I would have to stop at home to pick up some things. So we left the hospital that night through a back door and went home with a police escort. It was all too weird. When we got to the house, my dog was there and I cried for the first time. I was so happy to see her.
The next day a nurse came to change the dressing on my arm. This was the first time that any of us had seen just how much of my arm was missing. My grandmother went out on the porch and cried. It shook Timmy up so much that he went off to his room and stayed in bed all afternoon. And later on, he missed a lot of his senior year in school because he couldn’t concentrate. “I want to be here if you need me,” he told me. I really appreciated it; I know it set him back quite a bit and he had to fight hard to get his grades back up to speed later.
My parents had a rough time, too. Neither of them was able to work for almost three months, which put a big financial burden on our family. Fortunately the fees from the exclusive interviews we did on 20/20 and Inside Edition helped.
I thought I would be able to handle it okay. But when I looked at that little stump of an arm held together with long black stitches I almost fainted. “Oh my gosh,” I thought. “I look like Frankenstein’s monster.” It was a lot worse than I had imagined. I was going to need help from someone much bigger than myself if I was ever going to get back in the water.
opening my eyes
We first met with blind psychologist Dr. Paul “Kai” Swigart at Wilcox Hospital on Sunday, November 4. Noah and Timmy were late—on purpose. They didn’t think they needed to “see a shrink.” So while we waited for the two of them, Kai felt his way into my room and found a seat near my bed.
I liked him immediately: he had a deep voice that was kind and reassuring. After I told him what I looked like, we talked about surfing, about my friends and hobbies, my church and family. Then I asked, “So have you always been blind?”
“No,” he told me, “I could see until my early twenties when my degenerative condition took control.”
“Is there a cure?”
“Possibly,” he said. “There’s an operation that could give me back my sight, but it’s extremely expensive.”
Just then I heard voices in the hall: my brothers had finally arrived. My family squeezed into my tiny hospital room and Kai began to retrace the events of that Halloween morning with each of us, one by one.
Then we talked about the future. I told Kai that a benefit was being planned to raise money for my prosthetic arm. And something suddenly dawned on me: “I’ll never be able to have a real arm, but Kai might be able to get his sight back,” I thought.
“I want you to use some of the money that people are giving me to pay for your operation. I want you to see!” I told him.
“Thank you, Bethany,” he said. “But I think that I am actually able to do more good being blind than I was able to being able to see. I prefer to stay this way.”
I didn’t understand it at first: why wouldn’t he want to be able to see again? Why would he wish to remain with this handicap? But now I get it and I feel the same way. I think I may be able to do more good having one arm than when I had two. And it took Kai, a blind man, to open my eyes.
9
why I do it
People often ask me why I surf. I’ve tried to explain why I feel the way I do and it’s impossible. Only surfers get it: the rush, the addiction, the way it stirs your heart, plays with your head, and tortures your body. Yet you keep coming back for more . . .
But let me try to paint a picture for you of what it’s like to be in my shoes—or in this case, on my board:
Imagine straddling and balancing yourself on a foam board in the open ocean. You notice a rise in the sea, an oblong bump, coming rapidly toward you. You spin your board toward shore and dig your arms deep into the water, straining to pick up speed from a dead start. Sometimes it’s agony. Concentrating on your paddling, you barely notice as the approaching wave gently lifts you up.
You keep on paddling, but now, as the wave brushes over the reef below, the gentle slope suddenly stands up straight and tall, and you feel the sudden pull of gravity. You and the board begin to drop down the vertical face of the wave.
This is it! One wrong move now and you will pitch head over heels with your surfboard into the trough of the wave, the place where all the energy and power of the throwing wave will be focused. No choice but to take it head on, so in one smooth move, you push up with your arms and swing your feet up underneath you. You are standing!
As you feel your board drop down the face of the wave, you suddenly realize that you are moving diagonally across a wave that is both going forward toward the beach and at the same time moving up and down. Yes! This is the dance you have worked so long and hard to do. But I don’t think so much about it anymore, I just do it.
How long and how well can you do it? Much of that depends on your skill to turn, cut back, speed through fast-breaking sections, and slow down enough for the lip of the wave to throw completely over you, tucking you in a green cocoon for a moment before spitting you out into the clear (a maneuver called “getting tubed”).
But as skilled as you are, sometimes nature is smarter, stronger, and tougher. The wave may suddenly take control and completely envelop you, dragging you to the bottom (we call that a “wipeout” or “dirty lickings” in surfspeak).
There are other times, however, when nature is on your side. The wave, the conditions, and the dance all come together into an experience that penetrates you so deeply that you find yourself talking about that ride over and over again (so often that your nonsurfer friends moan, “Oh, no! Not again”). But all you want to do is relive it, to stay in that moment forever.
Some people ask me if it feels like when you’re on a roller coaster—the thrill and the fear and the flip-flop in your stomach. Yes, it does sometimes. But that’s not even a fraction of what it’s all about. It’s not just adrenaline. Surfing is a force that moves you body and soul.
