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So we geared up and made the long strenuous surface swim out to the spot. We chose to go left ...and had a nice dive for about 40 minutes. ...We had a few minutes left on air, thought we were heading in the right direction (we were not) and after our safety stop, we went up.
To our shock, we were at least 300 ft from shore, and much further down past the dive shop than we thought. Way past it. My heart just about sank.
I didn't have much air left to go back down and swim, nor enough weights on to go back down a few feet to kick underwater. We had to kick on the surface. Well, TRY.
After few minutes of seeming we were going nowhere but further down the coast, and deeper out to sea, I stopped. My snorkel was working too well, often "shutting off" my breath. Using my regulator was futile as well. David helped pull me, but somehow the simple act of grabbing my BCD (inflatable vest) was freaking me out more. Logically I knew I couldn't sink with my wetsuit and BCD on. (Mistake: What I should have done was drop my tank and weights right off the bat, a small price to pay for easier movement)
But I knew we were in trouble. BIG trouble. The winds were making the sea downright pissed off now, and once I saw that we had ONE chance to get UP CURRENT to a break in the sea wall, and that was it for miles... well... panic set in. The PTSD of the crashing waves, tired legs, the panic of the situation... honestly, I did not stay cool. Not cool at all.
David, being the strongman he is, was pretty level about the situation. I remember him trying the soft gently approach, the firm approch, the "just relax, I'll pull you in" aproach. But my mind and sea had taken over my body, I was helpless. It's horrible just to type those words.
But I was never hopeless. I KNEW he would get us out of this. I didn't know how, the situation was truely and honestly very serious. We had to make that ramp area, or I would never be able to get up the sea wall. The waves would knock us out trying. I remember screaming. I recall looking for help, and no one was there. 3000 shipmates and Georgetown full of locals, and no one. Just David.
He pulled on me and the last thing I remember was smashing against the black lava rock wall. I can kind of remember struggling a bit, getting pushed in and out with the tide surge, but at some point, I became unconcious. (we later think it was the panic that did it, not a hit, as I had no marks on my head) While there was no bright white light and angels, I did dream about something. (what?) At one point I remember hearing David screaming for help, and his voice was off in the distance, so I knew I was alone. I get tears in my eyes and a lump in my heart every single time I hear that scream. I feel so horrible for rendering us so helpless. I guess I was out for a "few minutes" (hard to tell in a time like this) and in a movie-style fashion, David eventually woke me up by slapping my square across the face. (the only part of this story that makes me giggle) When I came around, I was sitting at the top part of the surge, and he was screaming for me to get up. We finally got me out of my gear, and somehow got up and walked to safety. I was covered in blood, lots of cuts and scrapes from the rocks. David's hands were filled with tiny urchin barbs, and later we both had useless swollen claws until we got tipsy enough to start digging them out. (ouch!) I am covered in some HUGE nasty bruises, and a whole slew of "no-see'um" bites from Honduras, which I'm allergic to. It's not pretty.
He eventually ran to the road, hailed a taxi, and we eventually got (most of) our gear back and went back to the ship. I was pretty much out of it (shock) and all David told the shop was that we "drifted a bit far down" and that was it. ...
David saved my life. Literally. Had it not been for his physical and mental strength, and his ferocious perciverence... I would have most likely died that day.