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A moment later I felt a touch on my head and
turned to see a thumbs up signal. I blindly followed
Doug as he ascended — I didn’t know what was going
on. I could see he was watching his gauges. I never saw
his face until we were just about to surface. He was
slightly above me, so I had been looking at his stomach
the whole time. I don’t know why, but I never thought
about what might be happening.
At the surface he turned toward me and started
to mouth words. A pink frothy foam filled his mask
and came out of his mouth. I guess my training or
experience kicked in as I screamed at him to inflate his
BCD. He rotated away from me, and I grabbed for his
inflator button. I inflated his BCD until air flowed out
of the dump valves.
I waved my arms at the boat and screamed, “Medical
emergency!” — I didn’t want the crew to think we just
didn’t feel like diving. From there the events became a
blur punctuated by clear snippets of reality. Doug was still
facing away from me. His head bobbed with the swell.
Maybe he was just resting. I will never know why I didn’t
turn him toward me, why I didn’t look at him. Maybe
if I didn’t look then this would not be real. I handed off
Doug to the crew. They pulled and pulled, but he wasn’t
moving. I stared at the ladder.
Finally the crew began to make progress hauling up
Doug, who was still wearing all of his gear. When I saw
the integrated weights of his BCD, I remembered, “drop
the weights.” He was moving so slowly I had plenty of
time to remove each weight and place it on the deck. I
removed his fins and then my weight belt and fins. I was
so proud of myself. I placed all the gear on the deck out of
everyone’s way and didn’t lose any of the rental gear. Then
I looked up and saw the ugly truth. Doug was unconscious
and a ghastly gray color, with his head hanging to the side.
This was real; this was happening to us.
I saw a crew member getting the oxygen, and I
instinctively started pushing on Doug’s chest. I saw and
heard the oxygen tank. “
Wait, my mom uses oxygen,”
I
thought.
“There shouldn’t be a whishing sound.”
I continued
pushing on Doug’s chest. Each compression produced
more pink foam from his mouth. I wanted him to be neat
and clean, so I kept lovingly wiping the foam away.
I tried to fit my mouth over his nose and mouth.
“
Damn, why does he have such a big nose?”
I thought.
“Oh yeah, nose and mouth is child rescue breathing —
mouth-only for adults.”
I performed the rescue breaths.
I didn’t feel much or see his chest rise. I provided more
chest compressions, and more foam came forth. I
performed another rescue breath. “
How long should I
do this? What if he survives with brain damage?”
During the third cycle I felt something different; it
must have been a breath finally going in. “
Had I been
doing it wrong?”
I thought. Then a gasping breath came
from Doug’s mouth — then another breath. He was
breathing. It was gasping, labored breathing. “
Should
I have done the CPR? Was it too long?”
Later I learned
drowning victims can have reflex laryngeal spasms,
which can block rescue breaths.
The crew didn’t know what to do; they had set up the
oxygen cylinder incorrectly, and all the oxygen leaked
out. No one else took charge, so I did, albeit badly.
Somehow I rolled Doug onto his side, and after what
seemed like an eternity I looked up and saw we were
at a dock. The boat had pulled up at the closest dock
to the dive site, a small hotel/condo complex in south
Cozumel. “
Why wasn’t any one helping us?”
I thought. I
jumped up and screamed to the building for help.
Doug was breathing but still unconscious. He
remembers regaining consciousness as he was placed
into the ambulance (which had arrived a few minutes
after our boat docked). The saga continued with an
eventful ride to the hospital that included the ambulance
getting a flat tire, us flagging down a passing SUV,
stuffing all 6 feet 2 inches of Doug into the back of it
and then discovering the road we needed was closed
for construction. I couldn’t believe I saved his life on the
boat and he was going to die on the side of the road.
Fortunately, we made it to the hospital, where Doug
was diagnosed with pulmonary edema. After two days
in the hospital, lots of diuretics and repeated lung
X-rays, he was released.
We learned a lot from the experience: Complete
a refresher course, always stay close to your buddy,
know how to administer oxygen, stay current with
CPR training, and purchase the best DAN dive
accident insurance.
Doug is fine today, and we have completed several
dive trips since the incident. We have taken CPR
classes, and I am now certified as a rescue diver. We
are grateful every day for a second chance.
AD
Douglas Kirk recovers in the hospital after experiencing acute
pulmonary edema during a dive. His wife, Carolyn Dobbins, may
have saved his life by not only remembering her training but also
advocating for him and taking control of the situation to the best
of her ability.
CAROLYN DOBBINS