Tug of War

A recent series of mistakes on Imagine created a medical emergency that could have resulted in injuries far worse than they were.

Playing tug of war with one of the two lines towing the dinghy while under way was not a good idea,  Two weeks later, I type this column using two thumbs.  Injuries on both hands slowly and painfully continue to heal from rope buns that tore away skin and tissue below.

The first mistake was not removing the outboard motor from the light gray dinghy before leaving the still waters of  Raccoon Cay for South Side Bay in the Ragged Islands, nearly 15 miles away.

It was calm. The waters were clear and flat.  Skies were blue. The sun was bright. Yes, both my husband and I know better than to rely on visual, and even predicted, weather.

The wind picked up enough to unfurl the head sail.  We motor sailed along at five knots. The dinghy, with its outboard tilted upwards, started to bounce as wind driven waves began to form.  Would it tow better if we let out some more line?

The second mistake was not dousing the sail and slowing the boat as we lengthened the lines.

Mistakes three and four included not grabbing my sailing gloves and not cleating off the line before husband, Ed, began to feed line out.

Mistake number five, and perhaps the biggest mistake of the morning, was attempting to play tug of war in an effort to hold the dinghy while the boat sails along.

Never, never hold onto a line under that kind of load. You will not win!  I was lucky to escape with fingers intact as a result of this misadventure that occurred  miles away from other boats and medical care.

Ed quickly notices the plan is not working and drops the bow line while I looked away in an attempt to cleat off the stern line.  This pulled the dinghy on a broadside tilt. It begin to swamp.  Ed shouts. "Let go!" I do, but not before the line rakes through my  hands. The damage is done.

Ed stops the boat and furls head sail.  I unclench and try to ignore my bloody hands. I grab the boat hook as we turn to retrieve the barely floating dinghy. Ed climbs over the stern to secure and bail the wayward rubber boat, I run below to quickly rinse my hands and cover six fingers and my palm with bandages.  

Pain shoots down my wrist and up my arm.  Ed continues to bail the dink as he runs the outboard to counteract any immersion issues.  He does not yet know the extent of the rope burns.

With two good fingers, I put Imagine in gear, slightly above idle.  We move along at 1.5 knots as we get back on course.  Ed climbs aboard.  With stern mounted davits, Ed lifts the dinghy, with motor on.  If only we did that earlier?

We anchor.  I fill a bowl with sterilized and cooled water from the water maker. I soak my hands, adding ice while swallowing ibuprofen for the pain.  I refuse to give into tears as I look at my battered hands knowing the first aid supplies stowed on the boat will have to suffice.

Ed covers the open burns with prescription burn cream, wrapping my hands loosely with non stick pads and gauze.  Later I take some leftover pain medication from a previous outpatient surgery and try to rest.

At 5:00 p.m., Ed tunes into the Do Dah Net via the Single Side Band radio.  When they  ask for emergency or priority traffic, Ed asks if anyone can recommend treatment.

A physician on the catamaran Salty Paws is listening.  On another frequency, he asks questions.  Ed emails photos.  While skin has been removed with some fat tissue, the injury will not require us to head for Nassau any the nearest hospital, nearly three days away by boat.

There is a small clinic on Ragged Island with a nurse on call if infection sets in.

Another boat, five miles away,  hears Ed on the radio, and offers additional burn cream.  Marilyn, the first mate on Discovery, is a retired pharmacist.  The following day, Ed moves Imagine to Hog Cay anchorage where Discovery and three other boats are anchored.

The ritual of soaking hands and dressing the wounds three times of day has begun.  Ed has taken over all the galley chores.  He's learned to make bread.  "It sure looks a lot easier from where I sit," he says.    "Where do all these dishes come from," he asks?

A week after the initial foray into the category of dumb mistakes, Ed takes me to shore  for  a walk on the beach. We are waved over by a couple on the catamaran, Carina.

Cathy, a retired registered nurse, who has experience with burn patients, examined my hands and explained that the pink line beginning to form around the circumference of the wound was healthy tissue coming back and that burns heal from outside in.  She also sent us home with a care package of additional dressing material.
The feedback and concern of other boaters was amazing.  Doctors, nurses and pharmacists on boats are priceless.

The experience serves as a reminder to stay alert and not to get lazy when it comes to safety.  A friend  on another boat, said that my experience, encouraged her to dig out her own sailing gloves to keep nearby in the cockpit.  "I've  been lucky," she said.

The upside of  this misadventure is that I've made some new boating friends and I have finally had the opportunity to know what it feels like to be a boat princess.  I lounge. I read. I nap. I listen to the radio.  My meals appear magically, although I do hear a lot of banging in the galley.

As far as the princess part... not my cup of tea.  And the hands, slowly they heal, with a little help from my husband, and some new boating friends.