my feet to the front of the inner tube, but the river had
other plans. The current turned me sideways, broadsid-
ing me with waves. I was pushed underwater, separated
from my inner tube, flailing furiously like a bug flipped
on its back. I couldn’t breathe and panic set in. Just
then, my sciatic nerve made a perfect connection with
one rock, then another, and another. Sharp, needle-like
pain began radiating down my left leg to my baby toe.
By the time I was able to right myself, I had lost my
composure and my sandals.

I was also embarrassed. I wanted these people to hire
me for a litigation job, and was worried Td be perceived
as weak, thin-skinned.

My concerns were justified. As the pain reached close
to excruciating, my colleagues found my ordeal increas-
ingly amusing, some doubled over with laughter as they
pointed to my drenched hair, smeared mascara, telling

The next set of rapids dunked
me so quickly | didn’t have

me I needed to “shake it
off”, “plow forward.” I
nervously wiped tears,
took a deep breath.

Ididn’t plow far. The
next set of rapids dunked
me so quickly I didn’t. than this job.
have time to close my
mouth, and swallowed enough of the American River to
remember that my life was worth more than this job. I
told my co-workers I wasn’t going on, that I’d wait on the
riverbank. They left me alone, injured, shaky, soaking wet.

Unsure when (or if) they’d return, I decided to try
to walk to find a payphone to call my then husband to
pick me up. I walked barefoot for what felt like an hour
on a mix of hot pavement and gravel, each limping step
sending electrifying pain along the nerves of my leg to my
lower back. He answered, but said it wasn’t convenient
to come and get me. I walked back to the river.

I had years of physical therapy, chiropractic adjust-
ments, cortisone shots, and painkillers to manage the
physical consequences of this little outing, plus a few
sessions with a therapist to work through the psycho-
logical effects. So, it took a lot for me to agree, some
twenty years later, to an adventurous family vacation in
Costa Rica with my new husband and two teenagers that
included a white water rafting day through the jungle,
down the mighty Pacuare River.

“Sweet!” my fifteen-year-old son cheered when we
caught our first glimpse of the Pacuare, with its wide
sandy beach and benevolent looking water. My heart
rate only slightly elevated as we secured valuables on the
tourist bus and gathered to receive gear and instructions.
This is going to be different, I kept telling myself. You'll
be in a raft, not an inner tube. You've got all day. You’re
with a man now who is your true partner.

time to close my mouth, and
swallowed enough of the
American River to remember
that my life was worth more