Ear update-- and holiday tune

Yes, I have an ear update, but in the spirit of NOT boring you with the normal let-me-tell-you-funky-things-about-my-body-and-its-function talk, I’ve set the story to music… Sort of. I’m still a low tech blogger, so you’ll have to hum the tune in your head and read the words.

Ear news—to the tune of “Little Drummer Boy”

I’m having problems, pa rum pa pum pum
Some instacare guy said I tore my ear drum
I do not trust the man, pa rum pa pum pum
So I sought extra help pa rum pa pum pum,
Rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
For my ear drum.

My scuba teacher pa rum pa pum.
He is an EMT, pa rum pa pum,
He works with hyperbaric chamber-um-bums
I thought I’d ask him about my-ear drum, my- ear drum, rum pa pum pum.
He took a look inside at my-ear drum.
And said the doctor was dumb.

“I’ve seen a lot of ears,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“There’s nothing wrong with yours,” par rum pa pum pum.
“But he’s no doc, I thought,” pa rum pa pum pum.
“I’d better see someone who knows the ear drum, specialist-come, see my ear drum, rum pa pum, pum.
Went to an E.N.T., pa rum pa pum pum,
He took a closer look, pa rum pa pum pum,
He said it’s just a bit bruised, on your ear drum
But your ears have some probs, pa rum pa pum pum, rum pa pum pum,
Poor little ear drum.

“Can I still scuba?” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’m going to Mexico,” pa rum pa pum, pum.
“I’ve got a wetsuit coming from E-bay fun, E-bay fun, E-bay fun.”
“What have I done?”
“To my ear drum.”

“I wouldn’t dive for a week or two.”
“Give your poor ears a rest, don’t be-a fool.”
“Here is some medicine, pa rum pa pum pool,
“Now just be careful there pa rum pa pum pool, dum de dum dool, dum de dum dool.

Then, he smiled at me, pa rum pa pum, pum.
Me n my ear drum.

Of course, here’s the bombshell: while I was there he had an audiologist do some tests and figured out that my poor injured ear isn’t clearing correctly (that we knew). I’m trying some meds. But the audiologist also thinks I might have otosclerosis. This I have no song for. I looked it up. If it’s true it means I’m gradually losing my hearing, and there’s no cure. There’s surgery if it gets really bad, but the surgery sounds like a crap shoot. Not quite sure what to do with this.

So, I thought about giving up the scuba thing. I don’t think I want to do anything that risks permanently injuring my ears. Then again, I’m not sure I’m buying the diagnosis, and the doctor would have told me not to dive if that mattered, right?

We shall see. In the meantime, I'm staying topside for a week or so.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears... No, really, I need a new one

WELL--

Senor Zen seems to think I've been misdiagnosed. I called to tell him I wouldn't be able to dive for awhile because I'd torn my eardrum. He asked me to tell him exactly what happened.

SO... I went through the whole thing: last night and this morning the ear had this watery sound (like swimmer's ear). I went to the Instacare to get the wax blown out. While I waited for FORTY FIVE MINUTES the watery sound went away. I figured I'd have the doc look at anyway-- what they hey, better safe than sorry. The doc took 2 seconds and announced that it was a torn eardrum and said that it "explained the draining." When I said it hadn't been draining he told me he'd give me a prescription and that I should see a specialist.

That's when the doctor started trying to leave and didn't want any part of hearing my story or answering my questions. I left and promptly made an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist.

Zen heard my story and told me it didn't sound like I'd torn my eardrum-- if so I'd have major drainage and pain, and I have neither. I'm guessing as an instructor he's seen a lot of ear-related complications.

SO-- I may yet dive again. Fingers crossed. Rub the Buddha ear. Genuflect. Say a little prayer...

Screeching to a halt

Crap. Crap crap crap.

It's the day after my second pool dive, and I've just come from the doctor, who has informed me that I have blown a hole in my ear drum.

I had a hard time getting the doctor to say much more. I went to an Instacare place and apparently cattle are not allowed to ask too many questions. He gave me prescriptions, told me to see a specialist, and tried to send me on my way.

I kept asking questions, which he'd answer in triple time as he side-stepped toward the door. I won't be returning to this particular Instacare place.

