needed marker buoys, flourescent caps, a registration process to ensure none of the swimmers would be ignored as they floated out Whale Cay Pass. 

The morning of the event, the volunteers and I were apoplectic to be confronted by 61 swimmers waiting to register in an event that had never been conceived of, or attempted previously.  Ages ranged from 6 to 78.  To encourage participation, any means of crossing was allowed that did not involve sails or motors.  They were lined up with kayaks, paddle boards and surfboards.  The great majority however were swimmers in every size shape and form…big, small, skinny, fat with the common denominators of excitement and community spirit.

The course was marked with red buoys and 16 chase boats were lining the perimeters to pick up the drop outs and protect the swimmers.   All boats had water , sober captains,dive flags and radios turned to the event channel.  Swimmers were registered and assigned numbers with indelible magic markers.  After 50 registrants we ran out of orange swim caps.  At 11:00a.m. sharp the swimmers turned the barge landing area into a sea of competitive froth as they left for the shores of Green Turtle Cay some 2.5 miles away.

The chase boats were as busy as the swimmers.  They were on constant vigil for participants in distress and even more vigilant for boats cruising up and down the Sea of Abaco.  Several were incredulous as the were stopped and saw dozens of red  caps working their way to Pineapple’s shores like a school of wounded tuna’s.  Less than half the swimmers finished…but all tried their best.   My son won the event..as expected from a former collegiate distance swimmer, 17 year old Andrea from Nassau took second.  My water nemesis Willis was third (see my older blogs) and Andrew and I were close 4th and 5th.  Approximately 200 people showed their support at Pineapples, where one of the best parties evolved in years. 

A significant amount of money was raised for Taylor’s continued medical expenses and a community came together.  Distance swimmers were born that day.  Mark my word…over the next few years as we continue this event the 7 and 8 year olds who swam this first event will view the challenge as a normal thing to do on a hot August afternoon…and they will set a new standard in competitive distance swimming for which I hope Green Turtle Cay will become famous for.

Remember, it’s not a dress rehearsal

I first met Dr. Mendelson in 1985. Curtis Mendelson flew to the Abaco’s in the early forties in a J-3 Piper Cub.  He circled Green Turtle Cay until finding a suitable landing site at low tide on the bar in Gilliam Bay.  Curt liked what he saw and moved permanently from New York to Green Turtle.  Curt was an accomplished Ob/Gyn physician and on the faculty at Cornell University but gave it all up in his early forties..

Dr. Mendelson had no children.  His wife was a professor of nutrition and published several text books.  Their only family was a collection of poodles and cats.  Curt married well and financial issues were never a distraction.  He convinced a local land owner that it would be in the communities best interest to sell him  property to enable him to live and practice medicine on the Cay.  He bought about 20 or 30 acres of the southern tip of Green Turtle for 50 British Pounds.  Kurt and Marie always did things in a New York fashion on what was at that time a very isolated cay.  He hired Frank Lloyd Wright’s firm to design and build a spectacular home overlooking Gilliam Bay.  A landing strip was incorporated into the property just east of the home. 

Curt delivered babies, managed minor  trauma,  practiced family medicine and spade dogs and cats.   He had an unusual sense of humor.  Spading cats and doing pelvic exams does of course create an incredible aray of one liners.  Curt would ride into town on his bicycle spot one of his patients and shout to her in his boisterous voice…(much to the horror of his patient) “Hey how is your P%&*y doing?”  He was of course refering to the poor ladies cat that he had spade the week prior..but she was also one of his Gyn patients.  Curt once told me the story of an encounter during his Ob/Gyn residency.  He had delivered the baby of an indigent woman 6 weeks prior.  As part of Cornell’s outreach program Dr. Mendelson made a house call on the mother.  A young boy about 6 answered the door.  Mendelson in his authorative manor informed the boy he was here to examine his mother in follow up.  Upon meeting the mother , I imagine in less than a professional manor, he  told her to prepare for the  pelvic exam.  After his assesment he remarked how well she had done in six weeks and asked where the baby was.  The mother pointed to the 6 year old….Curt had gone to the wrong house….didn’t seem to bother him at all.

