June 16, 2021

The initiation is complete.

I waited a long time for this to happen, and after 14 months open water swimming in the Salish Sea, I finally got stung. Badly.

A small run in with a Lion’s Mane jellyfish, say a small brush on one arm or one calf would have been sufficient.

Nope. Apparently not. I am sitting in a what feels like a pile of needles, prickling head to toe four hours later after a full frontal run in with a bright red watery Pom Pom with 6 foot tentacles after it plowed into me on an incoming tide in shallow water. My face, my arms, both legs and somehow my feet all received a powerful jolt of jellyfish fun.

I have had mini run-ins with a tentacle here and there on occasion over the past year, and in my youth, been stung by bees and birthed two babies at home, but none of this prepared me for the agony I experienced for a solid two hours post-sting. As I writhed around, between splashes of vinegar, credit card scraping, ibuprofen, cortisone cream, a hot shower and nervous pacing the living room clutching a margherita for dear life, my feet aching and my husband looking at me like I was a wild animal loose in his home, I almost swore off saltwater for good.

I cursed the jellyfish, of course, cursed myself for not seeing it, cursed bad luck and even tried to blame my dear neighbor whom I was chatting with beside his dock moments before the fateful red hot collision. Of course he wasn’t to blame, and sweetly offered me his garden hose and a ride to my car immediately following the event.

I had been enjoying a deliciously delightful float into Fletcher Bay under sunny skies—the tide carried me in swiftly just inches above the clam flats and muddy shells, the water so low that I was forced to do breaststroke as the crawl would have only given me bloody knuckles and toes.

I kept to the outside edge of the bay, as the tide was so low that the mudflats in the middle of the bay stood like tiny islands, dotted with seagulls harvesting dinner.

I reached the deepest channel near the docks and was able to do the crawl, and reached my friend Bill’s dock, offering a wave. He spotted me and I popped up to stand in the current, hollering words up the bank—suggesting I might need to cross his dock after my swim as the current was too strong to allow me a swim back outside the bay.

We smiled, and waved, and he kindly offered to leave his door open should I need to exit early. I thanked him and lowered down to continue my swim , and it was then that I turned at that perfect moment as the jellyfish of horror was swept into me, across my face and arms and everything else before I realized what had happened.

I jumped up and hollered to Bill. Time slowed down as the stinging set in and my mind caught up with the arching reach of tingling over my body.

At the top of the ramp, Bill inspected my face, as a searing pain set in on my lips and cheek. Plucking a tentacle from my face that I could not see, he offered his hose and I quickly rinsed off.

I didn’t understand that the stinging would get worse—much worse—before it got better.

Once home, the real fun began. My skin started screaming.

My desperation for relief led to a cry for help on FB to other open water swimmers, a quick study on the habits of jellyfish and a surprise text from my dear friend, Mckayla, relaying sound medical advice from her husband—a doctor.

As my skin kept simmering and searing my sanity and the burning continued, a cold foot bath helped, until it didn’t. Tears streamed down my face and my dear husband offered to produce warm water to soothe my aching feet.

The warm water helped. Funny how desperation leads to clarity sometimes, and lucky for me I deduced that if my feet were calming down in warm water then a full body soak in a hot tub would surely be even better. After consulting my friend once more, I got a thumbs up to try a soak.

I made the ask of my friend, Joy, and ten minutes later was lowering myself into her deck side tub. Instant relief set in. She and her family came home soon after and we enjoyed a visit, recounting the shared bittersweet excitement of watching our children’s graduation from high school last weekend, and sharing ideas for how to spend the summer ahead.

I learned a lot today, about jellyfish stings, remedies and have a new and profound respect for the mighty jellyfish. Their stings are no joke.

If my story has scared you out of the saltwater, I apologize. Admittedly, I’m feeling a bit unsure myself about how to get back in and not relive today, but the thing is that much of my story was really good. Sure, I felt really awful for several hours, I don’t expect a good nights sleep tonight and I’ve been humbled by a creature of the sea, but I have some really good friends in my life, and a really kind husband. If I hadn’t gotten stung I wouldn’t have been graced with the show of love and support that I received as a result of my bad luck.

I alone got stung today, but I had four amazing people plus about a dozen more strangers give me support and sound advice from an online open water swim group.

I didn’t want to make lemonade from lemons a few hours ago. I wanted to crawl out of my skin as I cursed the heavens and endured the pain. I kept breathing. I worked through it, but not alone.

I had a team of superheroes around me. My friends are superheroes. My husband is a superhero.

And, yes, I’ll keep swimming in the Salish Sea. But I’m finally going to buy a new swim suit, it’s overdue —and it’s going to have long sleeves.

And yes, I’m coming around to the idea of some lake swimming this summer too. Fresh water has a new appeal I didn’t appreciate until today.

No jellyfish.