The Canoe and the Rock

I remember a time I should have listened to my intuition…

It was July 10, 2004, a Saturday. The Saturday after my best run ever, just a 5k (3.2 miles) but under 30 minutes. Twenty years ago, now, but some days it seems like I can bring up the memory like yesterday. Other days, it is so distant I can’t even see my sweet Golden Retriever, Quincy.

Harper’s Ferry Maryland was hot that day, well, July on the East coast always is. Humid, sticky and a perfect day for being on the water. Except I did not want to go.

Quick sidenote, Harper’s Ferry Maryland is a beautiful area on the border of Maryland and West Virginia. It is a quaint town rich in American history, but to me it was close to where my boyfriends’ mom lived and the perfect place to try canoeing. We expected the river to be calm and the dog to be chill. I thought I would write a little story about my broken leg. It turns out, maybe the story is about lessons learned, decisions made, and listening to one’s intuition, maybe it is not about my leg, or canoeing, after all.

Jeff dropped me off near the entrance to the river, it was the perfect spot for me and Quincy, my golden retriever, to wait. He must have sensed my anxiety as he was pretty calm that day. His usual exuberance was subdued, maybe he knew too.

Anyway, Jeff parked the car and returned with the two-person canoe over his head. He was not a big guy, maybe five-eight but strong, wiry. We had been dating for about a year. His mom lived near Harper’s Ferry, and we stayed there for the weekend.

I don’t want to go, but still, I say nothing. Keeping quiet as he puts the boat in the water, and we get the dog ready to settle in. Life vests all around. How stupid, I think. It is a river, and I can swim. He insists and I reluctantly agree.

The water looks fast. We have both had some experience in boats, my mostly sail and fast boats, not this canoe. It is my first time.

Quincy gets in, I get in and Jeff gets in, we push off and Quincy freaks out, it is his first small boat ride too. He tips the canoe, and the river is running. He is out in front of me, and I am in the front of the canoe. Jeff is left behind, I think. I was unsure at the time, but in the aftermath and many conversations later, I learned where he was and his experience.

I’m underwater, above water, spinning so fast. I can’t stop, can’t move, and just must pray and hold on for the ride, unsure when or where it ends. I am trying to right myself, I can’t. I’m trying to stop the current, I can’t. I am terrified.

I am unsure how long the “ride” was, but I hit a rock. It was a flat rock in the middle of the water. Perfect for my landing. However, as I am putting my hands up on the rock to steady myself, the canoe slams into my back and pins me to the rock. It was truly the proverbial rock and a hard place. No joke this time.

Somehow, Jeff is there, at the same rock. He gets out and as I am about to ask him where Quincy is, the dog is paddling toward the rock, from downstream. It is a visual I have never forgotten and can bring it to mind at will. I prefer not to, but I can.

So, the dog gets to the rock, he is ok. Jeff is on the rock, and I am still in the water, stuck between the canoe and safety.

As we sit there considering what to do, life on the water goes by. People are having fun; it is a good day for the river. Tubes and kayaks zipping by people waving and saying “hi”. It is surreal. I’m stuck and can’t even say anything. Even now, I have no idea why we did not ask for help earlier. Or maybe Jeff did, and I just don’t remember.

The people keep zipping by, and I am still stuck. Jeff says he will try to push the canoe off me, and I can get on the rock. Easy-peasy. We got this. I agree and he does his thing. Pushing thousands of pounds of water off me and thinking Mother Nature will let this happen. She does not. After two attempts, he finally gets some purchase but, he is not strong enough alone to hold it long enough for me to get myself out. He can’t push it around the rock either. So, bam! It slams back into me.

I hear it, loud and clear, in my head. The crack. I know, “I broke my leg” I tell him. He looks at me and I say, “I just heard it, I know.” “Ok,” he says. The game has changed.

Who knows how much later, but someone kayaks up and asked if we need help. Jeff tells him what is going on and he agrees to help. We never knew his name, but he stayed with us for a long time afterwards.

He and Jeff decide to move the canoe. I am awake and alert, shock is a wonderful tool. They push the canoe and are finally able to move it around the rock, it sails downstream. I hate it. Hate the canoe, hate the water; fear and hate are powerful emotions for survival.

I pull myself out of the water and I can get my legs in front of me. My right ankle is flopping to the side and there is a cut low on my calf. Turns out, that is where the bone came through. I sit there and just stare at it. Grateful to be there and sit with Quincy.

Now a detour for the hard part, Quincy, my sweet loved-everyone dog. We used to joke he’d head off with anyone, even a serial killer if he thought they would be fun. But this day, all I see is him, swimming toward me against the current, just to get to the rock I am on. It is the memory still today, twenty years later, that brings the pain of the day back. That tiny thought of “I should have said something” even though the relationship and sweet Quincy are long gone now. Well, back to the story.

So, Jeff and the guy are looking for help and they finally get the attention of someone on shore. They had been yelling, calling out and frantically waving for what seemed to me like forever, but maybe was, who knows, 10 minutes. Shock makes time wonky; I learned. The river is not very wide in this area and there are plenty of people, but they are all having fun, playing and laughing, unaware of the situation as they pass by us in river-tubes, paddle boats and kayaks, even offering us a beer in their joy.

The fire rescue crew finally arrived, again, time is very fuzzy, but I know it was more than an hour. They told us they had problems coming both up and down river to get to this particular spot. It was a hard day for them on the river, too.

We finally arrive on shore and the stretcher waits there. Funny, I remember being carried by eight men, I can see them now as I write. There were three on each side and one each, head and foot. The chief (I assume) was standing to my left shoulder, talking to the crew and me as we walked up this hill, there was n wheeled stretcher, the team carried me to the ambulance. Anyway, I see the guy on my left shoulder sweating and looking a bit tired, I think. He is red-faced and looks to my shock-riddled brain like he is in worse shape than I felt. So, I remember mentioning to the chief, “hey, that guy looks really tired.” The chief looks at me, looks at the guy and pulls him off the carry, replacing him with another EMT. Funny how some things stick in our minds.

I spent Saturday to Tuesday in the hospital after a long rescue and a whole lotta mess. But here I am! In the aftermath, Jeff and I had several conversations about that day. I finally confessed to him that I did not want to go. I told him I knew, just knew, it was a bad idea. Funny, he agreed and felt the same. Neither of us wanted to disappoint the other. So, we did not speak up. At the end of the relationship, soon after the accident, I realized we never really talked, ever.

My right leg suffered a tibia-fibula fracture. The bone broke through the skin and my ankle was also scraped so deep I could see the bone. The doctor said no skin graft was necessary, but just barely. I had an external fixator from July to early October. Unfortunately, I have three rounds of antibiotics as the river water was not, well, clean. Crutches to get around and pins stuck out of my leg. Bulky and annoying, really, but I knew I was going to be okay after my second doctor visit, and second doctor, who said “of course you will run again.”  

By the time October rolled around, my amazing medical team agreed I could run. I ran. I limped, I had a hitch in my step, but I ran. It was the most amazing run I have ever had. I remember the joy and struggle of that run, even today.