Curt was also a golden gloves boxer.  He once thrashed a tourist for stealing the coconuts on his property then took him to the clinic to sew him up.   His wife Marie ended in the clinic a few times as well.  Curt had a nasty habit of crashing his plane on  final approach to the short runway behind his house.  Marie would take it in stride, collect most of the scattered groceries, gather her poodle from the wreck and make it back to the house.  I believe I heard Curt describe 3 seperate “hard landings”.  Marie finally took a firm stand and refused to fly to Florida for groceries any more.

Above all Curt was a sportsman…a bigger than life sportsman.  His house was lined with marlin bills over the fire place in his Frank Lloyd Wright home.  He once told me of catching a 400–500 lb marlin behind GTC while slow trolling in a 14 foot dingy with a single 2 stroke gas engine .  My friend Babs gave me a picture of that event the other day.  I never doubted Curt but looking at that moment captured in time really puts life into perspective.  This was a man who truely lived his life to the fullest in a way only he could.  Curt died several years ago in a nursing home in Florida…he is largely the reason I am here

Golf Cart Physics

It’s been a long winter here in Abaco but Summer time is finally here.  This is both a good thing and a bad thing for me.  Summer time  heralds the advent of the practical demonstrations of Newtonian physics as they apply to golf carts and blood alcohol content.  Summer time is also the starting gun for my friend Willis and my annual “under the influence Sea of Abaco swim race”.  Summer time means fishing tournaments and diving.  Summer is mostly good.

Lets start with the physics of golf cart injuries.  A body in motion has the tendency to remain in motion unless an outside force acts upon it.  When I say “body” I mean a body…not an apple or a coconut or some eighth grade laboratory experiment used to asses gravitational attraction.  For instance, a well meaning boyfriend and his fiance head to Pineapples, he takes the turn at the Wrecking Tree a bit too fast.   The mass of her body (F=MxA) has a tendency to continue on its straight path as the golf cart careens to the left.  The outside force acting upon it would be rum punch and the road.  She didn’t tuck and roll well.  She was (still is ) a very nice lady but now has a broken jaw and I anticipate will need two new breast implants…which may have been the only thing that saved her life.   Then there is the theory of inertia.  When you are standing on the back of an immobile golf cart and your buddies floor it, the theory of inertia dictates that you don’t automatically “go” with the golf cart.  He had to be flown out with a head injury.  God does protect drunks and little children.  He flew back to Abaco the next day and never missed a beat…well maybe he lost a day of memory.

I am not being condescending nor critical of having fun and/or alcohol.  I now have every other weekend off from call, so I also get stupid at times.   This brings me to my annual “under the influence” race with Willis.  This competition is usually held mid summer during the power boat races.  As are the power boats, Willis and I are also fueled by high octane. This year’s race was a bit more impromptu.  We coincidentally met at Pineapples on one of my weekends off.  The most important element of competition is timing.  Willis is about 6’2″ and carries around 5% body fat.  Therefore I must take advantage of all environmental conditions that would favor my winning.   Years as an ER physician enable me to fairly accurately guess someone’s alcohol content.  Tonight, right now was the most favorable time for me to win when our BAC’s (blood alcohol content) were at similar levels.  The only problem was that Willis was in his bathing suit and a T shirt while I was dressed in jeans.  Willis also had a legitimate concern.  It was night time and the race course involved swimming out to the channel marker and back to the Pineapple’s dock.  Willis reminded me that a tiger shark or two tended to cruise the area at night looking for crawfish heads.  This is a spot where fisherman would ring their fish (break off the heads) before coming into the town dock.   We of course are bullet proof and I reminded Willis this would not be a problem for me if I was faster than Willis.  Underwear unfortunately is not designed for diving and sprinting.  Despite my drawers being around my knees, I managed to touch first.

