28 Minutes In the Largest Sea Hole

Posted on June 17, 2023 by TheJessicaness
walking to Toast
riding into sunrise

I’m grateful that we packed the night before, so all I need to do is cover up my sunburnt skin and help drag my gear, in a rolling bag, across the street. It’s a good thing we got to the dock early as our stop is the furthest from the shop where the big boat that will be taking us into the open ocean awaits and leaves us and the other ten divers waiting on a lone traveler to join us at her pace. Perhaps she’s already on island time, but the team was early because the ride out is 2.5 hours. We meet John and George, our divemasters and are given banana bread and watermelon for breakfast while they move our gear. 

not halfway there
in the water at the Blue Hole

Caleb and I will walk to the bank ATM to pull out the $40 per person park entry fees that I forgot in the room. I’m used to authorizing a credit card and being charged upon return depending on how the day turned out. The boat leaves at 6am and Caleb and I will talk with Dolly and David, a couple visiting from Los Angeles, with their adult sons. I usually avoid boat heads because I’ve already peed in the water a bunch and going down into a hot closet is the opposite of salty, Vitamin D filled, air; but the crew secures the facilities for rough seas, waves at four feet high. 

Caleb had looked up water temperatures before coming to the island so we knew which wetsuits to bring. Well, we brought too many as we learn that the Blue Hole will be 83 degrees today, instead of the advertised 67 degrees on the internet. I’ll still put on my white 3mm because I get cold easily, but we don’t need his 5mm or my 7mm for the rest of the trip. We are the first ones in the water, out of habit, but have to float between a military law enforcement boat (tied off to the dive boat) and the reef to wait for everyone to make the surface swim together.

a nurse shark at ~180ft
cave formations

It’s easy enough for most people to jump in the water with dive gear on and not die, especially with an instructor nearby, but the joy increases with the details — buoyancy, awareness, and breathing slowly so the dive can last longer. None of that matters at this site though as we’re here to get down and get back up before anyone runs out of air, but if they do, there are regulators and tanks in the water at the safety stops so they don’t get a side of the bends too. I prefer my descents to go at the speed that I can equalize the pressure in my ears and appreciate that I was able to keep up and not get left behind.

The dive leader gives the signal to go down and will check in with us at 40ft before we make the plunge to 132ft (or 135ft for me and 154ft for Caleb, because he attempted to save a necklace). The other divemaster will make the rounds to all the divers to check their air and situation. Going down in a crowd sucked and I tried to keep my distance so that I wouldn’t catch a fin in the face. I know this is something I’m going to have to work on if this hobby becomes employment. Perhaps I become a trail volunteer in a park for a season and then spend a few months underwater, just the two of us, every year.

bubbles in my face
the group ascending

I had in my BCD and tank pockets a total of 18 pounds of weight, which is more than the 10% of my body weight needed to sink me, while alive. Learning the proper ratios of wetsuits to weights in rental gear with different salinity is quite a science, which is why having your own gear is good for gaining this knowledge and making changes accordingly; as some companies will still prep and clean your gear too. I usually surprise people with the amount of lead I ask for, but this amount caught me off guard, as it might’ve been ok in my 7mm, but was quite the workout without the extra buoyancy support.

We go over the edge and it almost seems too dark to see, but then we’re quickly at another ledge with resting nurse sharks and giant stalagmites and stalactites. By the time you realize what you’re seeing, it’s time to go up. I didn’t notice the little fish until looking at the pictures after. I was swimming vertically and the divemaster told me to stop kicking and swim horizontally, but I was fighting gravity and nitrogen narcosis; apparently fun at first, but then deadly by becoming unconscious underwater. I would love to be able to go back down and spend a few more minutes exploring.

leaving the Blue Hole
little blue fish

I quickly burned through my air and came up, first, with 500 psi in my tank (the minimum to maintain them safely for longer) after our safety stop. We were below 100ft of water for eight minutes. Lesson learned: always check for proper buoyancy before a new dive situation as depth (atmospheric pressure changes) can make a huge difference as tons of water compress all the air out of your wetsuit and the extra lead, that was no big deal at the surface, now causes you to swim like your life depends on it. Once on the boat, I notice that my once semi-healed wound is now wide open and swollen with salt water – no surprise there.

Wide open meaning that where there was once 1.5mm of the epidermis and tendon sheath protection, there is now a third of that gently covering the inside of my hand from the outside world. I ask the boat captain for a bandaid and while he has the first aid kit open I venture to ask for a butterfly stitch, but quickly retract with bandage in hand and claim no injury so that my other two dives don’t get canceled. I’ve already destroyed my hand, so there’s no point in ruining the trip for both of us. Caleb will get me an ace bandage so that I can conceal the damage and, “stop staring at it.”

