Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
I am 30 metres beneath the surface of the Flores Sea.
There is a dull roaring in my ears, as the heaving current swirls and bubbles above my head. The vast blueness envelopes and disorientates me, and I wonder if I have tumbled into an abyss, from which I can’t return. Trying to gain my bearings after the rapid descent into the deep, I notice my lungs will not fully inflate with air.
In an instant, I recall the Dive Master’s words: …3 atmospheres of pressure on top on your body…your lung capacity will be reduced…
But this feels different. Almost in the same instant I realise my oxygen tank is empty. It must be faulty.
I have no oxygen, and I am drowning.
I enter full-blown panic. My breaths suddenly become short, desperate gasps. My heart pounds in my chest, as if it knows it is beating it’s last beats. I have felt this terror before, but not trapped under the sea. Almost mad with fear, I swim the few metres to the Dive Master. I claw at his arm, until he turns to look at me, and I make the signal for “I’m out of air” – a violent “cutting” or “chopping” the throat with a flat hand.
The Dive Master grips my arms, and makes the sign for me to look into his eyes. I fix my eyes on his. His eyes become my whole world. They are calm and kind, and they tell me “You are going to be okay”. I trust those eyes with my life.
The Dive Master signals to me to breathe with him. Slowly, I breathe. In…out. In…out. Within moments I feel my heart beats slow, and I am breathing in air! It dawns on me I am not dying. I have had a panic attack, 30 metres under the ocean, in a foreign country, alone except for some tourists I have just met, and the diving company staff. I am not dying. I am breathing.
The Dive Master holds my hand firmly in his for the rest of the dive, more than 20 minutes. His hand is my lifeline. He doesn’t loosen his grip, not once. He is an impoverished man from rural Indonesia, and he has saved my life. I am deeply humbled.
“What happened down there?” the Dive Master asks when we surface. “I don’t know,” I lie. “I just freaked out.” The Dive Master’s expression is puzzled, and he searches my face for something more. I am ashamed of my broken mind, and feel the tears start to well in my eyes. I hide them from him.
I return to Australia, once again with the blackness of panic attacks threatening to overcome me at any moment. I shed a few tears, allowing myself a few seconds of sorrow for having this affliction that sometimes haunts me.
I have got through this before, and I will again.