So the Summer is off to a good start.  The diving and spearfishing are picking up.  By the end of August the tourists and majority of golf cart antics will be but a memory …until November.

May we fight the good fight

I lost one of my most inspiring patients last night.  Even more tragically , the world lost a great lady. 

Miss Zedith had just turned ninety last week.  She wasn’t much for celebration or fan fare.  When you have had ninety birthdays, I’m sure the parties lose some of their novelty.  Miss Zedith had never lost her zest for life though.  I used to make monthly house calls to check on her.  The ferry ride to my office was often more than she cared to participate in.  Never had I heard her complain..regardeless of the severity of her injury or the nature of her illness.  She broke her pelvis two months ago and told no one of the pain.  Her family insisted she come see me for evaluation because of her worsening limp.  Four years ago Miss Zedith was in congestive heart failure.  The only complaint I could elicit was that she didn’t feel quite right.

She would fight like a banshee if I told her she needed to leave Green Turtle to head for the hospital in Palm Beach.  Her husband of nearly 70 years and her several sons would physically have to pry her strong bony hands off the  jamb of the front door.  In her mind I am sure this small strip of wood may well be her last vestige of safety and life as she knew it on Green Turtle.  Some how she always returned home.

I made a house call to see Miss Zedith last Friday.  Usually I’m in a bit of a hurry ( for the life of me..I don’t know why).  This visit, after the cursory exam and review of medications, I just sat and talked for a while.  She still had a sparkle in her eyes.  Her husband as always was at her side.  Miss Zedith’s short term memory was poor but she could remember details of 70 years ago with amazing clarity.  She looked me in the eye and said to me “You know…at my age, you have to fight for every day.  Don’t ever give up”.   Miss Zedith told me of an old lady on Green Turtle Cay who would get up and make tea every day despite her failing health and impending death.  Miss Zedith would imply in her simple but brilliant story that this small act of defiance was the only thing that kept this woman alive.   Miss Zedith was already much older than she.   Her last words to me were “I’ll call you if I need you”.  She never called.

Last week a middle-aged man in Marsh Harbour tried to end his life over a failed relationship.  We all are aware of the tragedies of suicide and depression.  Miss Zedith had outlived all her friends, one of her children, delivered six or seven kids at home without the benefit of an obstetrician and had suffered untold injustice at the hands of fate but never gave up.  What is the uncommon denominator that makes some of us cherish every minute of life while others are so willing to give it up at a minutes notice?

My facebook friends will recognize these lyrics from Five For Fighting, “The Riddle” :  There was a man back in ’95 whose heart ran out of summers but before he passed, I asked him whats the sense in life?  He said son why you gotta sing that tune..catch a Dillon song or some eclipse of the moon…let an angel swing and make you swoon, then you will see, you will see…..the reason for the world …you and I.

You fought the good fight Miss Zedith.

Attitudes are best left behind

Treasure Cay is an approximately three mile stretch of the most magnificant beach imaginable.  National Geograhic includes it in one of the top ten beaches in the world.  I’m not sure how over time it becomes the home and final destination of people from all over the world.  When I say final destination…I mean that literally.  I can’t count how many people have come into my office to declare that their final wish is to die here.  If only they would discuss these plans with family members.  I am not being unsympathetic….I will join their ranks eventually.

The past  few weeks have been incredibly “time consuming”.  My CT tech is on 16 weeks pregnancy leave..thats correct 16 weeks (Its a Bahamas thing).   Therefore I draw all the blood, start all the IV’s, scan all the patients and have no hair to pull out.  I haven’t had a day off in over 25 days.  This is Ok because I’m supporting a couple of lawyers.  No..not a malpractice issue, go through some of my old blogs.