Caribbean reef shark
Nassau grouper

Caleb agrees that this dive was not fun, but that’s in the moment. Looking back, had I read some blogs or done more research before we left I would’ve had a better idea of what we were in for, but there’s only so much that reading can prepare you; such is the life of a traveler, hiker, diver, or learner of anything but reading itself. The other authors tell you about the narcosis, the 10-person minimum to make the trip, and how crazy, awesome, and fast it all is – just like the ball drop on NYE in NYC or the Formula Rossa roller coaster in Abu Dhabi. Some experiences are only meant to happen once, but given enough time, you can ride again without getting too dizzy.

I suppose Mammoth Cave would be a better comparison — something so big and beautiful but rushed through with a crowd — of wanting more time to appreciate the history and science of the Blue Hole. We love the theory, but the execution of safety impedes enjoyment. I’m grateful to have experienced this and if anyone in the future wants to fly me down there, then I will gladly join them for another opportunity to experience narcosis in the depths of this formation and take in more of the abyss. We’re hoping for more space between divers in the next two locations.

a shark
a divemaster

It’s probably a 30-minute ride to Half Moon Cay Wall, six miles south, to our second dive site. I enter the water after almost an hour of surface time. The max depth for this dive will be 65ft for 45 minutes. I hold the ace wrap on, stay a bit above the others, and watch the Caribbean Reef shark that follows our group but maintains its distance. There’s definitely more here that catches the eye, but that’s because red quickly turns to black at shallow depths and you lose half the color spectrum by 80 feet. I’m given permission after this dive to wear a glove because we’ll be out of the protected parks.

Lunch is set up on board and we can take our potato salad, rice & beans, and actual stewed chicken (in reference to the drier meat I got the first night on the island) on reusable plates to picnic tables set up on Half Moon Caye; the first 42 acres to be designated a nature reserve in Belize and the first marine protected area in Central America. I’ll have Caleb’s slice of coconut pie in place of bird. Sadly, the pictures that we took from the bird stand of the nesting Red-footed boobies (in their only sanctuary in the world) and a “great beach” (the side of the island with beautiful volcanic rock but not a safe sand to water transition) were lost.

parrotfish and Southern stingray
Caleb blowing air rings

We should’ve worn our dive boots to explore, but the heat tempted us to wear flip-flops in the sun that exposes Caleb’s red feet. I’ll stay in my wetsuit for that reason, but the sand is too hot to go barefoot and builds up in our sandals which worries Caleb that he’ll get a free sanding with a side of blisters on his already sore tootsies. I wanted to explore the island, but we were only given an hour and were asked to return our plates after dining so they could be washed before departure. We return and sit on the lower dock to rinse our feet.

After our hour and a half surface interval to off-gas some built up nitrogen, it’s time to get back in the water for our third dive of the day. I’ll go down to 14lbs, which makes a different but is still too much weight, so I struggle for the first half of the dive to not sink, but then being lighter have to worry about getting in front of the guide. I’ll tread water a few times and then just start circling back so that I can see the area three times instead. I see sharks, an eel, trumpet fish, and see a belly rub (hand signal for good eating). I’ll come up close to 500 psi again, having gone down each time starting at 2750 psi.

big noodles and little bread for dinner

I hang my wetsuit to drip some on the return trip, but next to all the other wetsuits it definitely won’t be dry. I pull my skinsuit down halfway and put on a light hoodie for sun protection. I’ll have to put on more sunscreen for the walk back to the room and then apply a new bandage once my hand has dried out. I feel like it’s going to take so long for my hand to heal now. We get back to shore at 430 and return to our room with the help of two spear fishermen who give us a ride from halfway down the entrance. 

With the salt washed off, we walk to dinner and get a mid-meal table wipedown; not sure if done hourly or for the ice melt rivulets. We’re both ready to get back to the room so that I can wet my contacts and then use my nails to peel them off my eyeballs instead of blinking and massaging my eyelids for up to 15 minutes for the same results. We read until I start to melt into the bed, with a warm blanket and inflamed skin, under the A/C and ceiling fan. Caleb wants to keep his eyes upon just a bit longer, but soon joins me in slumber.

what a day in the sun will do
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Getting Pink with Ice Cubes

Posted on June 16, 2023 by TheJessicaness

Or how to get a sunburn before lunch…

We slept for 10.5 hours, something I would claim hasn’t been done since I was a teen, but as my husband and dad will attest, I still have no problem doing; unless I’m traveling or have somewhere to be, such as work, school, or breakfast. But in this case, we were told yesterday not to check-in until late and with sunrise at 5:18am, we weren’t worried about sleeping too much. We bring my pink and his yellow water bottles to be filled in the lobby and then I’ll sit down to a smaller version of the welcome drink with the pink and yellow still separated.

