Disabled Find an Equalizer in Scuba Diving
The sleepy divers are awakening on the boat anchored beside the craggy cliffs of San Clemente Island. In the galley, Gordon Page finishes his pancakes and scrambled eggs, and plans his first underwater adventure of the day. It’s going to be a deep one--120 feet--just 10 feet shy of the recommended maximum depth for sport divers.
Ready to begin the arduous task of suiting up, Page makes his way onto the deck of the Charisma. He pulls on the first of three layers of clothing, including his ever-present support socks, that will protect his body from the 58-degree ocean water. He zips up the legs of his wet suit, all the while getting looks from fellow divers who are trying not to stare.
It’s 7:20 a.m. and, for the next 32 minutes, Page will be rid of the wheelchair to which he has been confined for the past 17 years.
Page is one of thousands of disabled people worldwide who have taken up scuba diving. Most use the same equipment as able-bodied divers, on occasion substituting a webbed glove for a fin or installing a zipper in a wet suit. Equipment can also be adapted for those with limited use of their hands.
“Your disability disappears in the water and you experience a sense of freedom and serenity that you really don’t get with other sports,” said Page, who also skis, plays basketball and has bungee jumped--wheelchair and all.
Sitting on the edge of the boat during a recent dive trip, Page falls face-first into the water six feet below. Dwarfed by the majestic kelp forest, he maneuvers through the long strands highlighted by the sun’s rays that reach beneath the surface. His body suspended vertically, Page moves his arms in wide circles to his side. Fluorescent yellow swimming paddles are affixed to his hands, providing him necessary resistance against the water.
His legs dangle useless below, with a two-pound weight tied to each ankle. He wears insulated booties, but no fins. Breathing slowly, he checks out the orange Garibaldi fish and the many sea urchins living on the rocks below as he makes his slow descent in the Pacific Ocean.
When it’s time to get back on the boat, he is carried up the ladder at the stern by the boat’s dive master. He swaps stories with other divers and waits for the boat to move to a new dive spot.
“It’s like being with the astronauts,” Page said. “You’re floating along. It’s really a trip. There’s no other feeling like it--total freedom. You’re dependent on nobody. You’re under your own power.”
Since being certified in August, Page has become a die-hard diver, logging 79 dives as of mid-April.
A paraplegic since 1976, Page lost feeling from the waist down after he fell out of a tree while trying to retrieve an arrow. An accident on his three-wheeled motorcycle seven years later required extensive surgery on his back and, in 1985, he re-injured his spine when he fell off a malfunctioning bus lift.
Although he didn’t know any disabled divers, he had heard of wheelchair-bound men and women taking the plunge and was convinced that this was something he wanted to try. An instructor at a Marina del Rey dive shop, who had never before worked with the disabled underwater, offered to teach him. Through trial and error, they figured out what was the best equipment for Page, and discovered his limitations and strengths.
“Nothing has ever stopped me in the past. When I want to go do something, I just go and do it. You figure out a way,” said Page, 40, of Woodland Hills, who is studying computer science and psychology at Valley College.
Page recently completed a grueling rescue diver course and is on his way to becoming a diving instructor.
“He isn’t that different underwater. I just had to continually remind myself that he can’t do things as quickly as somebody else because his hands are busy with propulsion,” said Tom Quick, a Valley Village resident and dive instructor who had never taught a disabled person before he met Page.
Page remembers a look of skepticism on Quick’s face when he told him that he wanted to take the rescue diver course.
“It seemed like he was saying, ‘How is he going to do this?’ ” Page said--not an unreasonable reaction, he admitted.
While recognizing his limitations, Page said he wants to be as prepared as he can. “In the real world, if I’m the only one out there, the diver can’t say ‘no,’ ” he said.
Rhett Price, who was the dive master the day Page went out on the Charisma, was impressed with what he saw. Like many on the boat that day, Price had never before seen a disabled diver in action.
“He’s very confident in the water from what I could see. He’s able to swim very well using his arms. It’s just a different form of locomotion,” said Price, of South-Central Los Angeles. “The water is a great equalizer for everybody.”
Disabled divers can receive training through traditional dive organizations, as Page did, or they can get more specialized training through groups catering to the disabled, such as the 1,200-member Handicapped Scuba Assn., a nonprofit, San Clemente-based organization formed in 1975.
The organization has developed a multilevel certification program that classifies disabled divers based on their physical ability to handle themselves, as well as assist their buddies--their partner under the water who sticks close by just in case trouble arises. The group also trains diving instructors who work with the disabled.
Some divers need only be with one other diver, while others need to dive with two others. Still others must go down with two other divers, one who has been certified in rescue diving.
Denise Dowd, an occupational therapist from Santa Barbara, believes that disabled people do just as well in the water, if not better, than able-bodied divers.
“It’s more of a mental sport than a physical sport,” said Dowd, who has taught about 50 disabled divers since 1986. “They have a commitment and are a little more serious about it. It’s just another adaptation for them.”
Dr. Tom Millington, a family practitioner in Thousand Oaks, said he has treated about 140 divers for decompression sickness in the 10 years since he became certified in diving medicine--and none of them used wheelchairs.
But there are special considerations for disabled people who dive.
Divers who are severely paralyzed are more susceptible to hypothermia because they can’t feel when their body is getting cold and might not get out of the water soon enough. In addition, if a person has a lot of atrophy, they will not have as much insulation to protect them against the cold, Millington said.
Scar tissue can also be a problem with diving since nitrogen can collect in these areas and have difficulty escaping, making a person more susceptible to decompression sickness, he added.
Another consideration involves the skin. Those who are paralyzed would not be aware that they had rubbed up against fire coral or been stung by a jellyfish. They could also experience chafing from sitting too long in a wheelchair with a damp wet suit on, he said.
Millington, who has performed about 30 physicals for disabled people preparing to take their first class, is especially concerned about people who dive who are not completely paralyzed because he doesn’t want to see them get more injured.
“I feel a little uncomfortable with it,” he said. “I’ll ask them if they want to take the risk. If they say, ‘Yeah, this means everything to me,’ I’ll generally let them do it.”
Steven Turkheimer, who is paralyzed from the arms down but has feeling in his legs, takes caution to dive conservatively. He never pushes his luck.
“I have a lot more to lose than you,” said Turkheimer, 36, of Santa Clarita, who had a motorcycle accident. “I don’t want it to get any worse.”
He is involved with a group of disabled and able-bodied divers who are forming a support unit called Disabled Divers International, which will assist divers with training, education and travel information.
For him, diving has afforded him more opportunities to increase his feeling of independence.
“It’s created a way for me to be with friends and not to worry about special treatment,” said Turkheimer, a manager in the defense industry, who has been diving since July, 1990. “I don’t like people thinking of me disabled. I’m not handicapped, crippled or disabled. I’m physically inconvenienced.”