My Disease Robbed Me of My Happiest of Happy Places
And I am pissed
I am a scuba diver in my very soul. It moves me like nothing else on the planet can. As a travel writer, I have camped in the shadow of Colorado’s jagged peaks, sped across the waters of Norway’s fjords, and walked across the crunchy lava fields of Guatemala’s volcanoes.
All fabulous experiences and yet, they are not scuba diving.
They are not filled with the wonder of the ocean’s creatures. They do not sweep me away from Earthly realities or close off the sounds of everything but my own breathing and the crunching of parrotfishes nibbling corral.
I used to be able to dive through the disease. But as the symptoms became less predictable and far more debilitating, the diving came to a halt. I tried snorkeling, and while it is pleasant when I can manage it, it is not diving.
My cardiologist dives, so he understands. He wants to give me back my diving life. We have talked about surgery to remove my pericardium. He says there would be no restrictions on scuba diving after that, but open-heart surgery is my last-ditch effort after trying everything else.
I am trying a new injectable medication that is beginning to give me my life back. I can feed my horses again — even cleaning stalls is not too great an effort, so there is hope.
My husband and I travel to Bonaire annually in January. The question remains whether and how much I will be able to dive during our upcoming trip. The desire is there, but I have spent most of the last 18 months in a debilitating state, often unable to walk more than fifty feet.
Even though the medication is helping, the re-conditioning process must be slow to avoid flare-ups. I am hopeful and ever mindful of my fellow peri patients struggling for each and every breath.
I’ve been there. On the couch. Unable to focus my thoughts on anything other than the pain in my chest.
Breath by breath I am learning to accept my limitations, even as I fight through this crazy disease. And perhaps scuba diving is what keeps me moving forward when it seems unimaginable. For now, my happy place is simply dreaming of my return to the sea.
What keeps you moving forward when it feels like every step is a feat too great to manage?
Melinda Crow has been writing about travel for 30+ years, long before there were “digital nomads” and “influencers.” And while at any given moment, she would rather be on a cruise ship anywhere in the world, she lives in Central Texas (yes, near Waco, and no, she does not know Chip and Joanna Gaines) with her award-winning photographer husband, Gary, 12 peacocks, two horses and one lazy cat. She is the author of Camping Colorado and Camping New Mexico by FalconGuides and blogs at FirstRead.Me and here on Medium.