My mermaid pals and I worshiping at the alter of this proud octopus. LOL Pam is taking communion, while her husband Mike Borgert snapped these photos.

While dangerously divisive vitriol conquers our headlines and social media, all of us, despite being stained by the smoke of this war of words, are leading our version of life. We have our own challenges to process or ignore, fix or ruin, reflect or deflect on, progress or regress through — regardless of what it is or how we go about dealing with it, shit doesn’t just happen; it’s loaded with all sorts of cause and effect that impact our lives.

While I truly am the bubbly, life-loving, grateful soul I think my posts reflect, I also have setbacks that scare, scar and sadden me. I have those amazing moments I tend to share bits of with you, and I have my undoings. Sometimes I have both on the same day.

Diving has become my church. The friends I do this with are my fellowship, my community. Our safety checks and measures are our devotional rites. Our time underwater together gives us peace, connection and a reminder that there is more to life (and death) than our own existence. It rejuvenates us.

A few months ago, I began getting rashes after some of my dives. Each one of them had a good explanation, and they started off as truly just a rash. Last month, I had one that included what felt like bruising and I believed it looked more like mottling than a rash. But, it was on my back and hard to really see well. I drank lots of water and went to bed. The other rashes disappeared within a few hours, this one was still there when I woke up. I decided to go to the hospital (it was a Sunday) to get it checked, just to make sure. But, by then, it was just a light pink. The doctor said it looked like an abrasion from my BCD (what we wear to hold our tank and also use as a life preserver when above water), so I took two weeks off from diving and went back to my old BCD, which has more padding.

The next time I went diving, I had 4 fabulous dives where we were surrounded by sharks on one dive and octopusus on the other. They were amazing, and absolutely nothing happened afterward. Same thing the following weekend. I also made an effort to dive more conservatively, so I was usually at a shallower depth than my friends. We are all also safe divers, and we never skip our safety stops.

This past Saturday, we did two dives that, for me, averaged 44 feet (in diver’s perspective that’s not very deep). The deepest I went was 77 feet for a short period of time (again not abnormal). I felt great when we finished. I went home a little tired, but overall in great health. A few hours later, an itchy rash started on my back. It slowly progressed to the point where I realized something was definitely wrong, and I finally went to the hospital. I should have gone the minute the rash developed that bruised feeling. In hindsight I should have advocated for myself more a month ago. I should have requested that a dive doctor be consulted; I made the mistake of assuming of course that happened (that’s on me).

This time the ER doctor took one look at my back and said he was calling the dive team. I went into the hospital thinking all I’d need was an IV and oxygen. Imagine my surprise when the Dive Doctor and Navy Dive Master said it looked like I had decompression sickness and that they recommended 6 hours in the chamber. People, I had the bends.

Now here’s where you get to witness how messed up I am. I was in disbelief. I mean how could this be? And I clung to the words “it looked like,” so that must mean they weren’t sure. I was also told I could refuse treatment, which would go into my file that I refused. They said the symptoms might go away like before (mind you they didn’t say heal; that’s because the nitrogen bubbles probably just hung out in my fat until they decided to show me whose boss again), or the bubbles might spread to my nervous system and cause life-altering harm (um, including death). But, I didn’t process any of that. What I focused on was maybe I could opt out because my next thought was oh shit does insurance cover this? You see, I’m also in the midst of being charged $1,500 for a colonoscopy and mammogram I had two years ago. The clinic I used was covered by my insurance, but the doctor they used wasn’t. Doesn’t matter that I had no way of knowing, I’m responsible.

So that $1,500 is haunting me, and I know damn well that using a chamber will cost a hell of a lot more than that. So, I panicked. Luckily for me the dive doctor gave me another option. She suggested I work out my insurance details, they put me on oxygen, gave me a number to contact when ready, and then they left until I made up my mind. It was the middle of the night. I also have dive insurance for when I travel, but I live on Guam so I didn’t know if that counted (I’m scarred by loopholes!). Since I couldn’t get through to my regular insurance, I called them. They did their thing and, eventually, called me back to let me know I’d be covered. Divers reading this: DAN insurance is worth every penny. They have called me every night since this happened to check up on me and give me the info I need to file my claim.

Before I tell you about the chamber experience, I want to stress that I was irrationally more concerned about cost (I’m trying to save for retirement in a very uncertain financial world) than getting treatment. How incredibly fucked up is that? I wonder how many other Americans do the same damn, stupid thing.

As for the bends, it’s unpredictable and comes in different ways. In hindsight, I now realize there were plenty of signs these past few months. I had two minor bouts of vertigo (I attributed it to sinuses), have gotten frequent headaches (attributed to stress and computer time), and those darn rashes (attributed to organisms in water; the first time I went to hospital I believed the bruised feeling was because we had rough water, so surely I beat my back on the boat). I wasn’t frothing at the mouth or bleeding or in intense pain. It actually never really hurt that much. I just felt bruised, and then I was a little dizzy and then a little nauseous. It took many hours before it got to its full swing of symptoms.