So this is why I do it. This is why I endure arms so sore and weak that they feel like wet noodles. This is why I swallow gallons of saltwater and get up at the crack of dawn day after day.
This is why I’m a surfer.
living in a world of what-ifs
“What about sharks?” That question is asked countless times to surfers, especially by those whose sports rarely take them near the ocean. The typical response is a half fatalistic, half que sera, sera: “Well, if your number is up . . .” Me? When I was asked, I’d usually just shrug and try not to think about it.
And truthfully, this isn’t false courage. To constantly dwell on what might happen would totally suck the joy out of the sport. Besides, it’s like asking, “What if the roller coaster comes off the track? (It has happened.) What if the horse throws you? What if you get hit in the head with the baseball, the puck, or the golf ball? What if you crash on the bike, get run over while jogging, or break your neck in a fall while water skiing, climbing, or snowboarding, or get bitten by a rattler while hiking? See what I mean? Life is full of what-ifs. You can’t let it hold you back. If you do, you’re not really living at all . . . just kind of going through the motions with no meaning.
So you play it smart and take some precautions. Some surfers won’t surf during dusk or dawn in places known to have an active shark population. Many prefer to have a buddy with them while surfing, as being the only bait out at a surf spot is just a little too creepy.
Any surfer who gets cut on a reef or from his surfboard fins is considered chumming for trouble and advised to get out of the water right away (sharks can smell blood and might be baited by it).
The fact is most surfers, even veteran surfers, have never seen a shark while in the water. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Usually the animal darts by like a shadow sliding underneath the dangling legs of the surfer. Except in Hollywood movies like Jaws, it is very rare for sharks in the wild to knife through the water with their dorsal fin exposed. They prefer to move silently and steal
thily underwater, a total surprise to their victims.
the history of surfing
The history of surfing is something surf nuts pride themselves on knowing: it’s as important as, say, the Mayflower docking on Plymouth Rock. Here, in a nutshell, is Surfing’s Story 101:
• Mark Twain tried surfing while on a visit to Hawaii in the 1800s. He found it much harder than it looked (the board went one way, Twain went another), and as surfers say, he “ate his lunch”. . . and ended his lesson.
• The first Westerners to set eyes on the sport of surfing were the crew of the Endeavor, the ship that Captain Cook commanded. History tells us that the chiefs or “Alii” of Hawaii were renowned for their skills at surfing. Because early Hawaii had a strict caste system, keeping the nobles and commoners from mingling, the best surf spots and the best hardwood surfboards were the domain of the “kings.” Some historians suggest that only the kings were permitted to stand erect on their boards while the rest of the surfing population had to be satisfied with riding prone.
• Songs and stories were told to celebrate the great surfers, and until horses arrived in the islands, the race track for gambling was centered around surfing contestants racing from one buoy to another while trying to knock their opponents off the wave.
• The first Caucasian to surf was a missionary in the 1800s enthusiastically trying out a koa wood board in the waves off tiny Nihau. Others surfed with their Hawaiian friends after their duties.
• In the early 1900s with the Kingdom of Hawaii now a territory of the United States, strong young Hawaiian watermen emerged who reinvigorated the sport. Led by Olympic swim star Duke Kahanamoku, Waikiki beach boy George Freeth, and with the help of famous writer Jack London, surfing became part of the new mystique of Hawaii. The sport blossomed again and soon was taking root in other ocean communities besides Hawaii.
• World War II put a temporary damper on the sport but at the same time exposed many young servicemen to the rolling waves of Waikiki. While the war slowed the growth of surfing, it was the technology coming out of the war effort that in the end helped to give the sport a new boost, as it led to the advent of lightweight surfboards. Surfboards became cheaper and more accessible to the average person.
• Eventually Hollywood discovered the sport, and using the theme of surfing in their music and films, created a media frenzy for anything surf-related, causing interest in the sport to skyrocket in the early ’60s.
• Many of the older surfers resented the sudden influx of “kooks” and “gremmies”—names given to pretenders, beginners, or wannabes—as well as the crowding of their surf spots and the intrusion into their simple, relaxed lifestyle. Others saw business potential and decided to try to make a living by connecting themselves with the sport they loved.
• Young surfing moviemakers began to turn their cameras toward the ocean and created a series of documentary-style 16mm films, often with humorous narration, a few bikinis, and lots and lots of incredible surfing and breathtaking wipeouts. These low-budget projects would be taken from beach town to beach town, playing in rented halls or theaters for rowdy packed crowds of surfers.
• Surf contests, ratings, and point systems began to develop, as some in the sport saw the potential for surfing to gain the status of other professional sports. But for every young kid signing up to enter a contest, there was another youngster turning his back on professionalism, holding it as the antithesis of the heart and spirit of surfing. (A debate that continues to this day.)
• Clothing companies—often small surf-oriented families with a sewing machine—found themselves swamped with orders as the nation wanted to take on the look of the surf crowd. Some, like Hang Ten, Quiksilver, Rip Curl, and Ocean Pacific would become powerful business entities through the surfing culture.
