Falling Into the Orinoco

I fell the other day carrying a box as I was stepping over the toddler barrier we have stretched across the opening going out of the kitchen. We have this hazard in place in order to contain the mischief a certain canine ball-of-energy would inflict on our house. Our new puppy is under house arrest, confined to the kitchen only. My foot caught on the top of the barrier as I was swinging it over and since the box was rather heavy it was easy for me to lose my balance before I could pull it free. Over I went face first, contents of the box spilling out everywhere, the toddler fence splintering into firewood, and me crashing onto the floor, followed by a significant period of whining and moaning until I could be certain that no serious bodily harm had been done.

There is a moment of realization during the fall that one registers in their brain that they are going to fall. Where you realize that you have lost your balance and that you are going to fall and that there is nothing you can do about it. That you are just along for the ride, just registering and recording the experience. Sort of like it is in slow motion, but not really.

I have always thought of this as a curious thing. This realization occurs at a speed faster than normal thinking speed. It is easy to tell this because the fall is so fast it provides context for the thought processes that go on as you recall them. It is just, bam, instantaneously, you know, without thinking, that you are going to fall.

The most dramatic fall in my life was on my trip to Venezuela with my High School son Matthew. We were providing healthcare at a makeshift clinic in a remote village in the jungles of the Orinoco River Delta. The homes of the village are built on platforms, raised above the water by poles, due to the river rising and falling with the tides. Each home is connected to the others by a series of walkways, which are formed from planks that are also elevated above the water. The village is all handcrafted and very extensive and quite an amazing sight.

When we finished our clinic and were ready to head back, we had some time for a quick tour of the village. We made a mistake however, in retrospect, by walking down the elevated walkways two abreast. They were very sturdy platforms, by appearance. But afterwards we realized that these people were not nearly as big and as heavy as Americans and these structures never had to accommodate a load such as we were presenting. What happened was likely predictable if we had been thinking.

When the section of platform gave away, it dumped three of us into the river at the same time. I was one of the unfortunates. I vividly recall the moment I just spoke of, that instantaneous flash of awareness that is faster than thinking, when I knew I had lost my balance, that I was falling, and in that eerily slow motion kind of way I just helplessly watched what happened. I did not know why I was falling. I could not tell that the floor had fallen away. That was too fast. Just that, swoosh, splash, and then I was underwater.

We all felt somewhat bad that we broke their street. Especially since we could not stay and help them, fix it. We just broke the street, got in our boats, then left. Fortunately, no one got hurt. My camera got soaked. And I wore wet tennis shoes the rest of the week. I learned something about the tropics. Wet things do not dry.

I do not fall very often. It is a good thing. I hit hard. But every time I do, I always remember how it felt falling into the Orinoco River.