Paul claims that I don't perform a proper risk assessment when considering a new course of action. That I overestimate the probability for good outcomes, forgo normal precautions, and will jump into things without considering all the angles. Further, he states (in an exasperated tone) that I don't know my own limits and often overextend myself due to this unfettered and headlong rush into unknown situations.
I just call all of that "being optimistic" : ) Yesterday, that optimistic attitude was challenged.
Jack, who loves being in the water as much as I do, has been interested in scuba diving for a while. And while I may not love everything about homeschooling, I do love the educational stipend each child receives from the state of AK. We've used this stipend for music lessons, curriculum, subscription boxes, and (most notably) for Jack's scuba diving instruction.
When we signed up for the certification course (I mean, I couldn't let him do it alone, : ) we were given the option of completing our open water test here, in the frigid waters of Alaska, or somewhere else (the warmer version.) Knowing my dislike for all things cold, I chose the latter. But then COVID happened and our annual trip to Hawaii began to seem less and less likely. At the same time, two scuba instructors enthusiastically encouraged Jack and me to consider getting our cold water certification and completing the course up here.
Let me say on the front end of this story that their descriptions of a cold water dive did not sound all that bad. "A little chilly" was, I believe, the phrase used. "But TOTALLY awesome!! Think of the bragging rights! Your first dive, in ALASKA!"
Riding the wave of their optimism and with a new thirst for all the glory promised to those who complete such a task, Jack and I confidently signed up for our cold water certification.
Originally planned for a weekend in the (much warmer) fall, our open water dive got pushed back to this past week. Ok, so that made this a little more difficult. Sure, it was colder, but we would be in dry suits regardless of the time of year because the water temp in AK stays quite cold most of the time. But we could do it, right? I mean, how much harder could it be?
Turns out, much harder.
As we drove towards Whittier in the darkness of an Alaskan winter morning, I noted that the outside temperature kept dropping. When we reached Whittier we were in the teens with a brisk wind blowing that made it feel significantly colder. Still the sky was clear, the day was lovely and who doesn't relish the idea of diving in crystal clear waters in order to see WWII wreckage and marine wildlife?!
Having geared up in our five layers, culminating with our heavy-duty dry suits with the rubber wrist and neck openings that were as constricting as they could be without cutting off our circulation (I mean, it had to keep us dry) we waited for our turn to enter the bay. The wind blew, the snow crunched under our boot clad feet (yep, you put fins on over boots!) and I watched other divers slowly sink under the water of the bay. It looked....cold. I had the first twinges of misgiving. But Jack remain unconcerned and contented himself with reading a comic book while we waited. Looks like I might have passed along my nonchalant attitude to the next generation : )
Finally it was our turn to enter that water. I watched Jack confidently walk (waddle) down to the edge of the water where he waited for the instructor and I to join him (we each had to carry our 50+ pound tanks, regulators and weighted buoyancy vests....so my two years of gym membership DID pay off, after all : ) Once in the water, our first hurdle was getting our faces wet. Yes, we were wearing thick neoprene hoods and gloves, but there was still some skin exposed and per our instructor, the best way to get used to the frigid water was to just plunge your head in. Oh. My. Word. Was it cold. I simultaneously discovered the my watertight zipper wasn't all the way closed so I got a quick stream of freezing water down my side before I scooted back to the bank in order to correct the problem.
Once back in the water, we started to put on the last portions of our gear. And let me tell you, there is a BIG difference between putting a mask on while treading water in a warm pool and putting a mask on, shoving it under a hood, with reduced dexterity due to unwieldy gloves while treading water that is moving, salty and colder than your average kitchen freezer.
And this is the part of the story where the subject of my over zealous nature comes to bear. You see, while struggling with my mask a series of thoughts appeared, crystal clear, in my mind. "What the heck am I doing?! What is my twelve year old son doing?! WHY ARE WE HERE?!....I think that I have made a horrible mistake...I can't even get this mask on...I won't be able to dive...my son and I are going to freeze and die a watery death!!!!!!" All at once, the risk assessment part of my brain went from dormant to overdrive!
At this point, I began to panic. I was cold, the mask felt constricting, the hood nearly covered my mouth, my nose was frozen and suddenly I felt trapped, suffocating in all the gear. My brain began to scream that I needed to tear everything off of my face, rush out of the water, and flee. Nothing else mattered.
My kind instructor realized what was happening and gently encouraged me to float on my back for a while and look at the wide clear sky while taking some nice deep breaths from my regulator. And floating there, staring at all that blue, I was able to lasso my racing thoughts and pull them back. I could breathe. I could wear this mask. I could make this dive. "There is more right with me than there is wrong with me" was the mantra that I kept repeating as I got my feet back under me (literally, and figuratively.)
After donning my fins I was finally ready for the dive and was able to help Jack finish gearing up. While he was frustrated with his lack of dexterity due to the massive gloves and extra weight, he soldiered on, slowly but surely. He had his own moment of wild-eyed fear while flooding his mask, but I shared my mantra with him and to his credit, he calmed himself and got ready to submerge. However, it wasn't lost on me that his movements started to take longer and longer and his responses were a little more muted and hesitant as he went through the tasks of a safety check. But he gave a thumbs up when asked if he was ready to head down into the bay.