• Progress in design and materials brought about the short-board revolution in the late ’60s, opening the door of surfing to those who were intimidated by the weight and heft of long boards. And the resulting reduction in length and weight went a long way toward making the sport more inviting to women.
• Money began to lubricate the sport. Big sponsors stepped in to offer prize money for contests. Clothing and surf gear companies started paying talented young men (and eventually, a few women) to ride and compete for them.
• Surfers are pushing the extremes of the sport farther and farther to the place where only a handful of experts can handle the crazy-size surf that is being ridden.
10
keeping the faith
I believe in God.
I don’t mean that I believe in Him like a person might believe in, say, gravity or the sun coming up in the morning. Those are just facts that don’t mean anything. I mean I really believe in God.
Nobody made me believe; I don’t think you can or should try to force someone to believe something. And even though my parents taught me stuff about God and read Bible stories (the story of Jonah, Christ walking on water, Noah’s Ark, and the tale of the three brave Hebrews and the fiery furnace are my faves) to me from as early as I can remember. They also made sure that I was in church or Sunday school each week. But beyond that, it was my choice to become a believer in Him. The way I see it, putting your faith in God is something that each person has gotta come to on his or her own. It’s your own personal relationship with Him; a bond that’s as unique as a fingerprint.
Some people don’t think much about this kind of stuff unless something terrible happens to them, or like my parents, until they are older. But I can remember putting my trust in Christ when I was just a little kid, probably around five years old. I know that’s pretty rare—and some people might see it as a little weird. But I’m not embarrassed. Being tight with God is even more important to me than surfing.
When people ask me what my faith in Christ means to me, I usually answer in just one word: “everything!” This was true before the shark attack as well as after. And I truly believe that this faith is a big part of what did get me through it. It helps to know that even when you don’t have a clue why something has happened in your life, someone up there has a master plan and is watching over you. It’s a tremendous relief to be able to put your trust in God and take the burden off your shoulders.
My parents became Christians just a little while after they got married. They kept bumping into friends whose lives were completely changed for the better when they became believers. It got them interested, so they started reading the Bible and meeting with other Christians in their homes.
If you were to visit our house today, you would find a lot of evidence of our faith just lying around: music by Christian bands Zoe Girl, Relient K, and Cutlass; easy-to-read Bibles; even surf movies like Changes or Specimen produced by Christian surfers. We’re proud of our faith—even though I know some people don’t understand it or think we’ve gotten a little carried away in the whole religion thing. That’s okay, because I don’t think you ever have to explain or apologize for being a believer. It’s the same as surfing: you can’t know what it feels like, what it does for you, unless you’re part of the club. All I can say is it gives me a really strong foundation for everything I do in life. It’s like having a house built on solid rock.
my inspiration
I was once asked to name someone in history whom I admired a lot, someone I thought of as an inspiration or a role model. I had to think about it for a few minutes, because there are all kinds of people that I’ve learned about who are amazing. In fact, I could probably come up with a pretty long list. But I said “Father Damien.”
Not many people know who Damien was or what he did, especially people outside Hawaii. I didn’t know that much about him until I watched a video movie on his life just before my shark attack. To me, he’s a role model of compassion.
His real name was Joseph Damien de Veuster, and he is one of Hawaii’s most famous heroes. He was actually born in Belgium. Damien and his brother both became priests in the mid 1800s. It was Damien’s brother who was supp
osed to go as a missionary to Hawaii but when he got too sick, Damien asked to go in his place.
During this time, leprosy was widespread on all the islands. It’s a horrible disease: people lose the ability to feel the ends of their fingers and toes and so they often bang them or cut them without knowing, and this causes infection. The disease deforms people’s faces as well. Doctors and officials, not knowing how to cure the disease, decided to force all those diagnosed with it to a remote section of the island of Molokai. Thousands of people were dumped at a place that was called a living graveyard. And there they just waited until their bodies were twisted and ruined by the disease that finally killed them.
Father Damien asked to be assigned to the leper colony at Kalaupapa, where, for sixteen years, he gave love and hope to all of those poor people. Damien eventually got leprosy himself and died, surrounded by his fellow lepers and friends. That happened in 1889; Damien was only forty-nine years old. Damien sacrificed his life to help those who were suffering. He listened to God, fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, and even gave up everything to serve others.
following in his footsteps
In my life I try to help by supporting, with my own money, a six-year-old girl in El Salvador named Dennis Vanesa Saltos. Even the smallest amount of money can make such a big difference. And I am working on plans to do other things to help kids who have limbs missing. I’d like to meet as many as I can and share with them my story, maybe help them work through all the fear and self-doubt. I’ve experienced it all firsthand, and I’m living proof that there’s no such thing as a handicap—it’s only in your head.
Soul Surfer: A True Story of Faith, Family, and Fighting to Get Back on the Board Page 6