Vol 52: A chocolate on Sundays
There are certain, remote, sections of The Bahamas that are so serene and untouched that the sheer beauty of this sun-kissed landscape is utterly breathtaking. Years ago, amidst one such backdrop, off a small cay in Abaco and on an ordinary afternoon, Noah jumped overboard with a spear in hand into the warm and turquoise Sea of Abaco. This time of year, his typical fishing spot was prime with schools of Hog Snapper and Grouper.
Using a scuba compressor and face mask, Noah dove deeper into the abyss. Then, true to form, it wasn’t long before he speared his first snapper, and then a second and a third. The frequency and abundancy of his catch is what every fisherman looks forward to. He moved quickly because such a large cluster of prey was a siren call for other predators. And, on that day, his instincts were correct.
Without warning, Noah glimpsed a fearsome 12-foot-long Tiger shark in the periphery of his eye. He froze, forcing himself to stay as still as a statue, holding his breath. It worked. Within seconds the shark swam away. Noah took a deep breath and resumed his activity, spearing more fish. Then as he captured another, the same shark, seemingly out of nowhere, flew forward and slammed into his left shoulder. It was as if a thousand-pound sand bag had catapulted toward him, landing a severe blow. The force flipped Noah’s body into a semi-circle and there, directly in the front of his face was one of the most dangerous sea creatures imaginable, a shark so threatening Noah, then in his 30s, thought it was all over.
Immediately aggressive, the shark rammed into him once more. Its razor-sharp teeth ripped the mask and breathing apparatus off Noah’s face, tearing deeply into his flesh. The forceful yank of the strap also sliced his ear in the process. The lacerations were deep enough that he could see the blood pouring out around him. Noah gasped and swallowed a mouthful of the salty water in which he was wholly engulfed. He could no longer breathe and as he stumbled towards death, his heart raced, his throat tightened and his eyes and ears began to burn. The equipment that helped him to see and breathe was now sinking toward the ocean floor.
Before the shark could swim back around, Noah tossed the speared fish and swam as fast as he could to his boat. With every kick he was afraid that his leg would be bitten off but the shark took the fish and swam away. Noah made it to his boat, bloodied and breathless, and laid flat for at least 10 minutes without moving, coughing uncontrollably and gasping for air but grateful to still be alive.
A patient and mutual friend introduced me to Noah and his incredible story. When recounting what happened, he jokingly stated that the shark looked at him the way he looks at chocolate. He couldn’t be sure of how often this shark ate humans but, if it was less than once a week, Noah could relate to the ravenous intent of a desired meal in hand. That’s because he himself only ate chocolate once a week, on a Sunday. On that day, he rarely chewed and often swallowed it in chunks, starved for the flavor it delivers.
It reminded me of my grandfather, Charles E. Cartwright, who often said that eating something sweet on Sundays made the world a better place. It gives us something to look forward to when the end of one week meets the start of another. Noah (not his real name) shared this same sentiment.
He had no medical issues, was not on any medication and outside of his Sunday chocolate indulgence, Noah’s only other vices were admittedly drinking too much soda. When he reached back on land, Noah was treated at the local clinic. His lacerations were so deep that he had to have multiple stitches. The needles that pierced his skin over and over, coupled with the stinging pain from the fluid injected to achieve the necessary anesthesia, provided a particularly uncomfortable experience.
Noah was placed on oral antibiotics prophylactically to prevent an infection and within a month his wounds were healed. Soon thereafter, he was back out onto the open water, diving at his favorite fishing spot but acutely aware of the danger that lurked nearby.
Experts suggest that while the risk of being attacked by a shark is relatively low, there are a few fundamental rules of safety that can further minimize its probability. Among others, the most obvious is to swim with a partner since sharks rarely attack groups. Avoid wearing shiny jewelry because the light reflection resembles fish scales and avoid swimming at night if possible because that’s when sharks are most active.
Noah never experienced another encounter with a shark to that degree likely owing to the fact that he heeded those very same precautions each and every time he fished. In fact, he never had another medical issue except for mild occasional foot pain that resolved with rest and over-the-counter oral anti-inflammatories. But, 10 years later, in a cruel twist of fate, Noah discovered that he was in fact safer in the sea than on land. While riding his bicycle one evening, he was struck by a hit and run driver.
The driver never stopped. I often wonder what went through his mind as he lay there in pain and unable to move, likely aware that he was dying. He’d survived a vicious shark attack but it was a speeding car and uncaring driver that would ultimately instigate his untimely death. Noah’s body wasn’t discovered until the following day.
Noah and my grandfather were diametric opposites. My grandfather was a farmer and Noah was a fisherman. Noah was relatively introverted and had very few friends and even fewer family members whom he was close to. My grandfather, on the other hand, was one of 11 children. He adored his siblings and had a very close network of friends. Noah died in the street alone while my grandfather, who was four decades older than Noah at the time of his death, died peacefully at home surrounded by family.
Yet, despite their polar differences, their sole interests converged on the thought that a single dessert on Sundays was a special event. And although they differed on the type of dessert, it is enough to remind us that that there are ties that bind us all, even if by just one single thread.
In each of my reports, I like to share with my readers what the patient’s take home message from their personal journey is but in this case I’m unable to do so. All I can share is that Noah was quiet but brave, he worked hard, was self-disciplined and honorable. He ate a chocolate on Sundays and perhaps others do as well. On occasion, I also eat dessert on Sundays the way my grandfather taught me. Because even as we age and the seasons change, traditions endure. By doing so, we help to keep the memories of those we’ve lost alive.
Today, I celebrate Noah and all the fisherman around the world, many of whom risk their lives on a daily basis and rarely get the praise that they so richly deserve.
This is The KDK Report.