What about scuba? For at least two weeks, it isn't a possiblity, he told me, and then it would be up to the specialist. Crap crap crap.

Now what?

Suzanne gets over herself-- abruptly and irrevocably

I'm so glad my last post was about my fears because it will help you understand the magnitude of my change in attitude.

Pool dive 1: Me, Senor Zen [instructor], and his cousin
Pool dive 2: 2 different scuba schools, people ranging in age and size and experience

This was the first thing that helped me relax this time: being able to hide in a crowd. It also helped that I was able to chat up a nice middle-aged woman who was there for her first dive. I could feel like the more experienced person (but as you'll see below this was taken away rather abruptly).

Pool dive 1: Flailing, likely a look of embarrassment and terror on my face at worst and timidity at best.
Pool dive 2: Something went "click" in my brain, but it wasn't the calming meditative aspects of scuba. It was pride, pure and simple.

Sr. Zen wasn't there this time-- it was another guy from the dive shop. Let's call him Smiley. Smiley is as cool and unruffled as Zen, but he's obviously a bit of a tease. One of the women at the pool was there for a refresher course, and they had a great rapport going--joking back and forth about how scared she was when she first learned to do this. I felt like I was a drug-addict at my first narc-anon meeting-- I piped right up with how I was glad I wasn't alone this time so I could gage how freaked out everyone else was. Smiley assured me that everyone's first dive is a disaster of awkwardness (this makes me wonder about all those websites and my textbook telling me how exhilarating it is to breathe under water for the first time... Maybe instead they should put, "You'll feel like a moron the first time, but don't quit on us!")

Then came my "pop" moment. Zen and Smiley are really nurturing instructors-- very kind and very concerned about how each of us is doing. So Smiley went around the group to discuss the goals for each of us. "Jane, this is your first dive so you'll be working on skill blah blah," that kind of thing. So he got to me and said, "Suzanne, [Zen] told me not to push the skills with you and to just let you have time to become comfortable in the water."

SAY WHAT??? I'm in the "slow" track? I get the watered-down curriculum? OH NO YOU DI-UNT!! Click. My fears-- A to Z-- evaporated.

I don't DO the remedial group. I don't care if I have a C in a class as long as no one has a B- or better. I don't get the sympathetic nod and the pat on the head. THAT'S NOT ME.

I quick giving a d___ about my white legs. I dropped my pants and started fixing my equipment. I didn't care how I looked as I put the BCD [the vest] on in the water. I just did it. I repeated the stupid 1st dive skills right along with the newbie and regretted only that with my primitive hand gestures under water I didn't know how to communicate "Bring it on, Bub, I want the next level."

I laid with my tank resting on the bottom of the pool at 13' and tried [unsuccessfully] to blow bubble rings. I swam on my back, on my stomach, on each side. I knelt on the bottom of the pool. I did the happy dance [sort of a shimmy-like thing that seems to stand in for smiles/laughter].

I won't lie-- it wasn't completely smooth. I wanted to hover just a bit so I reached for my BCD button thingy-- the thing that inflates your vest-- and in my exuberance I blasted myself to the surface, where I was promptly corrected by Smiley, who showed me how to add teeny bits of air to the vest to achieve a gradual ascent instead of a rocket launch. Oops.

But I think I'm over the scared thing. I was even thinking tonight that I am tired of seeing swimmers' bellies: I actually want to see critters in the water. This is a BIG step for me. Don't worry, I wasn't unsafe. I'm still a big ol' fraidy cat. But for me there's nothing to conquer fear better than a bit of wounded pride.

Yeah, yeah, one of these days it'll kill me.

I also discovered that I chose the right dive school. The other school there was really regimented and their instructor had them in a line the whole time. Zen and Smiley? They have us playing around in the water, experimenting with how to move and what to do, always right there watching us, but letting us go. I'm very happy with that approach.

And lest anyone reading this think that one is in the least bit of danger doing this-- I should mention that for every skill the instructors were RIGHT THERE, often holding onto the waists of our jackets and facing us just inches away or literally holding our hands. So, for example, although you have to take the regulator [the breathing thingy that goes in your mouth] out and pretend to lose it and then find it again in the water, if you should so much as THINK of panicking the instructor is right there. And not just for remedial me, either. For everyone.

