Toucans & Tapirs
2011
Twenty one years of living with diabetes. I held my two littles close, assuring them of their safety. Meanwhile, in my head, I saw the headlines "Mother of two swims to shore after a boat off the Osa Pennisula coast in Cost Rica capsized." Does anyone else do this, create newspaper headlines in their head during stressful moments of decision or circumstance?
The waves were big, and my concern was great this might turn disastrous quickly. I recall estimating the distance between the boat and shore; it was at least a mile. How long could I survive without insulin if I somehow lost my pump in the tragedy? I considered my ability to swim with both my kids to shore. I felt confident I was one of those moms who could lift a car off their child if needed. Swimming to shore if necessary was logistical, not ability-limited.
When I was diagnosed with type one diabetes in 1990, I recall grieving. I was sad I could no longer be stranded on a deserted island and left to my own devices to survive. I now needed insulin injections daily to live. I love reflecting on this grievance, as though my need for injected insulin was the crux in my survival: never mind water, food, or shelter - all very considerable aspects to being deserted on an island.
It felt real, the risk at that moment, being with my two kids (ages 3 & 7) on that boat. To me, that boat was in much bigger waves than it was designed.
Four hours. That was the number I kept in my head. If we capsized, I had a solid 4 hours until things would begin to look grim if I lost the pump in the water. I estimated 6-8 if the water made my insulin pump no longer operational. Then I could blow the line of my tubing at intervals to keep the insulin going. I tucked my pump securely underclothing.
In detail, I could have easily explored my other adventures of 2011 in this blog, sharing aspects of living with diabetes while in them. Earlier that year, we backpacked with our kids and my Dad to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Watching my son and his immediate alignment on that trip was inspiring - how quickly an environment can create a delightful behavioral shift. For this trip to Costa Rica, the kids and I were on our second week traveling. We came a week before my sister's beautiful destination wedding and continued to travel the week after. Just me and the two kids, exploring the country together. We had explored Manual Antonio National Park, gone four-wheeling in the forest, enjoyed fruity drinks in pineapples while soaking in hot springs next to the volcano, ziplined through the jungle, and kayaked in lagoons. Looking at the creepy and crawling critters of the jungle during our guided night hike was talked about for weeks by my son.
Spiritually, our experience on the Osa spoke to my soul. We arrived by plane, a small one, onto the dirt landing strip. We got out of the plane, and the pilot unloaded our luggage, got back in the plane, and flew away. The kids and I stood there, with baggage, like in a movie, stranded. I had arranged with our accommodations to be picked up. We were the only people in sight. The kids and I wandered off the dirt runway over to the wooden shack with a bench. Surrounding the shack, all we could see was the jungle in every direction. I looked at the documents I had printed out to confirm I communicated the right day and time for the taxi. I had. So we waited.
Eventually, an old Land Rover arrived with a couple of passengers and indicated they were our transportation and we should pile in. So we did. No seats, no seat belts, just piled in the back with our luggage. We drove through rivers (not kidding) and over bridges ready to break (again, not joking). We arrived at a beach, and using hand gestures, they directed us to a boat. My Spanish is spotty, but their hesitation in trying seemed more cultural. The kids and I got into the boat. It wasn't a long ride to the dock where we unloaded to arrive at our accommodations. We walked up the single-track path, checked in, and got the keys for our "cabin". These were open, airy, single-room studios on stilts in the jungle. The kids and I climbed the stairs to our room, gaining better and better views out into the jungle. We could hear all sorts of wildlife noises coming from the trees. We plopped our luggage on the bed, and the kids both jumped into the hammock on the balcony. It was surreal, looking out into the dense vegetation. Right in front of me, a Toucan flew across the landscape. I mean, I knew Toucans were real, but that moment left a lasting impression.
We changed into beach attire and went exploring. We followed the wooden sign that read "beach" and arrived at a pristine black sand beach with incredible waves. The kids lost themselves for hours playing in the tide pools. Admittedly, even this woman who loves to sleep outside under the stars closed the wooden shutters that late evening. Knowing jaguars were roaming was all the information necessary to make my choice. I didn't desire to bump into one while trying to find the bathroom in the dark.
The next morning we boarded the boat to Corcovado National Park, considered one of the world's most biodiverse regions. It was a calm boat ride; both kids fell asleep in my lap. Once on land, the kids and I explored for hours, following coastal and inland routes through habitats ranging from Pacific beaches and mangrove swamps to lowland and montane rainforests. We saw large insects, birds, and incredible trees. Notable for the area, we enjoyed the squirrel monkeys and scarlet macaws. At the end of our day, we saw a Tapir lounging and camouflaged in the vegetation. Think small elephant/anteater/pig-like looking animal.
The boat didn't capsize on our ride back to our dock. I was able to conceal my concern enough that the kids reflect fondly about the experience. I wasn't stranded on a deserted island with no insulin as I feared. I have a large photo of the two of them playing in the tide pools on the black sand beach. It has hung in our entryway for nine years. Each time I come home and glance at it, the adventure with my littles where we saw tapirs and toucans comes to mind.
Photo: Here is my daughter enjoying the boat ride to the dock, which led to our "cabin" on stilts.