the oft-mentioned pool

I take a sip and realize that when we plan a mostly dive vacation we spend more time at meals in restaurants than we do when driving and shoving food in our faces from behind the wheel or while on the trail. Caleb eats at this pace regardless of location or activity, but is more likely to relax at a shaded table with a breeze on a lovely morning when the place isn’t crowded and watch me eat the other half of my meal while the server has already cleared his dishes. Caleb, on the other hand, is wondering about the loud black bird which could either be a Great-tailed Grackle or a Melodious Blackbird.

I choose a traditional Belizean breakfast, a fry jack stuffed with eggs and beans with a pizza wedge of a watermelon slice on the side. The fry jack is like the best flour tortilla but with an added crispy layer of goodness. I’m only able to eat half and then we walk to the pier where the boat launches for a private beach for hotel guests. Posted here, a double entendre, about how people swimming feeds the crocodiles, so please don’t do either. We walk back to the room and the phone ringing interrupts our conversation.

It’s the tour shop letting us know that our morning dives are canceled and that we can try again at 1:30, depending on the wind speed in the afternoon. A bit of upset washes over both of us, and that’s to be expected. We drop off our medical history and liability waivers at the shop, passing an iguana, one of many we have seen since landing yesterday. We spot a Tropical mockingbird in a little courtyard on our way to Rum+Bean for some coffee to cheer us up and to think about how we’ll fill the morning without being too far away if we get the go ahead.

I’ll get an Oreo Frappuccino (didn’t realize the f word was trademarked by the s place), complete with a cookie in the cream, and Caleb gets his second breakfast with a week’s worth of sugar in it with a partial Snickers on top. As if that wasn’t enough, Caleb went full vacation mode and ordered a peanut butter cookie too. I would’ve shared more of it with him, but I was in a softer foods mood and not trying to crunch through a dog biscuit. There’s an interesting variety of books to peruse while we wait our turn in the drink order line.

One has pictures of unique bookshelves; another has geek baby names (Lady Jessica from the 1965 novel Dune); and the last will inform us of animal facts about the fiddler crab keeping cool, the sperm whale being loud, and the mantis shrimp that causes light and 8,000 °F temperatures with its punch. We sip our drinks in the cool air before passing a garden and construction in progress, some of the workers passing us on bicycles. We find a covered dock with a bench, but we will sit lower so we can just dip our toes in the water.

We walk the half mile to Toast where there’s a bar, snorkel gear shop, and swings that are in high tide so we can swim to them later. The woman at the shop says that today is good for snorkeling Shark Ray Alley because when the winds die down the visibility will be bad, but we’ve been diving in worse. Note: don’t go diving when the seas stir up sand and fish terds and you can’t see past your own arm. It’s better to wait until you can see a hundred feet, which I know isn’t all dive sites and that sharks can still sneak up on you, but they’re so graceful.

We walk back to the room to cool down a bit, as coming from San Diego to San Pedro in mid June will increase the temperature by 20 degrees. We grab our books and water bottles with the plan of passing two hours by the side of the 72,000 gallon saltwater pool. The personal playlist booming from the big- booty, thong-wearing, women might change our plans though depending on how long they plan on getting jiggy with it on a float and lounger. The water is cool but the ambiance is not, so Caleb is soon ready to move our party elsewhere.

We walk to Meliza’s Art & Soul gift shop that might’ve lacked stickers, but has carved turtles, mini knives, fish paintings, gem masks, weaved bags, shiny hats, etc. We look around and don’t see anything that we want to bother getting home safely just to not find a place to display it since we still haven’t put up our tiny shelves for setting out the trinkets we do have (and possibly plan to get rid of) depending on whether we live out of a van and boat, a tent and bicycle, a cabin and golf cart or some other amazing adventure filled option when Caleb is finally done with his government obligation.

To better understand the poolside mood of earlier, realize that we’re trying to stay out of the sun and be sober for diving, while everyone else is here to drink up vitamin D and Belizean rum. We relax in reclining chairs, with our feet up, for our next reading session on the hotel lobby porch until I get hungry enough to finish the other half of my breakfast, in the 17°C sunroom, with a nice breeze which also helps keep the exposed room cool. We are less surprised when Caleb gets a text that the afternoon has also been canceled.

