BENT
It is said that good judgment is born from experience. Yet, unfortunately, experience often comes from bad judgment. Over a decade ago, I earned a lot of experience when Paul Heinerth and I eagerly hiked into the steamy Yucatan jungle to explore deep passages of The Pit; a cave system we uncovered three years earlier. Armed with newly developed rebreathers and precious helium mixes, we set out to explore the mysteries of the tunnels in this popular region of Mexico. We’d be diving nearly 400 feet deep.
Today, divers flock to The Pit by an easily accessible jungle road, but in the earliest exploration of the Sistema Dos Ojos, getting your gear to the dive site required exhausting hikes, makeshift donkey carts, robust Mayan sherpas and a lot of determination and sweat. Paul Heinerth and I had been anticipating the help of a local support team, but on our arrival discovered they had been otherwise dispatched to assist the thriving recreational tourism business. The shop was simply too busy to free up any of their divers to help us. Knowing a hundred divers that would have eagerly joined us from the US, I was a little perturbed, but resolved that we could do it on our own. We had plenty of equipment, all our expedition supplies and a trusty Comex In-Water Recompression Table.
Our logbooks were fat with many thousands of dives and perhaps I was feeling a little invincible. I was keen to quickly bag as much new exploration as possible. Some combination of passion and spirit led me to make a decision to dive very deep, two days in a row, something I would not have done earlier in my career and something I have not done since that punishing day.
Feeling marching ants crawling under the skin of my thighs at 60 feet of depth during decompression, it was clear to me that I was bent. I had never felt a sensation like that before. I lengthened my decompression profile and gingerly climbed out of the water, but the profound exhaustion told me I still had a problem. Too tired to do anything other than breathe oxygen and drink water, I collapsed on my sleeping mat and hoped everything would go away. My resolve was eroded. I lost the ability to help myself. I was scared.
Improvised in-water recompression at the dive site, an arduous hike out of the jungle, and three followup chamber runs resulted in a full, but painful recovery. Looking back on my precarious situation, I learned many things. I believe that the frequently reported symptom of “denial” extends far beyond embarrassment. I’m convinced that a bent, sick person knows what to do, but simply can’t do it. To me, it makes sense that if your body chemistry is screwed up, so is your ability to make a decision to help yourself. It is therefore critical that somebody on your team takes charge and makes the best decisions for a DCS victim. Secondly, oxygen is a very powerful ally. Having plenty of rich gas on site saved me from grave injuries. Lastly, the long-term psychological effects after a DCI incident are worthy of discussion. Our community has progressively discarded terminology that divides decompression illness into “deserved” and “undeserved” hits. DCI, like a football player’s concussion, or a runner’s pulled hamstring is a sport’s injury. When we share our experiences, divers will be better informed if it happens to them. And, in my opinion, DAN insurance is mandatory. Every diver needs to support this organization and their programs. They were angels to me and I have watched them help countless colleagues through the incident and aftermath of diving injuries. Our community is incredibly fortunate to have their service and support.
Do I possess better judgement and have I gained wisdom and experience? Yes.
Am I ever going to get bent again? I can’t say, but I do everything I can to minimize the risk.