Well, after a particularly busy day..emergency at 8:00 A.M. ( would have been earlier, but I was out running off my aggressive tendencies) which just became worse, I took Sporty…my crazy Aussie, out for a ride.  He likes to bark at everyone..I think we connect.  We passed a pristine Silver Shadow Rolls Royce…antique.   I have seen this car before in Treasure  but never close enough to discern any detail.  Remember, duty on cars is 50% in the Bahamas, the philosophy being..you really don”t need them .  Please don’t get me started.   This car was spotless…Not a dent or deformity.   This is obviously not consistant with my current frame of mind.  Sporty looked at me and said lets pass this f%$cker.  Your on!  Coming around a 15 MPH curve I gained on him (its a race to the best spot on the point).  As I passed  this piece of art work all my preconceived assumptions were shattered as I saw the three dimensional bullet hole stickers adorning his right corner panel….never trust your attitude. 

Sporty and I made it out to the beach.  I let him out of the truck so that he could chase some tourists in golf carts.  When he tired out we sat back in the truck and stared at the sea gulls …wondering why don’t they fly all the time.  I would if I could.

No shoes, no shirt, no problem

It will soon be diving season in the Abaco’s.  No self-respecting Bahamian will enter the water until it is warmer than 80 degrees unless they fish commercially to support their families.  March is when I switch to more cardio.  As I said in my last post it’s all about bottom time.  Running provides me with long periods of boredom interrupted by random thoughts.  I had an epiphany thanks to Stevie Kurant and a probable period of extended hypoxia on my last run.

Stevie Kurant and his six brothers and sisters were my next door neighbors.  Their father was a truck driver and their mother was a cashier.  Obviously they as was I were raised catholic.  The sin of birth control was the Pope’s way of ensuring that the pews would continue to be filled every Sunday for generations to come.  The Kurants were obviously broke, but they still sent all the kids to catholic school and everyone in the family had great birthday parties and a good Christmas.  My father was a trust fund baby.  He had a steady income, but never quite enough to be considered wealthy.  I used to spend a lot of time making up stories why he didn’t work while everyone’s parents worked two jobs.  My epiphany was this..Stevie Kurant and I were a couple of the happiest kids in the world.  We would fish every day of the summer, usually with cane poles.  We would catch “silver fish” off the sea walls and use them for bait.  We would clean fish for the tourists off the “Head Boats” for a nickle a fish,  then play dock tag in Pass-A-Grill,  all for about ten cents a day.

Fast forward to 2010.  I live in paradise surrounded by some of the wealthiest people in the world.  Trust me, I am not within their ranks, but do help keep them alive.    A significant number of them deal with depression on a daily basis.  All the SSRI’s, alcohol and self medication in the world doesn’t pull them out of their funk….neither do buckets of money.   The cost of their trolling tackle alone is more than the value of the house I grew up in St. Petersburg Beach.  The cost of fuel for their sport fisherman for the summer season would put the average kid through college and med school. 

Sometimes I wish I was back on the sea wall bare foot and shirtless looking for silverfish with Stevie Kurant.

Quiet Desperation….part 2

After the coldest winter in 40 years here in the Abaco’s I think there is a chance that we may see summer this year.   The onset of warmer weather requires a change in my training program to mostly cardio.  In freediving, bottom time is all about cardio and the bottom is where the thrill is.  My friends criticise me because I drop too much weight.  I usually weigh in around 180-185 in the winter and 175 in the summer.   This is no sacrifice for me.  Due to certain physical and

Gulf front cemetaty after Katrina.

personality characteristics it is harder for me to keep weight on than to lose it.  No, I’m not a lunatic, I just have a very high basal metabolic rate.  I once wrote about “Zen and the art of free diving”.  This blog really isn’t so much about free diving as it is about living.