We’ll return to the poolside but will switch sides to take advantage of the shade the canopies provide in relation to the sun’s location. We’re sitting in our swimsuits and I’m still feeling a bit warmer than usual, so I take a picture of my back and shoulders that have been exposed all morning, with just a dab of sunscreen on top for good measure (because the sun only shines straight down). What I couldn’t see then was the white patches where SPF 30 had been applied and the light pink skin that would continue to cook itself, following Newton’s first law of motion, of course.

So we lay the chairs all the way back to stretch out, though this helps Caleb’s spine and puts a strain on mine. We watch the couple’s in the pool, especially when they swim up near our chairs, and if another dive gets canceled that might be us. Is snorkeling with crocodiles considered swimming? I’m ok spending the day relaxing, but next time we can rent carts from the resort with rates at $25/2hr or $200/3 days. There’s a chart of more options, but we would rather rent bikes in town since it’s no longer an option here, even though it’s still advertised everywhere.

Caleb starts to get hungry, since he didn’t have a second half of breakfast to eat for lunch. As he’s looking at nearby menus, the bar brings him a blue rose (whiskey, rosemary, and blueberries) to sip on, but also hoping to entice him to buy a bottle like the other swimmers or to come to the bar to try their other flavors. This helps a bit, but by 2pm Caleb is ready to go. We return to the room for more sunscreen and I change into Caleb’s clothes for more skin coverage than only the skimpy dresses he talked me into bringing, even though we both know the most common injuries we’ve seen while diving is sunburns, seasickness, and scraping (when the tide forces you to share a t-shirt with coral until you’re blood buddies), but maybe that’s just Caleb’s shore diving experiences.

I peel the old tegaderm film off my palm and it takes the dried blood away. I was convinced this morning that it was still healing, but looking at the open wound with skin as white as the bed sheets I’m not so sure. I hope that the inner layer of dermis has formed and I’m only seeing the discarded hand meat that has yet to be replaced in the life cycle that takes 2 weeks to 6 months depending on if you’re 20 or 60 years old. I’m on Day 17 post-op and as I age, my body slows down the renewing process, leaving my hand open to infection for longer. It’s these things of youth that go unnoticed the most that are definitely missed when brought to our attention.

The Dirty Martini isn’t open yet so we go to JYOTO, the Japanese restaurant, next door. We choose to sit outside and move tables when ours becomes exposed to the sun. Feeling inspired by Caleb’s drink earlier, I’ll order something with blueberries in it while we wait on our sushi and soup to arrive. Since I didn’t take a picture of what we ordered from the menu, all I can tell you is one roll is crunchy, another has shrimp, and the third roll (with 6pc instead of 8pc) is called the Happy Cow. I got the vegetarian habanero-lime ramen, with surprise.

I notice a piece of blue plastic in my bowl and Caleb was quick to dismiss the first piece. I might not have thought much of the second piece either, but as Caleb picked it up, I found a third. Inside, I find out that it wasn’t an overzealous cut of a wrapped vegetable but parts of their dish sponge. Mine is biodegradable at home and I wouldn’t want to eat it. The host agrees that the right thing to do is make me another bowl, this one to-go, as there shouldn’t be sponge in my food. I now wonder how much more I ate, but at the rate of plastic consumption in the world, I’m doing better than the birds and the straw snorting turtle.

The staff apologizes again for the mishap but I’m grateful for another meal. Meanwhile, Caleb is surprised that I didn’t finish the first bowl. We take it to the room and look up things to do just in case: dive, eat, and relax. Well, we’ve accomplished two out of three today. There is an iguana sanctuary and an archeological site on the island, if we get the chance. We walk to LevelUp Barcade and have fun exploring the 80s memorabilia with the employee. We probably could have played some games, kept the conversation going, and had a drink but the guy said we could see crocodiles behind the bar so off we went as his co-worker showed up with their dinner.

We sat in the two chairs at the end of the dock and as the sun was setting I started to watch my legs for flying vampires more than the rippling water for signs of eyes and a snout. We begin to retreat from the water’s edge and notice the balls in the pool, just white earlier, now have different color lights inside that give the swimming area a cool nighttime vibe. It’s almost enough to make us linger, but the mosquito attacks increase and send us running to our room to escape the onslaught. There are a few inside as well but now I see more bumps on my face, neck, and legs than I do bugs.

My light pink skin from earlier is now a bright red sunburn covering my shoulders, between my tits and pits, and the front of my legs. I didn’t think we’d be in the sun that much and should’ve worn my dive skin or brought one of my many long-sleeved white shirts just for these vacation situations. I’m grateful that Caleb brought a spare outfit for this scenario, but I’d much rather avoid it. We wash the sweat off so Caleb can put lotion on my clean but tender skin. I climb under the safety of the blankets as a lone mosquito patrols the area. This also allows Caleb to turn the air down while we read.

