I’m sure you’ve heard a story or two about somebody you know who was on a boat and got deathly seasick. The adage I find memorable is the one that goes, ‘At first you’re afraid you’ll die. Then after a time, you’re afraid you won’t!’
Well, trust me, I entered that hall of shame this past weekend on Lake Erie with four other guys out for the proverbial recreational three hour tour. As you can see from the picture above, ‘seas’ weren’t too bad. Pretty light, really. Rolling and frankly, darned lovely. Wind was good and we were able to make good headway as we tacked out of Toledo Beach Marina on our way out to and around the Toledo light. We were laughing and having a good time, as friends do when they get together after having not seen each other for a while.
On the way back in, though, I started to feel a bit clammy, and when the lunch sandwiches came out, I had a bad feeling about trying to eat mine. Ten minutes later I excused myself to the lower cabin and proceeded to have a very intimate relationship with a bucket stowed on board for just this eventuality.
Sure enough, things got worse before they got better. I was totally amazed at how incapacitated I became. After about 30 minutes of being below deck, I could hardly move. I could barely raise my head, and had even a harder time opening my eyes. Plus, I was sweating like a football player in full pads during two-a-days in August. I was drenched in sweat and moaning like a dying man, offering up the name of a deity in vain from time to time.
But I really don’t want to focus on that part of the experience in today’s blog. That memory will be just fine tucked away in my head. Trust me, you didn’t want to be there.
What truly moved me, though, was how my friends onboard did everything they could to both get the sailboat back into the slip ASAP, and try their level best to get me taken care of. It was clear my stomach and head were out of control and there was nothing they could do about them. They regularly checked on me, though, and offered to do whatever they could.
As far as I can figure last Saturday afternoon on Lake Erie was the most vulnerable I have ever felt in my life. And that’s where these special guys came in. Mike wanted to get me up on deck where I could see a non-moving horizon and could take in some fresh air. Problem? I couldn’t move. He began to calculate how they could carry me up on deck.
Axel found a little electric fan and directed it on my dripping-with-sweat body. That felt better. Both Mike and Axel were concerned about how hot it was below deck and that I was dehydrating right before their eyes. Still, I begged them to let me be for a few more minutes, hoping I could get myself together.
After another ten minutes or so, I forced myself up the ladder to collapse, again, on the deck bench on the shady side of the boat. Inside my head, my voice sounded odd. I realized my brain wasn’t working right. That’s when the guys became even more concerned about dehydration. I took a couple of sips of water, but even that didn’t seem to work. I experienced dry heaves again on deck, now almost an hour after the boat was tied up.
After another thirty minutes or so I got to feeling a little better and felt ready enough to try to step up and out of the boat. Before I tried that, though, a couple of the guys thought it best if they put a life jacket on me, so in case I lost balance and fell, I’d be floating on the water instead of sinking to the bottom. Dave held my hand as I came safely down the narrow gangway. Then Steve put his arm around me and lead me off the dock to the waiting car where Dave had the air conditioner running.
Before too long I heard myself laugh, which sounded odd in my head. I knew by then I was coming around. I did skip dinner that night, though, spending most of the rest of the evening in bed in front of a fan. By early Sunday morning, Mike was knocking on our bedroom door with a just-purchased supply of Gatorade, which he thought about at 4 AM, remembering it wasn’t the water I needed so much to regain equilibrium, but the electrolytes.
All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Trust me, we’ll laugh about my afternoon with the boat bucket for years to come. But for me, it will be the care and concern of amazing friends that got me through one of the toughest days I can remember.
I offer a heartfelt thank you to Mike, Steve, Dave, and Axel for taking care of me at a time when I flat-out couldn’t. You exhibited care and concern for a brother that I won’t easily forget. You’re good guys.
Today’s Elder Idea: I never drink water because of the disgusting things that fish do in it.
W. C. Fields
image: Rounding the Toledo light and heading for home with Axel and Dave.
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