I was on the adventure of a lifetime when I went for a swim and disaster struck. By Zoe Cahill, 24
As I took a deep breath, I stretched into my final pose, exhaled and clasped my hands together.
‘Namaste,’ I said.
It was the traditional
way to end yoga practice, a recognition that everything was connected.
I started every morning with meditation followed by yoga, and was training to become an instructor.
And I’d come to paradise to do it.
Wanting a slower pace of life, I’d spent the last four months travelling across Southeast Asia.
Now I was on Ko Pha- Ngnan, an idyllic island in Thailand.
And that wasn’t all that
had changed.
As I rolled up my yoga mat, my phone buzzed with a message from my new boyfriend, Tom.
Although I’d been travelling solo, I’d found friends along the way – and romance!
Tom and I had planned
to meet for lunch but he explained he’d been held up, so I decided to go to the beach instead.
Changing into a bikini and slinging a tote bag over my shoulder, I set off.
It was a gorgeous, sunny day and I made a beeline for the crystal clear waters.
Having grown up on
the coast, I was a strong swimmer and felt at home
in the ocean.
But when I was around
50 metres from shore, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something glistening in
the water.
Suddenly, a searing pain
shot through my body.
It felt like electricity was flowing through my veins.
‘Help! Help!’ I screamed.
Thankfully, a surge of adrenaline powered me back to shore and then I collapsed.
'What happened to me?'
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard people around me.
A pungent aroma filled my nostrils and I was vaguely aware of liquid being poured on my skin.
Then everything went black.
When I came to, I was lying on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance.
My entire body was throbbing.
‘What happened to me?’
I croaked.
A familiar voice replied.
‘I’m here,’ it said, ‘you’re going to be OK.’
It was Tom.
Someone at the beach had used my phone to get in touch and he’d rushed straight over.
What he told me next, left me stunned.
‘You were stung by a jellyfish,’ he said. ‘You stopped breathing.’
Luckily, a nurse was nearby and had performed CPR, while locals doused me in vinegar in an attempt to calm the angry welts on my skin.
I had then been taken to hospital, where hardly anyone spoke English.
As I was hooked up to monitors and jabbed with needles, I felt terrified.
Finally, a doctor spoke
to Tom.
‘Her white blood cells are through the roof and her organs are failing,’ he explained. ‘It doesn’t look promising.’
I thought, He means I’m going to die.
Tom called my mum and dad, promising to let them know if anything changed, and I was transported
to another hospital by speedboat to be examined by a marine toxin specialist.
‘You were stung by a box jellyfish,’ he said. ‘They’re among the most venomous creatures on earth.’
I was treated with
a combination of anti-venom, antihistamine and painkillers. But doctors were worried that I might go into cardiac arrest.
I had an idea, though. Every time my heart monitor beeped too fast, I slowed
my breathing down, just as
I did during my yoga and meditation practices.
All the while, Tom remained by my side and, miraculously, 10 days later things were looking up.
But I still had to come to terms with the web of scars that covered my body, where the jellyfish’s tentacles had made contact with my skin.
It looked like I’d been scribbled on with a red pen and over the following days, the marks ballooned into painful blisters.
Snapping a picture of the marks on my wrist, I sent them to Mum.
When she phoned later that day, she’d consulted my Auntie Tonya, who happened to be a marine biologist.
'You're lucky to be alive'
‘Tonya said you’re lucky to be alive,’ Mum replied, her voice breaking.
Box jellyfish were native
to the area where I’d been staying, but I hadn’t seen any warnings.
‘If I’d known, I would have worn a wetsuit,’ I said.
Then I asked the question that had been playing on my mind all day.
‘Will the scars ever fade?’
I asked.
Mum and Tonya had been in touch with the parents of a young boy who’d been stung five years earlier.
As she explained how
he still had the scars, I broke down.
I was scarred for life and I just had to deal with it.
A month later, I was finally well enough to go home.
Tom stayed on in Thailand and we agreed to make things work long-distance.
Once I got my strength back, I decided to confront my fears and headed to the beach.
Despite knowing there were no jellyfish, I was still terrified. But as I waded into the unknown, a sense of calm washed over me.
Now, a year on, my body remains scarred in some places. But I’ve come to see the beauty in it.
After all, my scars are proof of my fight for survival.
They’re artwork from the ocean and I wear them, like my best jewellery, with pride.