The twists and turns of the Wild Heart

Life really is so unpredictable. Here I am, two months later, continuing to write on the blog I started in February-Reviving the Wild Heart Quest. You can never guess what happened with all that.

On the last weekend in February, I did my first skydive in 11 years. What was interesting to me was how nervous I was, how enormous it felt to me. I arrived to the dropzone in Longmont called Mile Hi, and had to do a refresher theory course. There were a few other students who were there to take their first jump course. That was not the case for me.

Before I became a mother, I had done +300 skydives (including over 100 wingsuit jumps) and around 500 BASE jumps. The BASE jumps were a combination of big walls, and lower jumps from all over the world. I had jumped the Eiger in Switzerland 4 times; I had pioneered exit points in the mountains of Peru and the US. I can count jumping off of at least 40 different exit points in 10 different countries that included all the objects of BASE- Building, Antenna, Span and Earth. And here I was, nervous of jumping out of a regular old airplane. What had changed between now and the last time I jumped 11 years ago, was my daughter. The immense responsibility I feel to be there for her in every second of every day, was the reason I quit BASE in the first place. I have had too many friends who died jumping.

Now I was back to scratch the itch of needing to feel adrenaline rushing through my body.

I sat in the full packed little airplane as it took off from the runway, the air thick of body odors around me, my gear rubbing against the person sitting behind me, feeling the same nauseous feeling I always feel inside an airplane that is so sensitive to airbumps. Up and up we go until I see my altimeter reach 14 000 feet above ground. Then everyone is getting ready, checking gear, tightening leg straps, chest straps, helmet and goggles. Then the door opens, and cold air enters the airplane. It’s still February and the air this high up here is very chilly.

When it’s my turn, I do a front flip out the door and get stable in the air after that. I am jumping together with another person, and as we are falling through the sky, circling each other, both of us have the biggest smiles on our faces. I check my altimeter, and when we are down to 5000 feet, I signal that we are breaking up and I track away from the other person. At 3000 feet, I open my parachute. The familiar sound of thin fabric opening up above me, and my hands reaching up to grab the steering toggles. I follow the landing pattern and as I am approaching the ground, I flare (to break) and land softly on my feet.

The emotions wash over me. I felt at home again and smiled up at the sky. This is how I wish the story ended. It isn’t.

A month later, I went back to the dropzone. This time things went really differently. I was doing a solo jump, and almost immediately after exiting the airplane, I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder. It felt difficult to move my whole arm. I tried reaching back to feel the handle to open the parachute and couldn’t. I checked my altimeter, 11 000 feet. "I still have time", I thought. Then trying with my left hand to locate the handle or the pocket where the handle is. Once I had the hand on the pocket, I tried again reaching back with my right hand, and miraculously it was possible to find the handle. I used my right hand to throw the pilot chute out with as much force as my right arm would allow, which caused another wave of pain.

The parachute opened slowly above my head. I was now at 3500 feet above ground and still had to steer the parachute back to the landing zone. It is unclear to me how I managed to lift my right arm along with my left, to steer and to do a perfect flare to land, once again softly on my feet. Adrenaline is a wonderful pain killer.

I could not get out of my jumpsuit or my gear myself. Once people realized I was injured, everyone was so eager to help out, get me out of the gear, get a sling for my arm and carry the gear back to the hangar.

As I was still high on adrenaline, I decided it was a good idea to drive my car home myself. Once I got back home, the adrenaline was wearing off and my body went into shock. Laying there, shaking on the couch, my partner Kevin was rubbing my legs down to relax the muscles that were convulsing. Still, after some heavy pain killers and laying under a blanket, I decided I was going to wait with going to the hospital. Maybe it was just a minor muscle tear, I thought. So I stayed home the rest of the day, and night.

After a sleepless night in pain, I decided it was probably better to go have it looked at. Kevin drove me to the ER on Easter Sunday morning, where it didn’t take them long to figure out that my right shoulder was dislocated. And had been dislocated now for over 24h. The doctor looked at me and said, “was this not painful for you to deal with for the last 24h?!”

Long story short, the team at the hospital gave me a cocktail of drugs, on my request played the DropKick Murphy’s as they put my shoulder back in its socket. I remember very little of the whole thing. Mostly just a blur.

And that is the story of me trying to revive the Wild Heart through skydiving. Dipping my toes into the pool of adrenaline again, and the Universe goes “Nah, we are going to take a whole different direction”.

A dislocated shoulder in freefall is a scary thing. To not be able to open your parachute is a terrifying event. To live a life without taking any risks or chances, is probably even worse.

I don’t know what my next adventure will be, and still trying to make sense of this whole chapter. I am sure there will be a next chapter of this story. And perhaps that is what the point of this is, that I can't go back to the past. The Wild Heart is to be found through another element than flying through the sky. Until then, physical therapy, going camping with Kevin, my daughter and our three dogs and writing on my manuscript is what I will be occupying my time with.