Sometimes Scuba Diving Is VERY Painful!

Twenty years ago, I had the opportunity of spending a few weeks in Viet Nam, in what was classified as a "Humanitarian" expedition. The United States was interested in reestablishing diplomatic relations with a country that had been our enemy, with my three brothers serving in the military during the Viet Nam War. In a previous blog I wrote some of the details about that trip. Back then, one of the requirements was for me to be a certified scuba diver as part of the mission was to seek items that would help find our missing soldier remains. I now know if one becomes a certified scuba diver, it remains for life. NOW FOR TODAY'S TALL TALE! Although it was twenty years ago and now fifty pounds heavier, I jumped at the chance when Global Divers, USA contacted me to assist them in an underwater exploration and recovery project off the coast of Louisiana. It was great pay and just returned. They fitted me with a solidified wetsuit, which had the necessary expansion capabilities for my weight. They sent me down with a double expansion cord. The suit had a cord hooked to the recovery vessel, which had a diesel powered industrial water heater. The suit heats the ocean water, which is pumped into the wetsuit. Once I was on the bottom, I started to work with the other team members. After some time, I took the thermal influx hose to release the pressure. This has to be done as the warm water can feel like a Jacuzzi, and requires a change of pressure with the water. I then hooked it back up but forgot to re-attach the ocean inlet filter. I quickly found myself in severe pain, coming from the....well.....the bottom of my backside. I started to scratch as best I could, which only made things worse, and I feared the moving object was a Jellyfish, which can be a life threating water urchin. It headed for the only area it could find for cover, and my internal pain intensified. The more I scratched and panicked, the worse the pain was. I looked at my oxygen level and could see my hyperventilating was putting me at a dangerous level. I started to scream on my communicator and gave the hand notice to the other team members that I was aborting. I was a little upset that my "backup" pals offered no assistance, but only laughed hysterically. Because of the dept, I had to get to the decompression chamber half way up or I knew I would immediately die from the bends. A Doctor was always inside the chamber for emergency purposes, such as what I was going through. As is the protocol, I pushed the red button to discard everything I had on, and she opened the door to the dry chamber. Apparently she had been through this many times, as she was trying to be professional, but gave way to small bouts of snickering. She gave me the quart of heavy liquid to drink, knowing that whatever object the ocean implanted in me, would eventually "pass".  So there we sat for the required twelve hours. Just me, the Doctor and the Jelly Fish!

And how was your weekend?

Kent Jones
April Fools Day, 2018

Viet Nam-1998