Maroc - NEWSDAY.CO.TT - A la Une - 02/Jan 15:02

A near drowning

WAYNE KUBLALSINGH STARTING ON December 19, I was invited to spend four days in Tobago. My brother Hayden is a genius for taking very dilapidated buildings and transforming them into works of beauty, using wood, mostly greenheart lumber. I was there at his exquisite beach house with other family members, 14 of us. Parlatuvier is a beautiful seaside spot on the East Coast, two-thirds the way up between Crown Point and Charlotteville. The bay is horseshoe shaped, with lofty mountains on either side, pretty fishing boats, and a jetty, used primarily by fisherfolk. The beach itself slopes downward in a 30-degree angle towards the sea, ending in a slurry, or slough, of moving pebbles and sand, beyond which there is a sheer drop, to about seven feet in high tide. I was very eager to go to Parlatuvier. I had double knee-replacement surgery in December 2023, followed by a series of health difficulties, not caused by the knee surgery, but by 12 years, since 2012, of fighting chronic rheumatoid arthritis. In 2023, I had been condemned to a wheelchair and crutches. Two of the complications were a rash, and poor circulation which caused swollen and discoloured feet and ankles. I dearly desired to bathe in the sea, to treat the rash, and walk along the shore, to restore circulation. When I reached Palatuvier on Thursday, I was anxious to go out into the sea. My brother accompanied me to the shore, explaining the features of the shoreline terrain. The tide was high, the sea was rough, I must not go into the sea, but on the morrow it would be calmer. When he left, I went walking alone on the shore. On the foam made by the waves before returning to the sea. To at least get some saltwater on my ankles. I walked for approximately 100 metres to a concrete culvert. I turned to retrace my footsteps along the shore. Suddenly, I tumbled into the water. Against all my instincts, all my will, I fell. As soon as I fell, I knew that I was in trouble; the wave that had knocked the sand under my feet was now dragging me towards the sea. It dragged me towards the mushy slough of fine pebbles and sand continually being heaped up against the shore by the sea. I tried standing up, and I could not. I immediately realised I was going towards the sheer drop of the sea. I just couldn’t manage those buffeting waves without a footing. For a normal health person, yes, for me, no. Instinctively, I rolled to my knees. I began creeping towards the shore. Another wave came, slapped me towards the shore, began pulling me back down to the sea. I felt my wet towel hanging over my neck. It was keeping me back, and I couldn’t safely reach for it. I had to just dance my shoulders and shrug it off. I never saw the towel again. It just disappeared from the face of earth. To not follow the fate of my towel, I fell flat on my stomach, flattening my palms upon the shore, clutching the sand with my toes, my knees, my ribs, my fingers. I got back to my knees, and another wave came and knocked me over, dragging me back towards the slough of pebbles and sand. I fell back again on my stomach and my hands, and kept clutching the sand, trying to drag myself out of that morass of waves and pebbles and swirling tide and sand and slough. I got back on my knees, and kept creeping again, and another wave came. This third wave dragged me back again, and I was in the slough again. The waves wouldn’t allow me to leave the sea. I never made them any promises, why did they want me so bad? I got back on my knees again, creeping again, expecting the tidal push and pull of a fourth wave. There was no fourth wave. I crept and crawled and reached the top of the shore, and as soon as I reached safety, I saw about ten people around me. My brother-in-law, Dave, who had come running his life out. And my brother, two locals, and six holidaymakers. One of the ladies told me, lie down, lie down. But I didn’t swallow water, so I didn’t lie down. I kept spitting out little pebbles. There were pebbles in my ears, my nostrils, my hair. I was absolutely exhausted. My lungs were completely worn. I had never subjected them to such stress since I stopped running at the onset of chronic rheumatoid arthritis in 2012. I had to be lifted to my feet, as my knees were too weak. Three days later, I was still finding pebbles in my ears, my nostrils. Interestingly, throughout this one-minute ordeal I didn’t cry out for help. I didn’t call on God. I had no time. I was laser focused on getting to the top of the shore. To safety. Second, I did get what I had earnestly desired, a full-body sea-bath. Had I not tumbled over, I would not have gotten such a thorough dousing. And third, the fourth wave never came. The sea, God, the cosmos gave me a chance. I did not ask for this magnanimity. It just gave it to me. The post A near drowning appeared first on Trinidad and Tobago Newsday.