As I stood outside the pool trying desperately to clear my swimmer's ear after we got out (I might be running to the doc tomorrow), Smiley came by with a load of equipment and said, as if it was a surprise, "You did really great tonight. You seemed comfortable down there."

Score.

And all it took was the insinuation that I couldn't do this.

All I can say is BRING IT ON.

Is the "S" in scuba "shopping"?

That's the sound of the shrieking eels, Highness... or maybe that's just you FREAKING out...

[This is an actual picture someone took diving in Cozumel... I found it at http://www.franksunderwatersports.com/%20Cozumel%20Eel.jpg

The more reassuring my instructor gets, the more scared I become:

I finally get the chance to attend class—Sr. Zen having allowed me to watch the videos and take the quizzes on my own up to this point.

As part of our instruction he points out that if we hold our breath when ascending that our lungs will explode. I start noticing my breath, even here in the classroom, and somehow I start having to tell myself to exhale. He tells us not 3 minutes later that bowling is more dangerous than scuba, and I’m tempted to point out that I’ve never heard of anyone’s lung exploding when they bowl.

He gets misty-eyed as he tells us about going through tunnels on Grand Cayman. I must have looked terrified, because he smiles and say that the tunnels are the size of busses. A bit of claustrophobia hits me just thinking about tunnels, even bus-sized ones, and I notice that I’m breathing harder. I think I’ll stay where I can see the surface. Then he tells us that at the end of the tunnels there are giant fish, bigger than people, that simply bump around and brush by you.

Okay, that’s cool, I have to admit. But I’m still a little rattled. In fact I’ve had a growing dis-ease with the whole idea of diving.

I only get 90% on the second quiz. Crap. And Sr. Zen tells some anecdote about a woman with long hair who they used to call the "Sea Witch" because her hair floated everywhere. I wonder if he's talking about me on that first dive and I consider, for the first time in 20 years, the idea of having really short hair.

My friends have kindly read this blog and the general consensus is that it IS very like me to dive into something like this [pun intended] out of the blue. Now I wonder what the blazes I’m doing.

I look online for wetsuits. Even though the water in Cozumel is warm, wetsuits can protect a diver from stinging things and being as scuba doesn’t require a great deal of effort (and therefore heat) one can get cold even in the tropics. 3mm, I read, is sufficient for Cozumel. I don’t know what 3mm means, really, and I find that I am more concerned about the color of the suit, anyway. One should have her priorities.

I find, to my horror, that a size L women’s wetsuit is meant for a size 8 woman. I hate to tell the people who make wetsuits this, but size 8 women are NOT LARGE.

I move on to better topics—like specifics about the dives in Cozumel.

But the problem is that, rather than being more excited, I just start getting freaked out. There are warnings about fire coral (sneaky little buggers who look like coral but who BITE), warnings about strong currents, warnings about used-to-be beautiful spots destroyed by the last hurricane. Then there are pictures of eels.

Oh yeah, ugly ugly little cusses. If I thought it was odd what I found at the bottom of a swimming pool, what will I think about what’s meandering around in the water?

WHAT AM I DOING THINKING I CAN SCUBA DIVE? This isn’t natural.

Then there’s the price—I’ve invested in fins, snorkel, booties, books, and, okay, fine, I admit, I bid on a wetsuit on Ebay.

And am I deserting my friend on our escape? I can’t go diving every day in Cozumel and leave Nancy, can I? That’s not cool. And I don’t have the required buddy for diving.

And you can DIE if you don’t follow the buddy system… and don’t exhale… and don’t wear a wetsuit… and…

Surprisingly, sharks are not among my greatest fears. Give it time.

I’m still worried about my ears. I had to descend really gradually even in the pool in order to equalize, and if anyone’s ear drum was to explode when diving, Murphy’s Law says it would be mine.

What the blazes am I THINKING?

Sr. Zen says, since I can’t make it to the regular labs that he’ll come early and let me play in the pool. He says “we” just need to become comfortable with the equipment and learn to trust it.

How very Zen of you, Sr. Zen. I’ll try to remember that when an eel is nibbling on my toes.

He also says that I could do my open water dives next week at a hot springs up in Heber. The very consideration makes me hyperventilate… almost.

Perhaps I should have gone for the brave/impulsive decide-to-learn-to-dive-while-on-vacation-and-before-you-have-time-to-wimp-out path.

