The day he saves my life —the first time.

It’s a gorgeous day on Gila River in Arizona. I’m 24 and I’m wearing my Patagonia pataloha shorts and tanktop. I’m also testing a new pair of Alps water shoes (which I still have). A gaggle of us working at a local outdoor retailer joined our guide Sam for an exhilarating day of whitewater rafting.  He knows this river well. Excited, I grab the paddle with a death grip as we descend the first set of rapids. He reminds us, “Class 4 and 5 coming up. Be ready!” We stoke ahead into the giant waves. It’s not long after he shouts, “high side!”

Entering into the rock garden

Quick to respond, we don’t have time for anything but to paddle hard and lean onto the rafts upstream side. If we don’t, the boat will flip. From previous experience, I know to wedge my foot under the tube to keep me from bouncing out of the raft. With consecutive waves, my back arches over the side then I pop upright, like a slinky toy. Then comes the wave, the arching of the back that holds my head underwater. The current too strong. I can’t bounce back up. My foot won’t release. I gulp for air. I can’t breathe.

If my foot doesn’t release, I’m dead

My colleuage Chad who sits across from me grabs my life vest.  With a quick thrust of his arms, he yanks my face out of the water with everything he’s got. My mouth opens wide sucking in air. Another rapid jolts Chad and he lands on top of me. His face rippling above mine through the water. I try to reach for him but I can’t. I hear Sam’s garbled voice through my helmet shouting “don’t let go of the paddle!”

Don’t let go of the paddle? Fuck I can’t hold my breath much longer! My head is going to get slammed on a rock if I can’t lift it! I struggle to release my foot. It doesn’t budge.

“PADDLE.” Sam senses the urgency of the situation and drives the boat into a familiar eddy. The raft slows. “Grab her before we get swept down stream into the next set of rapids,” he commands. Chad grabs my vest with both hands, using the force of his entire body. It’s not enough. Sam grabs Chad and together, they pull me from the water and into the boat. My foot releases. I collapse to the floor. I cough and gag and puke. Then catch my breath.

As if time stood still, everyone stares at me. Not a word is spoken.  But the water is still shouting. “Forward paddle,” Sam shouts and steers us to shore, away from oncoming rapids. My exhausted body crawls out of the raft. I stand shaking then buckle to the ground. Samantha points to our dry bags. They’re still tied down. She searches for a towel and an emergency blanket.

Shame overrides celebration

My head is down. My hands settle on my hips. I’d like to cry, but I can’t do much of anything. The shame is so deep. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? I know better than to tuck my foot so far under the tube! Chad interrupts my thoughts. “Hey!” I look up. He’s staring at me. Waiting for words. His eyes are soft but concerned. “You ok?” He’s the new guy at REI. I barely know him. But he just saved my life.

30 years later – he saves my life —again

There’s a special bond between two people when a life is saved. It’s been decades, and Chad and I are still close. For twenty years he’s shared stories from his career as a detective in sex trafficking. This exposes him to the worst of humanity. Abductors, pedophiles…sociopaths. One particular case dropped him to his knees. EMDR helped heal his trauma over the event.

He called a few years ago. I picked up the phone. “Yo.” Silence. “Hello?”

“Chad, I need help. I’m drowning again”

Stay tuned for Part 2. How Chad saves my life a second time —with EMDR.