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You Should Try the Rice and Beans

Posted on June 15, 2023 by TheJessicaness

After hydrating, we put our carry-on bags and heads under the seats at our gate in Denver to attempt to sleep on the floor, in the shade provided, until our flight to Houston in less than five hours. We roughly make it two hours, waking every half hour, as our bodies remind us that we’re no longer at grandma’s house where playing under the furniture and on the floor was still fun. Though, we should’ve found a spot that would’ve allowed us to stretch our legs and I would’ve been out.

I’m done struggling and upon waking find out that our gate has changed so we decide to walk down there to try again. We find people stretched out on comfortable benches and I quickly join them for a good nap while Caleb chooses to stay awake. We’re third on the plane again, but this time it’s back to an exit row for us, which comes with the same legroom as first class but with limited refreshments. I ask the Air Force guy in front of us about his sweater and he tells me it’s his bootcamp class Raider logo, not the football team, but also not the lost name of the Twix bar in Europe until 1991 and 2000 when countries switched to the US branding.

Hello, Houston

And to think, my bootcamp class was just a number, though I suppose we could’ve had our hand-painted flag turned into a logo in 2004, but it would’ve been a very different process back then… with all our old technology, like a $1300 Nikon digital camera that was created from its 1975 Kodak predecessor that was the size of a toaster and cost ten times as much; it’s no wonder my mom used film. Not sure why I’m trying to limit the transfer of mediums to cameras when the class would have chosen someone to take the flag to the sweater shop so we could advertise our experience outside of a graduation book and a VHS tape.

Just typing that reminds me of how much history I have; knowing that some of my favorite readers were born before 1976. I’ll sit between Aaron, an off-duty flight attendant, and Caleb. Aaron caught my attention by taking a nice picture out the window, as the lights looked neat above the place, as he doesn’t get that opportunity while working. This flight has him going to a friend’s wing pinning ceremony to join the aviation industry. As we ascend, Aaron’s headphones go in and Caleb’s go on. I’m left to feel the pressure change like going up and down in an elevator.

I try to sleep and turn the music off, then back on with the volume down, but I give up and enjoy watching Caleb catch a nap on our two-and-a-half hour flight at 5am. We stop at a United Lounge for some breakfast and I’ll stand to eat my granola and yogurt until a couple gives us their seats amongst a sea of chairs filled with people’s bags so that they can crap, or talk crap on the phone, or have easy access to their crap because they think the world is crap and that they should treat others that way. We’ll get in a post breakfast walk before being the third passengers to board again.

near Fort St and Cork St

Caleb prefers to do crosswords on the ground, so we do that until takeoff. I’ll check out the current magazine and perform other in-air activities; one of which requires use of the facilities. Most airplane bathrooms are moist, everywhere, with a mixture of those wet smells, but this lavatory has the overwhelming stench of turds covered in disinfectant; kind of like the people who fart while using the alcohol wipes on their arm rests and tray tables.

I won’t realize it until we land and see the welcome signs that not only is this a new country for us, but a new isthmus too. We’ve been to the unnamed isthmus that Seattle, North America is on and the Niagara Peninsula connected to Canada. Of the seven countries located here, Belize was the only one to be ruled by the British until 1981 when the colony gained its independence but kept English as the official language. Most of the population also speaks creole patois – a mix of English and West African Akan – and one of the many Indian languages that make up ten percent of the population. 

in memory of Lena Quinto

We get through passport control and customs rather quickly as we’re just another couple coming to enjoy the beauty that this country’s water has to provide. We step outside, before noon, and are greeted with a group of men holding signs, none with our name, and others offering to take us so many places. We take turns in the loo and then our driver arrives. Lamar will place us and our bags in the Adidas van (that’s what the logo looks like) and then go back in the heat for the other name on his sign, who is running late, so we leave without them.

Baron Bliss Lighthouse

Lamar is happy to tell us a bit about Belize – the dialect, the manatees, and his time in customer service jobs that landed him this driving gig. He says something about, “you have to be right upstairs, so you can be right downstairs,” in reference to your mental and physical health. Caleb and I agree. Lamar has taken us from the Philip S.W. Goldson International Airport to the San Pedro Belize Express Water Taxi station that will deliver us to our vacation island in an hour and a half for $59 each, round trip. The alternative is the 15 minute flight starting at $116 from the municipal airport or an extra $100 to leave from the international airport to the island.

