Save a life. Seriously.
Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning.
This is all kinds of triggery for me because, despite the fact that I was a little fish as a kid, I almost drown on two occasions. Both times, someone else was the instrument of my near destruction. I've written in the past about the man who almost drown me in a hotel swimming pool when I was 12. The other incident happened when I was 7.
When I was little, we used to go to a place called Coburg Beach on the Columbia River. It was a lovely spot, but was a bit dangerous because the eddying current that made it safe for us kids to swim without being carried downriver also created "potholes" in its soft sands. When we first went there my dad walked up and down until he found one and introduced us kids to the phenomenon. He had us feel the edges with our feet and then stepped into it so that we could see how he dropped down to where the water was up to his waist - well above our heads. Then he taught us that if we stepped into a pothole, we (who couldn't really swim yet), should jump up, kicking, break the surface and yell "Help!" before we went back down. Then he had us practice it.
We had a great time with that, first by jumping into the hole with him standing right there, then by pretending to fall into the hole while he stood a few feet away. Then my brother and I took turns falling into the hole and pulling each other out.
We were so disappointed, on our next trip there, not to find any potholes.
Later that summer, we went there with another family. Their daughter Leanne and I were best friends, and we were kicking along through the water about thigh deep. Leanne was afraid of the water and insisted that we hold hands.
We were walking toward our moms when she stepped in the pothole. Her grip strengthened by panic, she pulled me in with her.
I was now standing in a hole, under water, her hands wrapped tight around my arm. I knew our mothers were 10 feet away but would never be able to find us. Leanne, frozen in place except for her death grip, was going to drown us both.
Wrestling away from her, I kicked off the bottom and broke the surface, gasping in a breath. My mothers back was turned toward me. They had no idea we were in trouble. "He--" I got out before Leanne pulled me back down.
The second time I pushed harder and when my head broke the water I yelped "Help!" without first taking a breath. Leanne pulled me under as I was breathing in and I sucked in water. I coughed out what air I had left, and Leanne's grip tightened on me. I realized that we were done; I couldn't get away from her, and she was going to drown us, standing stock still in water just over our heads.
Then our moms grabbed us and pulled us out. I had yelled loud enough to be heard the second time.
I was a little mad at Leanne that she had almost killed us both, but I was much more upset that she refused to come back into the water for the rest of the day. She sat on the beach wrapped in a towel while I recounted our rescue, thanks to my heroics, to our brothers and dads. Several times.
It's funny; I never found that my near-death experiences in the water put me off swimming. In high school I swam myself to near-exhaustion trying to cross lakes at least twice, undeterred by previous experiences - I was always confident in myself as a swimmer, provided that no one else was around who might interfere with me. The only time my abilities failed me was when I tried to SCUBA. Drawing a breath when water is closed over my head terrifies me. I can snorkel just fine, but tank breathing fills me with anxiety.
This is all kinds of triggery for me because, despite the fact that I was a little fish as a kid, I almost drown on two occasions. Both times, someone else was the instrument of my near destruction. I've written in the past about the man who almost drown me in a hotel swimming pool when I was 12. The other incident happened when I was 7.
When I was little, we used to go to a place called Coburg Beach on the Columbia River. It was a lovely spot, but was a bit dangerous because the eddying current that made it safe for us kids to swim without being carried downriver also created "potholes" in its soft sands. When we first went there my dad walked up and down until he found one and introduced us kids to the phenomenon. He had us feel the edges with our feet and then stepped into it so that we could see how he dropped down to where the water was up to his waist - well above our heads. Then he taught us that if we stepped into a pothole, we (who couldn't really swim yet), should jump up, kicking, break the surface and yell "Help!" before we went back down. Then he had us practice it.
We had a great time with that, first by jumping into the hole with him standing right there, then by pretending to fall into the hole while he stood a few feet away. Then my brother and I took turns falling into the hole and pulling each other out.
We were so disappointed, on our next trip there, not to find any potholes.
Later that summer, we went there with another family. Their daughter Leanne and I were best friends, and we were kicking along through the water about thigh deep. Leanne was afraid of the water and insisted that we hold hands.
We were walking toward our moms when she stepped in the pothole. Her grip strengthened by panic, she pulled me in with her.
I was now standing in a hole, under water, her hands wrapped tight around my arm. I knew our mothers were 10 feet away but would never be able to find us. Leanne, frozen in place except for her death grip, was going to drown us both.
Wrestling away from her, I kicked off the bottom and broke the surface, gasping in a breath. My mothers back was turned toward me. They had no idea we were in trouble. "He--" I got out before Leanne pulled me back down.
The second time I pushed harder and when my head broke the water I yelped "Help!" without first taking a breath. Leanne pulled me under as I was breathing in and I sucked in water. I coughed out what air I had left, and Leanne's grip tightened on me. I realized that we were done; I couldn't get away from her, and she was going to drown us, standing stock still in water just over our heads.
Then our moms grabbed us and pulled us out. I had yelled loud enough to be heard the second time.
I was a little mad at Leanne that she had almost killed us both, but I was much more upset that she refused to come back into the water for the rest of the day. She sat on the beach wrapped in a towel while I recounted our rescue, thanks to my heroics, to our brothers and dads. Several times.
It's funny; I never found that my near-death experiences in the water put me off swimming. In high school I swam myself to near-exhaustion trying to cross lakes at least twice, undeterred by previous experiences - I was always confident in myself as a swimmer, provided that no one else was around who might interfere with me. The only time my abilities failed me was when I tried to SCUBA. Drawing a breath when water is closed over my head terrifies me. I can snorkel just fine, but tank breathing fills me with anxiety.