The bottom in freediving is where all the excitement is.  Sharks, lionfish, fire coral and the possibility of shallow water black out is what makes bottom time so valuable.   An analogy in surfing would be the excitement of late take offs and steep waves.  Sure, you may break your nose in an entertaining (to everyone but you) wipe out but without that chance, the steep take off wouldn’t be as much fun.  Some cliché’s are tedious and incorrect.  Some cliché’s represent a rare moment of harmony in the vibrations of the collective consciousness of mankind.  One of those cliché’s is the quote “Life is not a dress rehearsal”.   In my old life as an emergency physician and EMS director I dealt with death and dieing on a daily basis.  This is somewhat my area of expertise.   We all need to laugh as much as possible, cry when you need to…it will pass.   We need to spend as much time on the bottom as we can and never pass up a late take off for fear of injury.  Again these should be interpreted as metaphors.  Most people don’t even live near the water.  But if you look deep within yourself you will know what your “bottom time” is.  Trust me.  Today may be your last chance to do it.

As I have previously written, my favorite quote was penned by Henry David Thoreau.   “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation”.  In his poem “Prayer” he writes:   “Great God, I ask thee for no meaner pelf, than that I may not disappoint myself, That in my action I may soar as high, as I can now discern with this clear eye”

My nose has never been my best feature

Yes this is a CT of my nose

How often do we have to prove to ourselves that we are no longer 18 ( 18 and under not included).  I remember when I was a kid in high school, I could party all night in the summer time and work on roofs in Florida,  in 100 degree heat mopping hot tar all day long.  Who I then considered “old guys” would pass out routinely on the roofs.  They never learned their lesson, so why should I?

The Green Turtle Club has an exceptional wine tasting benefit every February.  If you have never been, you must schedule your next vacation around the event.  The food, hospitality and fun are unparalleled.   The proceeds of the benefit go to the Island Roots Heritage Festival which is another great event held yearly on Green Turtle Cay.  This is one of the few nights that I turn off my cell phone and stay on GTC for the party.  This is one of the few nights that my many friends, brothers and sisters on GTC get to try and make me stupid.  They buy me way too many drinks. Claudia is irresistable to dance with all night .   Roddy keeps the Gray Goose coming.  Carl and Maria invite me to the boat for more and before you know it….its 3:00 a.m.   My house is 1 block from The GTC Club so driving under the influence is not an issue.  Walking under the influence is a different story.

I managed to make it home safely, but I’m one of those guys that gets up early regardless of what time I hit the rack.  So at six or so I was up and at ‘em….but I’m not sure my brain came along for the trip.   My son, Annemarie (Sarah’s cousin) and I went to the club for early breakfast.  As fate would have it the surf was cranking that day.  Since the water temp was about 68 degrees, I couldn’t think of a better way to clear my head which must have been essentially empty at the time anyway.  My brain has a tendency to sleep in when I get up early with little or no sleep.

Adam met us at Pelican point.  I think he needed a cold water revival as well.  Surfing is one of those sports that require your full faculties and a bit of balance and athleticism.  These attributes are absent when you don’t carry your brain along with you.   Remember, my brain slept in as a form of passive aggression for its abuse the prior night.   My form wasn’t the best, my balance was terrible and my judgment was non existant.  I was the last one to paddle in.  As all surfers know you have to catch that last good wave regardless of how tired or stupid you are before you can call it a day.  To make it worse, the breaks are all lefts in 3-4 feet of rocky bottom.  I have a traditional stance as opposed to “goofy foot”.  As surfers know this makes left breaks harder to ride.   Just trust me on this one.

I was up fast, turning left on a decent wave when it closed out on me.  Having left all coordination back home in bed with my sleeping brain I did a stupendous face plant on my board.  I do ride a small (6’2″) squirley twin fin.   Any way, Mike Tyson couldn’t have done a better job.  I busted my nose and split the inside of both lips.   Of course I am the ONLY doctor on the island so there’s no sense in even worrying about it.  I went home woke up my brain and hauled his ass back to Treasure Cay with a bag of ice.

I think the point is that when I was eighteen this would never have happened although I did split my head open once, but I digress.  Remember my Karma blogs?   Well certain people (Chelsea?) don’t believe in karma.  By the end of the day I had convinced my self that my Karma was still good despite Nihal (see one of my recent blogs) because I am still alive as opposed to drowned with a broken neck.  My nose has never been one of my best features.