Along the way, we pass a lot of greenery and the Belize River; some houses that look modern and beachy but others that look more abandoned or unfinished with people living on the bottom floor (common in heavy weather locales); and get to see the new Haulover Bridge under construction. Some businesses are ran out of a garage or room in the house while others consist of a multi-floor building. I know all these things are common, but the contrasts aren’t usually so mixed; unless you’re overseas in a former or current British territory.

We pick up our paper ticket in the taxi office and confirm our return trip so that we don’t miss our flight. I find a table and finish my rice and tofu from the plane and then we walk to the Belize sign on the water where some girls will pose for the camera. We complete our little tour loop and return to the terminal for some water while we wait in line to board. We can’t sit at the front, where the employees lounge, so I’m happy to think that we’ll get a side window seat, but it quickly gets closed so that the splashes don’t wet the other passengers. There’s a slight breeze coming in through the part left unzipped but no chance of seeing whale sharks, dolphins, and turtles through the thick plastic.

Our bags were tagged before being loaded and we will point them out to the employees once ashore and they will match the numbers and return them to us. We are greeted by men selling coconuts, weed, and trips to Margaritaville (a resort at the other end of the island). Our driver to Mahogany Bay Resort will arrive shortly to help pull our bags to the van that will drive us the fifteen minutes to our accommodations for the week. There’s a strong island vibe as we pass dive shops and restaurants, of which we get a few recommendations of what and where to eat, before having our bags dropped at the golf cart shack and us being delivered inside.

sipping on fruity welcomes

The woman behind the counter will check us in and give us the same restaurant endorsements; as will the porter who brings us and our bags to room 316B, the upper half of a duplex connected to another duplex via a wide staircase; after the short tour of the bar and pool so that we can get our icy welcome drinks consisting of a pink and yellow mix through a paper straw. The a/c is on in the sunroom and bedroom with one cute blue robe with white fishes folded neatly at the end. The doors and windows aren’t airtight and are made of mahogany, the national tree of Belize; which is popular for use in furniture, boats, and instruments – for being wet and salty.

the view from our front door

Caleb checks that the mini fridge is packed with bottles of water while I check out the aluminum shower in the more humid bathroom with sliding doors to separate the rooms at different temperatures. Caleb puts on shorts and we both put on flip-flops for the short walk to the Tuff E Nuff office to check on our dives. We’re told to come back tomorrow at 8:50am and that Saturday we will need to be across the street, about a half mile, by 5:30am for our trip to the Great Blue Hole that inspired this trip. We have dinner early, outside at The Verandah; I’ll go local and Caleb chooses fish and chips.

stewed chicken, rice and beans topped with plantain, potato salad

With full bellies, clean bodies, and our dive bags ready for tomorrow, we put our feet up to relax, but sunset came too soon; an hour and a half earlier than San Diego, so we’ll be in bed early to make up for the night we spent as weary travelers in Denver and Houston.

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Boeing Carries All: Belize, Central America

Posted on June 14, 2023 by TheJessicaness

interactive airport piano

I spend the morning with last minute pre-travel prep — no smelly laundry, no moldy dishes, make sure bills are paid, and then watch a hummingbird sit on one of my balcony ledge plants and look to and fro while waiting for his dining mates. Caleb will refill the feeder before we leave so they can continue to snack, flit about, and cause the tiniest stir that their rapid wingbeats and petite throats will allow.

art in the airport

Caleb is the most excited to leave that I’ve ever experienced. We get to the San Diego airport before noon and usually passengers aren’t allowed to drop off bags until three hours prior to boarding or lift-off, but the agent made an exception for us; especially since she was quick to print our three checked bag tags so the company could transfer our 90ish pounds of dive gear over 7.5 hours of flight time. We used Caleb’s airline miles to book, so we had to transfer through Denver and Houston to get to Belize.

books on display

We’ll walk to the USO for snacks before getting in the zigzagging line for security. From here, we appreciate the rotating art exhibits as we pass to use the United lounge for lunch (when traveling first class or internationally, etc. on Caleb’s membership level) which is mostly filled with people in suits talking about work, conferences, and some asshole that dropped the ball. We pass our time with cupcakes and crosswords. Caleb will let his pant legs unroll themselves as we leave the warm space to stretch our legs.

a view of the United lounge

As we walk past a gate I hear, “They’re just now deboarding.. I could’ve had another beer.. sigh.” We return to the lounge after finding a $50 on the ground. Caleb points out the guy smiling into his phone with his belt laid out on his stomach, similar to an ex-family member I shared a few meals with in Washington and Arizona, and I giggle. Then I wonder what the guy fiddling with the multiple locks on his carry-on could possibly have in there that’s so private. Caleb will bring us more snacks while we people watch and read, me having downloaded An Atlas of Extinct Countries for the flight.