Of course, as I type this I find out that I have won the bid for the wetsuit. Guess I am REALLY committed. And the suit matches my goggles, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Now exhale, Suz, or your lungs will explode.

First time in the water, part II--> Things I was surprised to learn

1) Scuba is not good exercise. It is calm, and peaceful, and takes very little energy if you're doing it right. Who'd'a thunk it?

2) You can't smile when you dive. My instructor (Sr. Zen) did this little hula move and I responded by smiling, not thinking about the fact that he couldn't see that. Your communication has to be big in the water.

3) You really don't want to know what's at the bottom of the pool, and most people are not attractive when you look up at them swimming. That's a view best saved for an Olympics cam.

4) For some reason, scuba makes you COLD! Both the cousin and I had chattering teeth when we finally came up at the end. Not like swimming, either. It came on quickly, while we were still in the water. Maybe it has to do with observation #1-- you aren't working hard enough to keep yourself warm.

Cue the music-- Suz breathes under water

The book and the video said that the first time you breathe under water will be something you never forget. It's supposed to be a magical thing, I guess. I was picturing the clouds parting, angels descending, and a choir singing majestically.

Yeah, I forgot that you can't hear under water.

And I was a bit too preoccupied to really appreciate it, I think.

I was thinking about whether or not the booties and fins made my calves look big.

I was thinking about Sr. Zen's cousin, who was swimming merrily at the bottom of the 13 foot side of the pool, coming back occasionally to see what we were up to. He's a natural, apparently. Big jerk. Too bad he's such a nice guy, or I'd have to hate him.

I was SURE I was going to bob right back to the surface, and I was unnerved by the fact that Sr. Zen was sitting serenely at the bottom of the pool, facing me, fingers laced together, and completely nonplussed. HOW was he not drifting and weaving? Breathe, schmeeve, I can't hold still.

So I'm breathing, underwater, and I'm thinking about how I'm supposed to be treasuring this moment, and then I'm thinking that in my nervousness I'm breathing really hard-- there's about 10 times the bubbles coming from me than are coming from Zen-- and I'm flailing my arms.

Zen signals for me to look at him, and I'm again unnerved at how completely serious he is. He takes my hands and makes me fold them in front of myself, and I now remember that book and the video both telling me not to use my arms (it's a swimming habit and is unnecessary in scuba-- one little gentle motion with your legs and you're propelled wherever you want to go).

We practice taking the regulator out of our mouths and putting it back in. We practice filling our masks with water and getting it out. And yes, we do all this under water.

Once I quit fighting and resign myself to hanging weightless-- or rather, once I free myself of my misguided instincts, I start focusing on the breathing part. I am very conscious of how much I am taking in and letting out. My throat gets scratchy from breathing too hard for too long. I realize I am biting down on the regulator way too hard. I slow down my breathing-- too much-- I'm still nervous-- but eventually I'm wandering around below the lap swimmers and playing with things at the bottom of the 13 foot pool. Zen lays on the bottom on his back and blows bubble rings. I am more impressed with this than anything else.

The thing is, it's so calm down there, and scuba is so EFFORTLESS, really, that I can see how freeing this is. It really IS Zen. Today, out of the water, thinking back, I realize that I'm too much of a control freak, and that was my main problem. I thought I should be WORKING. I was thinking too much: about whether or not I was really getting air, about where I was bobbing, about how to "steer." Chill. Meander. This is scuba diving.

It's sort of the anti-Suz. I think I need more.

Things I failed to consider

As I entered the water in scuba gear for the first time at the exotic Sand Hollow Aquatic Center it quickly became apparent that there were several things I had failed to consider:

1) I have long hair.

When one swims laps one's long hair stays back, or can be swished back with a good dunk. When one sits at the bottom of a pool one's long hair will find its way around EVERY tube, every gadget, your mask, your breathing regulator... I finally understand the saying, "I can't think with all this hair."

Fortunately half my hair was ripped out and is likely still stuck to the equipment, so there'll be much less to worry about next time.

2) I am not known for my coordination.

What happens when you take a clutzy person who has NEVER even snorkeled and strap a huge tank to her back with various tubes and nozzles, then add FINS? I assure you it is not pretty. And remember that we strapped this stuff on WHILE FLOATING IN THE POOL. REALLY not pretty.