Our navy base has a dive locker, which includes a chamber big enough to accommodate several patients. The Navy dive team manages the process. I had a team of Navy divers take care of me. So, not only did the dive doctor and dive master have to get up in the wee hours and give up their weekend time, now I had a team of young men who I’m sure would much rather be waking up snuggled to a loved one than watching a 60 year old grandma with a rash on her back fat. I was so apologetic and embarrassed, like this was all my fault. Technically it was (I was the reason why they were there), but again I’m bearing my messed-upedness. I still didn’t fully comprehend how serious this was for me.

Photos taken from Defense Visual Information Distribution Service

The team, however, did everything they could to make me feel comfortable. My shame had nothing to do with them.

Because I had a rash that I didn’t want to irritate more, I put on a pair of very lose and saggy underwear. You might as well just call them a skirt. I also had the ugliest white bra with chili oil stains — I am the couch potato slurping up spicy noodles while watching TV.

Before going in the chamber, you have to do a serious of tests in your underwear, so they can determine if there’s more severe damage. It also had something to do with them needing to see my rash (which had turned into mottled skin, so it looked like a web of blue and pink). Luckily I was in a separate room with the doctor and nurse (not his official title, but I was told to think of him as my dive nurse), and while both were incredibly professional and reassuring, I’m pretty sure my nether regions gave them a good wink while I was doing leg lifts.

I’m vain, so yeah I was humiliated. I tried to act like I wasn’t, but I’ve got back fat, a buddha belly and cellulite. They’re medical professionals and all, but still.

I put on scrubs, which were tight around my belly and butt (just keeping the sexy going), and joined the nurse in the chamber. He sat with me the first hour, continually doing checks and conducting tests — things like what three things did I ask you to remember, follow my finger with your eyes, touch this or that (including my girly parts, so I could let him know if they were numb; they weren’t).

You’re doing all of this with a Darth Vader like oxygen mask on, so it’s awkward.

The hyperbaric chamber once sealed and ready to go is a simulated dive without all the stuff that makes diving fun. You’re in a large capsule that makes a lot of noise while descending (while actually not going anywhere). The men who sit with you can only stay in the chamber for a certain amount of time, before they have to go into another chamber to, well, decompress and leave. So, I had several different divers sit with me. All had to check my back along the way — the tight scrubs slid down a bit, so they got to see more than back fat. Those poor boys didn’t sign up for that when joining the Navy. I think now is also a good time to point out that our military does so much more than war. Every one of the team members did their best to make me comfortable and ensure I was healing. The next time you think of a sailor or soldier, remember I had a few of them tuck me in with a few blankies (I was very cold) and humor me with anecdotes when they could have been sleeping or doing more military-type things.

It’s a few days later, and I’m still a little tired and a little sore. Although while in the chamber, the bruised feeling went away quite quickly. It’s crazy how suddenly you realize, oh my, I did need this.

I’m a little demoralized — feeling betrayed by my body and acutely aware of my mortality. I’m feeling fat and old. I’m also grateful for the care I received and grateful for my friends. I haven’t told my family about this yet, which I need to do before posting this. I’m embarrassed, which is ridiculous because I’ve since learned DCS (the bends) is unpredictable (although we do know it’s because of nitrogen bubbles, and that normally happens because of a quick ascent). Luckily It’s not common among recreational divers, and most can return to diving within a few weeks. DCS researchers are still learning a lot about it. Divers are trained on the precautions, and I think many of us (maybe it’s just me) believe that it only happens to people who are reckless or who ascend too quickly. It can happen to anyone of us — we’re made up differently. I’m 60 with nitrogen-loving fat pockets, so maybe that’s why this happened to me, but I’m also very healthy (no medication or issues) and active. So, there’s that too.

Diver friends: listen to your body. If that rash or that headache or whatever gives you the “hmmm,” get it checked and make sure a dive doctor is consulted. We all know we should do this, but it’s so easy to ignore because surely this isn’t happening to you. I’m lucky mine didn’t get worse.

I’m also not completely out of the woods yet. I’ve got to get checked again and pay attention to my body for the next few weeks. I truly do feel fine. I haven’t taken a day off work (although I’m planning on leaving early when I can), and I’m 99.9 percent sure I’ll be back to normal in no time.

I’m also angry this happened to me. I want to blame someone or something. It’s unfair. How dare this thing get in the way of something I embrace? But this happened, and I am dealing with it in all my different ways of coping. Writing this post is part of my way of moving forward (lol it’s my therapy).

Perhaps the nitrogen went to my writerly cells as well because I’ve created a post that’s almost as long as my hours in the chamber.

And ugh, now that I’ll spend more time resting, I just realized I’ll also have more time to read the headlines and social media posts. I’ll be back in the chamber by this weekend….

Be safe my friends and always continue to love what you love and move forward, despite the uglies.

Here’s an article about Guam’s dive locker (my DCS was incredibly mild compared to the poor man in this article): https://www.militarynews.com/norfolk-navy-flagship/news/quarterdeck/naval-base-guam-dive-locker-provides-recompression-treatment-for-community/article_31dceaf7-14c1-56e8-992d-38375434a954.html