our aircraft marshaller don’t step, step, he sits

I’ll also sit and think about how nice it would be if more people had access to comfier seats and fresher food (as I sit in this lush lounge), but that’s a political debate as airplane seat sizes seem to be in the news more creating heated discussions. Circumference is one topic, but people can’t choose their height and not all tall people can afford to buy more legroom. Though airlines also need to address the issue of multiple large carry-ons to avoid checked bag fees as they’re constantly having to ask for volunteers now for lack of space in overhead bins.

northeast into the sunset

One of the stories in my book was of Princess Margriet, born in Ottawa in a hospital marked as Netherland territory by the Canadian government so there’d be no issue with her as heir back home. She is currently 80 and 8th in line to the throne. We use Gate 41 to board Flight 541 and are the third passengers on board. I could get used to this type of travel. I post our first-class seats picture to Instagram and am soon formally greeted by last name for dinner, which doesn’t come in the usual easy-to-pack for later dish, so we’ll wrap the rest of Caleb’s burger in napkins.

Denver Airport at night

Dinner is bland, but the creamy, and peppery, balsamic dressing fixes that. We’ll listen to Enya, not because she is a best-selling Irish solo artist and second best musical act behind U2, but because she has a relaxing voice which provides a white noise against the din of crowds in public places. I’ll read while Caleb naps through the turbulence that leaves the seat belt sign on for most of the flight. We land in Denver at 11pm and walk a bit to find bottled water since the fountain tastes like dirt and we have five hours to wait. 

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Left Hand Laceration

Posted on June 14, 2023 by TheJessicaness

*heads up — there are before, during, and after photos below

It seems I have a thing for patterns. June last year, less than two weeks from vacation, I went to my dermatologist to have a small (like three cooked quinoa) lump removed from between my skin and skull. It had been there a while, maybe a month or maybe a year, but had started to grow and I didn’t want it to protrude from my hair and cause a larger removal issue later. It took a few minutes and less stitches and I was back to work the next day. I later got my stitches removed and was clear to dive as our flight left that evening.

With this knowledge, I went to my new primary care manager aka doctor on March 31, and told him it would be a simple snip under the skin as last time, but he reminded me that my hand has way more going on — nerves, tendons, muscles, and little bones — and that I would need a hand specialist to address the issue. My first referral was to an orthopedic surgeon that only works on pregnant women. I had a hard time telling the corpsman aka nurse that I refused to bring a child into this world just to get my hand looked at and that’s why I needed a new referral; and that I wasn’t coming back in for more x-rays as I was sure my hand hadn’t changed in a week.

I get my new referral April 7 and am scheduled to see a new surgeon, who is only available on Wednesdays, so I’ll have to wait until May 10. It takes me longer to fill out more paperwork than it does for the two of us to agree to surgery because whatever is on the palm side of my knuckle gets pressed into the joint when I grab things and I don’t want it growing into my hand and becoming harder to remove in the future. I have to wait for my insurance to approve the process, which takes another week.

On top of this, my dentist and periodontist have agreed that it’s best that I get my teeth cleaned every four months, of which I pay for every other visit. I was ok with this as was Gentle Dental and Regents Dental who I visit for their more affordable services, but having moved I had switched to another Gentle Dental and they’ve started taking patients’ blood pressures (because they’re able to raise mine each time). I was supposed to have a cleaning on May 15, but they canceled an hour before because they wanted to do an exam as well.

They schedule my exam for Thursday and my cleaning for May 30, which just happens to be the same day as my surgery, but the timing should work. They call me back the next day to cancel my exam because I had one in February and my insurance only pays for one a year. So you can imagine my surprise and verbal upset at being subjected to a fucking exam 15 minutes late and then them wanting to schedule me for future visits, unbeknownst to them that this would be my last time in this office.

I walk into my surgeon’s office that’s 25 minutes from his other location. I check-in at 11am, fill out paperwork, and am brought back to change into a plastic bag aka medical gown with a hole for a hose attachment where more heat can be added to your personal sauna bed service. At least on the low heat setting it provides some air movement. I’ll fiddle with the ties on my gown for half an hour before I speak up and chat with the nurse to keep me company until the doctor arrives.

swelling above the line, initials approve the site, dots are where the cut will be made

He has brought in a tray and very sneakily, under the gloves, in it a three inch needle of the smallest gauge to ever pierce my skin, a 25G. He injects just below my initials and begins to fill my hand with numbing solution, to the point where my skin swells to accommodate all the cc’s. I’ve already asked if I can watch the procedure as I sit there and start to feel weird about the chickpea-size lump that has been turned into a tiny jell-o mold taking up a quarter of my palm. At this point, I realize my blood pressure is lower going into surgery than it was at the dentist’s office.

