Surfing Accidents

The only definite plan I had about our time in Sydney was to take surfing lessons. My reasoning was simple:

My mum was around for this portion of the trip to babysit.

Both Andy and I had visited Sydney before and didn't have a ton of “must-sees” to fulfil, so a few mornings of surfing would be a great way to spend some time.

I love swimming, but it is wintery in Sydney (well,”wintery” is relative. It gets up to 20 degrees at mid-day, but there is a “cold” wind straight from Antarctica if you believe Sydneysiders. The weather men even give “wind chills” for the Aussies to take into account when they're getting dressed in the morning. As in, “it's 15 degrees, but with the windchill, it's really 12 degrees.” Andy and I both laughed out loud when we first heard these dire forecasts.

They all – from the dude driving the ferry to my 20-something cousin-- talk longingly of Spring being just around the corner. If I can digress even further within my own digression, and I don't see why I can't – the newspaper the other day actually had a whole article about how Australia is oppressed by European-style seasons and the author was advocating doing away with the traditional Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and introducing “Springter”, which would cover that inbetween Winter and Spring period that we're in right now.

If we're introducing new seasons, I think Ottawa could use some. What about “Sweatmer” when summer stops being a pleasantly warm interlude with an increase in bbq'ing, wasps and flowers and becomes a revoltingly humid perspiration-fest on par with the Equatorial rain forests of New Guinea. We could also have Seatsalinter, which is that week in February where we all desperately start scouring the internet for a seat sale anywhere warm – Pakistani Foothills, Guantanamo Bay, it doesn't matter as long as the sun is bloody well shining.)

Ahem, where was I?

Oh yes, my other reason for doing a surfing lesson was the (relatively) cold weather in Sydney and my love of the water. A lesson would give me the perfect excuse (and full wet suit) to play around in the water for two hours.

On our way to Manly Beach on the ferry Andy and I were giddy – partly with excitement, but partly with sleep deprivation. Jet leg and a nine month old had combined into an exciting new schedule that saw us go to sleep at 8 pm just in time to get up at 4 am.In this slightly silly mood we were discussing, and I don't know why, the many ailments that afflict me. In no particular order, I am prone to:

cold sores
canker sores
stys
allergies
rashes
chaffing
dry skin
loose gums
sun burns
split ends

This list doesn't include my absurdly bad eye sight or inability to lie without smirking...All traits, as Andrew pointed out, that make it a wonder I have survived this far.

Anyway, we were laughing away at what a genetic weakling I am when we got to Manly, and I figured that my innate clumsiness combined with my complete inability to balance on dry land, let alone a floating board in the middle of the ocean, were going to make this surfing lesson into a joke. I didn’t really care, though. Being in the water would be enough for me.

After a briefing on the beach about the basics (where btw we just happened to see a humpbacked whale leaping out of the sea) we hit the surf.

Imagine my surprise when I got the hang of it right away! Our instructor essentially launched us into the oncoming wave and shouted for us to stand up at the appropriate time. Magically I stood when he told me to and managed to stay upright all the way into the beach. What’s more, I did it again and again. It wasn’t a fluke! The instructor even claimed to be impressed by my quick uptake...now just to be clear, I have never impressed ANY gym teacher, ski instructor,yoga swaami or swim coach with my innate physical abilities... I am a myopic, slow moving, stomp-walking nerd, but also apparently, a surfing GODDESS.

It felt fantastic too. Actually catching the waves and then standing up on top of the freaking ocean? Was completely amazing. I could feel the power of it surging beneath my feet but I was on top and in (a tiny amount of) control.

Of course, you can all guess where this is going; one wrong move of my arm and the next thing I knew something was very wrong with my shoulder. It had popped right out of its socket, and yes, that is just as gross and horrifying as you think it would be.

I had dislocated it before - 8 years ago I'd slipped in an icy alley and landed the wrong way.

I couldn’t tell for sure because of the wetsuit, but my shoulder had that same squicky feeling of not-rightness as the last time.

The instructor was great (or fearful of a lawsuit) and followed me out of the water making sure I was okay. Now, everyone says that dislocating your shoulder is incredibly painful, but either I have a heroically high pain threshold, which anyone who has been around me when I'm developing a blister would dispute, or the ONE thing I am really genetically gifted with is the ability to dislocate, because the shoulder really didn't hurt too much.

We stumbled back to the surf shack and Andrew explained to the surfing dude – Large, Blonde, Well-Muscled – what had happened. He was going to call an ambulance, but I said that a taxi would be fine-- basically I didn't want the bill.

That's when this bronzed Aussie Surf God looked at me and with his sexy accent said "You're a tough little thing, aren't you?” Hee! Me, "tough" and better yet, "little"! I swear to God, that was almost worth getting dislocated for.

Tough though I might be, there was no way I was going to attempt to wriggle out of that wetsuit with a dislocated shoulder – it had been hard enough wedging myself int it when I was fully armed. This meant that I had no choice but to summon what dignity I could, and get into the taxi in my wetsuit. I was like a fur seal who had gotten lost on the Manly Promenade. Arf Arf.

While we explained the situation to the driver, that didn't stop him from yelling at me not to get his taxi wet and then making snarky comments when Andy didn't have anything smaller than a $50.

We arrived at Manly Hospital and went right to the triage desk. I have to say I felt self-conscious... I had crazy salt sprayed hair, and I was dripping wet. Surfing accidents were obviously fairly common at Manly, though, because the nurse didn't bat an eye and just trotted off to get me a heated towel. The warm towel was only the start of my lovely treatment because soon after the heated towels came the joking with the nurses, the removal of the wet suit (sharp scissors were needed), the handsome Aussie doctors, and most importantly, copious amounts of morphine. All in all, the experience was really quite pleasant.



This is the shredded suit, which the surf shop kindly didn't make
me pay for.The shoulder dislocation seems to have also mysteriously
made my upper lip disappear.

So Canadian health care system take note (especially you lazy Emergency Room doctors) I didn't have to wait for anything, they gave me a fancy sling, fed me sandwiches when it was all over and gave me some seriously good drugs to take home with me. Total cost? $85!

Really, if you've got 4 hours to kill at Manly Beach some time, I highly recommend a shoulder dislocation. Just a bit of advice, though -- Go for the turkey sandwiches rather than the ham -- the hospital puts cranberry sauce on them!

This is what our vacation pictures have now looked like since the accident: