I only dog paddle

I am not a pro at swimming. In fact, I was the latest in my family to learn how to swim despite lessons. I chalk this up to being about as allergic to water as a cat thanks to a childhood replete of ear infections, surgical interventions, near deafness, and lots of pain. Especially when water entered my ears. To this day, I have a hard time going under water because of it.

But I can swim well enough and while living near the Caribbean ocean it has been an advantegous skill. My husband, like myself, was a late swimmer. Meaning he learned about 3 years ago and only because I would put myself out far away in the water and tell him, "If you want to be with me here you'll have to swim." Love can make you do a lot of things, and this was one of them. 

Dog paddling, however, has always been a bit of a struggle for him. I blame it on his very non-bouyant body with a body fat percentage at a whopping -5%. Be it for that or for other reasons, he has a hard time treading water despite me explaining it to him many times.

For his birthday (two weeks ago), we went to Macao beach in Punta Cana. The previous few times I have gone, it has always been so peaceful and calm, but this day was different. The waves were plentiful and though they were not always big, they were overwhelming in their insidous way of creeping up on you before you could notice. Perfect for surfing, many beach-goers were giving surfing a try along with the help of the surf instructors. We enjoyed watching them and I admired their persistence: they would stand up, go a little distance and inevitably smack into the water and sand. 

Kataleya had fallen asleep and was resting peacefully on the shore--Walter watched over her while we took advantage of the moment to swim together. We laughed, sang songs and goofed off together while intermittently swimming in different directions. 

At one point, he was swimming away from me and I was overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude for him and how wonderful he is. Thankful that he was born and his life found mine, I was reveling in these thoughts when they were quickly overpowered by a premonition. In my mind's eye I saw him drowning, his body floating downwards and a news story I had read years ago flashed before my eyes. It was of a man who had an elaborate plan to propose to his girlfriend underwater while she remained in an underwater, glass B&B of sorts. Though the details escape me, what I do remember is the sad ending....he didn't make it to the top in time and drowned in front of his soon-to-be fiancé before she had time to say yes. My mind snapped back into the present moment, I see his head bobbing away from me: I swim after him.

Minutes pass, the premonition did too. We are again talking and singing the chorus from a song that was stuck in our heads. Macao beach is quite shallow. You can walk out for a long time and not lose footing. I don't tend to touch anyway though since I prefer to tread water continuously and I have this weird thinking that if I touch, I will touch something living as well. 

As I mentioned before, the waves would come upon us unnoticed, surprising us with their friendly push against our backs and over our heads. Upon touching the shore, they retroceded, creating a push-pull dynamic with one wave behind us and another in front. It seemed fun. 

I don't remember feeling the floor fall away. As I said, I wasn't touching anyway. But I noticed the smallest change in Don's mannerisoms. His stroke seemed faster, his head went under more and though he can hold his breath for about 2 minutes, he seemed a bit out of breath already. He is only an arm's length away from me. I ask, 

"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he says. It was not a chill yeah, more like a short-must-answer yeah.

My own arms are working a little harder to navigate the push-pull, the slamming back and forth of the waves we are caught between. A moment passes. 

"I can't touch," he states. I lower my foot. No floor. 

Though I am okay, I quickly realize he is tired from being up late the night before and exercising this morning. He didn't just say he couldn't touch, he meant he needed to touch. 

"Stay calm, bebe, don't despair," I say it as if my words will magically make his uncoordinated strokes turn into a gentle doggy paddle. My heart picks up pace. I analyze: I can't grab him, my own strength isn't enough in this powerful water to pull him back to shore. What is priority? Keeping him oxygenated. 

With both hands I push him upwards with all the might I have each time his head lowers. I try to push him towards the shore. I push and push and push and nothing happens. Every inch of progress is erased by the waves. Our feet dangle in the aqueous air. 

"Don't despair!" I say again. Now I am calculating--how long do we have till this wave subsides? When we will touch ground? Will he stay afloat? How serious is this? Is he going to be okay? Before I can think further, his arms begin to flail and a cry is let loose from his lips:

"Ayúdenme!"

With his call for help ringing through my ears, I scan the shore: no one sees us. No one hears. A desperate energy arises from the core of my being, it feels as if a hand tightens around me, expelling the word with a powerful force:

"AUXILIO!" I remember thinking, I have never said that before...

But no one turns around. It is hard to see what people are looking at, but I know they are not looking at us. No one is running for the water like I thought they would. 

I do not know what I would have done next. Would I have screamed again? Would I have tried to pull him out? I don't have the answers to these questions, nor do I need them, because in the moment after these thoughts bombarded me, two surf instructors flew into our rescue. Their boards cut swiftly across the water and they were with us within seconds. Shaking, I say,

"It's him, it's him, he's the one who needs help." 

They pull us both out. I thought I was okay, but pulling my body onto the board I realized I was just as sapped of energy as a broken twig. We were brought ashore, our legs tumbled us back to where our group was. We feel depeleted by simultaneously reborn in a sense. No one says anything as we approach, and I quickly realize no one knew what had happened. We were laughing about it moments later, how they were busy taking selfies while we drowned in the background...

I could sense him trying to explain, "I felt like I needed to ask for help before it was too late," to which I responded, "Asking for help isn't something to be ashamed of. Many people rely on their own strength and then when they no longer have it, it is too late to ask for help. You did the right thing."

His birthday gift that day was truly being given another day to live. Another day to be grateful, to breath. 

Though there are many things we learned from that experience, what I have been thinking of lately is how it truly is important to not despair. I knew in that moment desperation would only make things worse, yet I tend to despair when it comes to other matters in life. Right now our biggest challenge is keeping our heads above water while we wait out this rather overwhelming visa process. It feels like a mind-game, like an illusion. Something that we have worked hard towards and is being kept away from us. Some people who applied way after us have already gotten their visas, and meanwhile we haven't. The process is an unending wait. Each step is "Okay, now this and wait." 

I thought we would be in the US by now. All we have dreamed about is beginning our life together over there. Yet getting desperate about it only makes us weary, makes us anxious, and makes us irritable. Far be it from me to drown ourselves when we could just be calmly treading water. The time will come when we are on the shore, rejoicing, laughing, remembering the process as if it was a simple bad dream. But right now, we dog paddle. 

Fezzik might have thought it insignificant, but dog paddling is actually enough.