I’m wheeled into the operating room, with the machine that goes ping! (for people under anesthesia), and asked to sit up so a board can be put behind me. My first thought is that it will make it easier to watch, but then I remember the doctor wouldn’t ask me to hold my hand in the air while he cuts into it; I say as much out loud. Joining me in the room is the nurse in charge of vitals and covering me with a blanket again (I wiggle out from under it), the kind doctor willing to let me see and allow a second nurse to take pictures, and the third nurse who will help hold my hand open.

I wish they’d have let me take the pictures

Prior to the incision, my middle finger and half of the fingers on either side were numb. A tourniquet was applied to my forearm with medical-grade pressure — just enough to reduce the blood on scene and to put my arm to sleep after ten minutes. I was scheduled to have the room for 30 minutes but it only took 12 for the doctor to slice my skin, and pull it back like I do to get at mango flesh, hook out my tendon and relieve it of its passenger, before sewing me up with extra stitches to ensure I move my fingers and don’t let them get stiff.

I’m asked to give a thumbs up, with my palm out I go up and not out, for a laugh, so that my hand can be wrapped in gauze, cotton, and ace bandage. I’m wheeled out, get changed, and as I ask what to do with the bloody gauze that I held throughout the surgery from the prick of the numbing needle, the doctor asks if I know when I can go home. Funny enough, my answer was, “as soon as I pee.” It wasn’t medically necessary but I wasn’t going to make the 30 minutes drive home at 1pm without doing so.

Day 3, bloody gauze in the background

I asked if my hand was wrapped too tight, but the doctor is able to spread my fingers out so I’ll go home and sit with my hot and swollen fingers for hours while Caleb and I do crosswords together. I take some expired codeine before bed, but I’m always hesitant of taking too much so my hand will wake me at 2am and again with a spasm at sunrise. Caleb has waited to leave for work to make sure I survived the night as we didn’t sleep well.

I have fun over the next two days at work telling customers it was a different incident that caused my “broken wing” as one man called it. A co-worker asked if it was a shark bite (since I like to dive) and though there are species small enough to cause such minor damage they live too far below the surface for me to encounter them while still breathing. Bear was met with disbelief; one guy didn’t know what an ocelot was; badger and fence were met with silence. Another asked if I owned many snakes as he used to work in a pet shop.

Day 6, bruised palm with iodine evidence near fingers

I can change my bandage on day three and wash the dried blood from amongst the eight knots resting in a tiny sea of bruising. I’ll wrap it again for another three days and then let it air out at home for two nights before my follow-up appointment, which just so happens to be on the same day as another dentist appointment, but an actual cleaning that’s on time. I work for two hours and clock out. I’m expecting a short visit, but the doctor has patients in rooms (that I didn’t see go in there), and it’s his birthday, so on my way out, his wife and mom are showing up with treats.

The doctor unwrapped my hand, pushed my fingers straight, asked me to make a fist, and then rewrapped my hand that I would loosen when I returned to work an hour after leaving. I was scheduled to have the stitches removed, two horizontal mattress and six simple interrupted, a week later, but I called to cancel the appointment, figuring it was something Caleb and I could handle. Ah, were we in for a surprise? I had done my research, and we weren’t going to boil the tweezers for twenty minutes, but the internet said I could remove the mattress stitches first (to me, meaning a day early).

Day 14, all the stitches out

I got home after work on the 12th, no dinner yet, and we got the mattress stitch closest to my finger removed, but it required some digging to get into the cavern the doctor had made, so I got to cutting other stitches to release the skin that he had doubled up against the wound and released dried blood. We agreed it’s not the best stitch job we’ve seen and I’m glad this doctor wasn’t the guy putting my face back together, but once my hand was partially open I was done and we were both stressed out. I had removed five stitches and then put on a butterfly stitch, after tearing one to bits, to hold my palm together so it could relax and heal from the nylon trauma.

The next morning, I removed another stitch before work and the last two when I got home. The second mattress stitch had to be pulled all the way through because it was buried in my skin, and I luckily was able to snip under the knot, which left a dent. I have calluses from the stitches, but I also don’t have any hand-modeling plans for the future. I’m just looking forward to my hand being watertight in 48 hours, though I will still wear a waterproof bandage while diving, and regaining full use of my hand.

UPDATE:

June 16
June 29
October 24, 2024

Here is my hand, over 16 months after being cut into. Those are the tendons popping in my palm, which is perhaps a side effect of my excitement in getting to watch the procedure, making the doctor more zealous than he might have been with me asleep. But as with most things, I’ll take function over form.

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