The Dive That Never Happened

By Jennifer LaFrance, COO, LaFrance Project

For those of you who don't know me, in July 2012 I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Then, in February 2013, I suffered two strokes. While I was in the hospital, doctors also discovered an aneurysm in my brain.

Those strokes left me unable to work in a traditional setting. Many people would describe that as becoming "disabled," but I have never seen myself that way. In fact, I think we need to rethink that word but that's a conversation for another day.

A few years later, when the aneurysm was repaired, I suffered a third stroke.

The years that followed were filled with therapy - speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy to regain my balance and strengthen my legs, and mental health therapy to rebuild my confidence. Eventually, life brought me to Florida.

Over the last year, I've begun speaking publicly more and more. I finally realized that while my speech isn't perfect, it's far better than I believed it was. The biggest obstacle wasn't my speech in fact it was the story I had been telling myself. It was all in my head.

That confidence has grown because of my involvement in the nonprofit community and my passion for encouraging others to become involved as well.

Through that work, I've met some incredible people. About three years ago, I met Diane, who runs a nonprofit dedicated to cleaning our beaches. During a conversation on the top deck of Loggerhead Marinelife Center, my sister mentioned how much I loved the water and that I used to scuba dive. Without hesitation, Diane looked at me and said, "Then we'll get you back in the water." At the time, it sounded like a kind promise. I had no idea she actually meant it.

Fast forward to about a month ago. Diane and I met for drinks, and I assumed we were getting together to talk about her nonprofit. Instead, she looked at me and said, "We have to get you back in the water."

I was completely caught off guard, but I was all in.

We decided the smart first step would be snorkeling before attempting a dive. We planned to meet the following week at Phil Foster Park. Diane warned me that the parking lot could be a bit of a shit show.

She wasn't exaggerating.

The parking situation was absolute chaos, so we quickly moved to Plan B and found another snorkeling spot. Everything else went perfectly.

Being back in the water was incredible.

I had forgotten just how much I loved being surrounded by sea life. The ocean had always been a part of me, and after everything I'd been through, it felt like I was reclaiming another piece of the life I thought I'd lost.

As we finished snorkeling, I smiled and said, "Next time, we dive."

We decided to keep it simple and it would be just the two of us entering from the beach since it had been a while for me.

A week, we headed back to Phil Foster, this time arriving during an off-hour so parking wouldn't be an issue.

We were right about the parking.

We were wrong about everything else.

I was using Diane's scuba gear while she was using her daughter's equipment, along with a BC (Buoyancy Compensator) she had recently purchased. I geared up first and floated in the water while Diane finished getting ready.

That's when things began to unravel.'

As Diane walked toward the water, she yelled that her tank had come loose from the BC. Ironically, we had just been talking about checking that very thing. She sat down to fix it and laughed, admitting she'd forgotten to secure the buckle.

That should have been our warning.

Once we both got into the water, we immediately realized the current was moving much faster than expected. We decided to head beneath the bridge where we'd be more protected.

Then we discovered my regulator was free-flowing, dumping air from the tank. Not a full-blown emergency however, definitely not ideal.

At the same time, we realized we hadn't quite figured out the correct amount of weight I needed. Between my weights and Diane's, I could finally descend comfortably.

The problem?

She no longer could.

At that point, we made the smart decision to abort the dive.

As we worked our way back toward shore, we had to round the bridge footing and enter the current. Since I could get underwater, I kicked as hard as I could while pulling myself along the concrete footing. I assumed Diane would continue floating as she had been, and once I made it around the corner, I'd help her.

Instead, when I surfaced, a paddle boarder looked at me and said, "Good job!"

A lifeguard was standing nearby asking if I was okay.

I remember thinking, What in the world happened during the last two minutes?

Apparently, Diane had struggled in the current, an onlooker noticed, and the lifeguard came over to assist.

Once we finally made it back onto the beach, we laughed our butts off.

If something could go wrong, it did.

Except for us.

At no point during any of it did I panic. I never felt unsafe. I never doubted myself.

Instead, I felt completely at home.

I looked at Diane and said, "Last week the parking lot was the shit show. This week, we were the shit show."

We laughed even harder.

But something much bigger came out of that failed dive.

I remembered just how comfortable I am in the water. More importantly, I realized how far I've come over the last thirteen years.

After my strokes, I lost more than my speech. I lost confidence. I convinced myself that because I struggled to find words, people would think I wasn't intelligent. My balance was affected, my speech was slow, and somewhere along the way I started questioning whether I was still the same person.

I wasn't!

I was becoming someone stronger.

I worked harder in therapy than I ever imagined possible to reclaim everything I had lost. Yet despite all of that progress, there was still one piece missing.

Oddly enough, I think this failed dive was that missing piece.

It reminded me that everything I had fought to regain wasn't just coming back it was already here.

Sometimes our biggest victories don't happen because everything goes according to plan.

Sometimes they happen because nothing does.

Diane, thank you for pushing me back into the water. Thank you for laughing with me instead of stressing with me. And thank you for reminding me that two older and definitely wiser women can completely fail at scuba diving while succeeding at something far more important.

We succeeded at proving that resilience isn't measured by perfect dives.

It's measured by getting back in the water.