Being A Poopy Pants

For the past two weeks I definitely enjoyed my time surfing in Hawaii, despite the fact that I’ve also felt like a shit magnet.

It all started on the 14th, the day we left for Hawaii. Mom was supposed to take us to the airport, but just before she was due to arrive she called and said my sister flew off her horse and is on her way to the hospital with a broken ankle and possibly nose. So, of course we proceeded in our own vehicle to the airport so mom could go with her. We kept in touch for the next few days for progress reports. She had surgery on her ankle, and it was outrageously painful and swollen. Crappy deal, she’s out of competitions for the whole entire riding season.

Next, on the same day and on our flight out, the middle aged man with poor color who likely just passed out, but looked dead. We would have been “up shit creek without a paddle” so to speak if he’d actually been in cardiac arrest as I had initially thought. In the middle of the ocean, doing CPR for a minimum of 2 hours. That’s enough to “poop out” anyone.

Thirdly, I sat in the water a few days ago, floating on my surfboard when a brown round looking terd along with a longer log drifted past me, very close, and very clearly and noticably confirmed to be, in fact, poop. Holy crap. Probably from one of the tourist catamaran toilets. I hope a surfer wouldn’t be so rude as to “drop a duce” in the water.

Fourth time hit me mentally “like a brick shit house”, when a young teenager appeared to be drowning right in front of me. After helping on scene, the situation grew and grew in my mind, and stuck with me for a few days. A crappy situation for everyone involved. He cranked his head and neck on a shallow spot on shore while diving into the waves. He may never walk again with no movement or sensation in either of his arms or legs. At this point, I’ve had enough “shit to deal with” as a bystander and I can’t help but thinking about his family and how much things can change in the blink of an eye. I solomely trudged back to the hotel, surfboard in tow, while ironically fighting back tears while a mist like drizzle began to fall over Waikiki.

Five times a charm, as I was sitting under the shade of a big shady tree, parked on a park bench killing time to our flight that evening. Before I knew what hit me, a warm sploosh and splat hit me in the arm, and splashed all over. I looked up and down, and Josh pointed out a pigeon above us on a branch. Shit head! At least he missed my noggin because we’d already checked out of the hotel and the ability to shower was unfortunately past.

Six, was a near miss. One such lady on our plane home today was escorted off the flight during general boarding because on the way to her seat she apparently had a seizure, and the satelite flight doctors that were called to give advice thought it would be best if they didn’t have to deal with a medical emergency on the flight. She was one seat in front of me, and also sat beside me at the departure gate. She put up a huge stink on having to leave the plane, but I kind of sighed some relief that the possibility of having to deal with someone else looking dead was beyond my mental abilities at this time and definitely threatened my psychiatric welfare.

As I said before, I enjoyed the holiday, but surf time is not relaxing to my body. As nerves and anxiety rule my thoughts in anticipation of the next surf session, it also reeks havoc on my guts with nausea and gastric disturbance. Now that surfing is over, and as my mind settles back into the relaxation and routine of everyday life (this sounds strange but true), hopefully my shit magnet status will also quickly disappear. And as two days have already gone by since we surfed, I am starting to miss it, and want to get out there! True story.

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