And there are no other beginners to look stupid with, so I have no way to gauge how poorly I'm doing. And Sr. Zen never gives an indication of how things are going. He just patiently soldiers on, helping me.

3) I might know someone at the pool.

Yup, you guessed it. Former student working at the pool that night. My image is ruined. I might as well sell the business skirts and jackets. I wonder if she is secretly selling compromising pix of me on the internet.

Sigh. Maybe I should have stuck with snorkeling...

First time in the water, part I

I did read the chapter. You tend to pay attention when a book say, "If you don't learn this, you will die." So I read it really thoroughly. Then I go to the dive shop and watch the video and take the quiz (100%, thank you!). Turns out the video repeats everything the book says.

I wonder if I will still die if I don't read Chapter 2 and just watch the video instead. I think I'll keep reading.

I can't make it to the regular lab, so Senor Zen, as I'm now calling my instructor, has made arrangements for "a few" of us to do an alternate lab.

Long story short: no one shows up at the pool but me, Sr. Zen, and Sr. Zen's party animal (but nice) male cousin. Personal attention, you say. Too much notice of my personal inadequacies, I say.

I have conned myself into investing mucho dinero in fins, snorkel, mask, and booties, so I'm all set. I suit up ("Please someone else show up, please, God, let someone else show up so I'm not alone") and sit by the pool with a bag of my brand new stuff. "What the _____ am I doing here?" I think. On one side curious moms and kids look at the arriving scuba gear and the odd freckled woman [me] waiting. On the other side old men in the lap pool look at us with disdain.

Is it too late to back out?

Why scuba?

Why scuba?

Now that I’m back in the West I feel like I need to go somewhere new and exotic. I recruit Nancy, who’s always up for adventure and who desperately wants to escape the freakish winter we’re having. After much discussion on location—everywhere from Istanbul [my idea] to Scotland or “anything tropical” [her idea], we settle on Cozumel, Mexico, and Nancy orders us up a condo for a week in March.

I start doing some reading and find out that Cozumel is about being in the water and looking at the purty critters, and Nancy’s all set to snorkel. I then find out that it’s the 2nd best place in the world to go scuba diving.

Scuba diving? Not on my life list. Not on my radar. Never really thought about it. Maybe I’ll give that a try, I think.

Then I think about the fact that I’d be dependent on a tank for air and that you can’t just lift up your face and tread water if something’s wrong. Then people remind that some critters in the water eat other critters. I’m not interested in hanging out in a shark cage. The cage, frankly, scares me more than anything. And didn’t the crocodile hunter get killed by a sting ray? Hmmmm…

So then my lovely department chair (she really is lovely) hears I’m going to Cozumel and says I really must dive… Why else would I go?

Nancy’s not up for it—she’s worried about her lungs. I have no such excuse, but the hypochondriac in me thinks about an ear infection I had 20 years ago and wonders if it will affect me now. And I read that in rare cases air in an old tooth filling can compress and expand when you dive and wreak havoc on your mouth. I’m sure it will happen to me.

Then I hear about how expensive this hobby can be.

Then I picture some fly-by-night dive shop winking and assuring me I’m safe and letting me drown below as they go through my pockets on the surface for credit cards. I wonder if Anderson Cooper would do a story on me, but figure I’m not young and blonde enough for the poor-missing-tourist press.

Then I find out that my very own little college offers a scuba course on the block which would end the day before I leave for Mexico. Suddenly the risks aren’t so risky. As faculty I can take the class for free. They start you out in the shallow end of a pool, so if I freak out I can just stand up. I talk to the instructor, a very Zen guy who’s been teaching the class for years, works in the medical profession when he’s not doing scuba, and HAPPENS to be going to Cozumel THE SAME TIME I WILL BE THERE.

That settles it. Scuba Suz is born.

I didn't drown

I've just come back from my very first scuba experience. I am happy to report that I lived through the experience with nothing injured but my dignity (I'll explain later).

I also couldn't wait to get out of the pool and share my experience, thus the "Scuba Suz" blog was born.

T minus 2 months until I'm in Cozumel, hopefully doing this "for real."

'Til then, enjoy.

--Suz