Here's the amazing thing...all that panic, fear, anxiety and focus on the cold kind of vanished as I let the air out of my buoyancy device (that funny vest that divers wear that fills with air at the press of a button) and slipped under the wind-blown waves. You see, I love being underwater. (I have my whole life. When I was in the middle of labor I used to imagine myself at the bottom of the ocean with a wave rolling over me as a way to handle the pain of a contraction. Weird, right? But it worked!) Having started to scuba dive, I find that I love having a regulator in my mouth providing me with oxygen so that I can swim deeper and deeper without worry. I love the feeling of the water pressing in on me. I love looking at the aquatic life around me. I love feeling weightless. And I really love doing all of that with my son. Jack will tell you that he feels the same way when under water. He demonstrated a unique ability to focus and handle difficult tasks without getting rattled during our pool sessions. It's one of the reasons that our dive instructor even agreed to trial this cold water certification. For a twelve year old, he's just very good at managing himself while submerged.
So there we were. We saw starfish, sea urchins, WWII wreckage along with the other divers who had come to the cove that morning. (Below is a video from the same cove where we were...though we didn't get out as far as they did.)
But because we had safety actions to accomplish, we didn't get to spend much time enjoying these sites. First up, we had to flood our masks with water and then, with eyes close, lift our heads and blow the water out in order to clear them. We both accomplished that. Phew. First check. Next, we had to take off our masks completely then, eyes closed, replace them on our face and clear them again. Jack decided to go first and I watched as he successfully got the mask off and then, fumbling with those darn gloves, get it back on. He then began to try and clear the mask, but without any luck. With anxiety in my heart I watched him start to panic, grabbing at his mask until I watched him visibly calm down, even with the mask flooded and his eyes closed. He pointed to the surface and I watched him and the instructor make their ascent. I waited for a while before I saw our instructor dip her head in the water and signaled that I should join them.
At this point it became clear that Jack's strength was waning. Donning the gear in the cold had been taxing and I could see that he was tired. So when I asked him what he wanted to do, I was proud of him for saying, "Mom, I want to keep going, but I think I am too cold, and my arms and hands don't feel right."
Ok, I say I was proud. The truth (the TRUTH) was that at first, the overzealous, over confident part of my brain was balking at the idea of quitting. "Look!" it said, "We've gotten this far! Just keep going! Tell him to snap out of it, to push himself! Think of all the time and money you've spent to get to this point. Think of the panic you overcame! You can't leave now!" But as I looked at my son and saw the fatigue in his eyes, those thoughts dissipated as my mom instincts kicked into gear. Our instructor and I agreed that it was time to leave the water. It didn't matter that I wanted to continue, to push harder and longer, what mattered was Jack's safety. Paul's warning about my tendency to overextend myself suddenly seemed applicable to the situation.
After removing our tanks we exited the bay. The moment we pulled our hoods off, our wet hair began to freeze. The second we pulled our gloves off, the water droplets on our fingers iced over. I was shocked by this and had immediate visions of hypothermia, though out of the corner of my eye I saw other divers nonchalantly changing by their cars with frozen hair and bright red faces. Apparently, diving in Alaska doubles as Special Ops training. I guess you just learn not to notice how hard nature is trying to kill you.
Anyway, after a struggle that felt like hours but really only lasted minutes, we got out of our dry suits, got dry hats and gloves on, and I had Jack bundled up in the front (heated) seat of my car. His teeth were chattering and his hands were numb (something he wasn't at all thrilled at...in fact, after everything that we'd gone through, it was his numb fingers that ended up being the most upsetting....or maybe it was just delayed adrenaline talking. Either way, I've never worked so hard to warm a pair of hands up : ) but after some tears, alot of soothing words about blood circulation, some distracting questions about video games (look how low I had to sink to get his mind off his hands : ) he finally calmed down and after while I looked over to see that he had conked out and was fast asleep. Coming out of the water looked like the right thing to do.
I was reminded that there is a big difference between panic and genuine inability. And that was the lesson that Jack and I had to learn yesterday. On the one hand, panic caused both of us to doubt our abilities and the value of attempting the dive at all! On the other hand, it became clear that due to the climate and the extra weight of the gear, Jack is not physically able to complete a cold water test. One needed to be overcome with a solid dose of self-talk and some good-old-fashioned optimism, the other needed to be acknowledged and acted upon in order to stay safe.
I'm over-the-moon proud of Jack for going into that water yesterday with the goal of completing his certification. It was definitely a mind-over-matter moment for both of us. But I'm also over-the-moon proud of Jack for admitting when he'd reached his physical limit. I didn't want to admit that there was something we couldn't do, but I needed to re-learn the value of stopping.
I'm sure we'll get our scuba certifications this year. Maybe in Alaska, maybe in Hawaii. I might never enter the waters of Whittier again (have I mentioned the cold yet? : ) but yesterday was still a good day.
After all, Jack gets to say that he went diving in Alaska, in winter, when he was twelve. And like promised, it is a pretty awesome thing for him to brag about : )
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