Maddie reaches for a mug, places it on the counter, takes a breath. Leaning for support, eyes closed for a moment, she steadies herself. Then she reaches for a tea bag. Takes another break. Eventually, she has amassed a mug, a teabag, a spoon, the sugar, and has made the long trek across the kitchen to the fridge for some oat milk. Almost done.
Jake has left some water in the jug which she gratefully flicks on before retreating, lethargy pulling at her limbs. Plonking down on the sofa she waits for the room to stop spinning. The click of the jug is both welcome and annoying.
Just a few more minutes, then I’ll make my way back.
The buzz of her phone sends up a wave of anxiety; chest tightening and skin prickling as the outside world invades. Her body curls tighter. Reluctantly, she reaches for the phone.
‘Hi Maddie! I don’t know if you remember me, we were in Mrs Angus’ science class together. Anyways, I bumped into Jamie the other day, and she mentioned you have ME/ CFS. I just wanted to say, my cousin was really ill, not with that, I don’t think, something else, I forget what, but still, she took cod liver oil and vitamin D religiously and stopped eating gluten and it completely cured her, so you should totally try that! Hope you’re better soon, we should catch up for a drink, Caitlin xo’
Ah yes. Well, I’m about due.
She hasn’t had any unsolicited advice for at least, oh, two months? Mind you, that was also the last time she’d left the house. She’d made the mistake of running into Mrs Neilson at the supermarket, who’d proceeded to rabbit on about what wonders low-dose naltrexone had done for her niece. Or was that Mr Jeffries? No, he was the retired naturopath who said her eyes showed a body full of toxins and prescribed an impossible diet along with various voodoo potions – drops of black walnut, wormwood charcoal, cat’s claw. The postman’s suggestion of niacin had been fun, too – who knew a single over-the-counter vitamin could make you break out in mimicked-sunburn and heatstroke? She’d diligently tried everything, but always ended up back here, on the sofa.
She knows, now, there is no treatment, no cure. No magic bullet that can restore her old life. Not yet, anyway.
Closing her eyes she takes a few deep breathes. In, two, three, out, two, three. She hates it when people casually ask her to go out – like I can go out anywhere! But really hates it when they don’t. Hey, she never said it was logical.
She glares back at the kitchen, willing the cup of tea to make itself. At the same moment, Jake’s office door opens. “Tea?” he offers.
Maybe I do have magic powers. Not surprising, given all the stuff I’ve taken over the years. Probably some eye of newt in there somewhere.
“Yes please, love. Thank you.”
She picks up a magazine and flicks half-heartedly through. An article catches her eye: ‘Cold Water Swimming – A Cure for Life’s Ills?’ Well, that’s a new one.
‘Cold water immersion helps build up the immune system by boosting the white blood cell count, while the need for your body to adapt to its shift in environment helps train it to fortify its defences. It activates endorphins, from both a pain response to the cold, and the exercise of swimming, while also flushing your veins, arteries, and capillaries.’
But one line in particular catches her eye: ‘Cold water swimming is thought to decrease cellular inflammation, and therefore help treat autoimmune illnesses.’
Autoimmune markers were the only tangible clue her doctors had found over the years. She’d loved swimming in her past life – Jake was forever holding towels around car doors to form changing rooms because they’d driven past some lake or ocean and she’d just had to go in – togs or not. He’d called her his little fish, which she pretended to hate, but didn’t really.
But getting cold now, when her temperature control is constantly malfunctioning? The thought makes her shiver. And yet there is something daring about it. A spark of her old self lights up somewhere inside her. A craving for the ocean resurfaces. Along with an inner daredevil. What the hell.
********************
Gingerly, Maddie pulls off her tee-shirt and trousers, conscious her body betrays her slothing sofa days and sugar cravings. But Titahi Bay beach is almost empty this time of year, just a couple of dog walkers and the odd family dot the kilometre stretch of sand.
Now she’s here, she feels a bit less gung-ho. What if it makes me feel even worse? Although she could say that about eating the wrong thing, standing up for too long, or even just an average Tuesday. She squashes the fear down deep.
‘What the hell’, remember? Shuffling forward, the icy water nibbles at her toes as wet sand swallows her feet. A cold swarm of bubbles rushes in, nipping at her ankles, then retreats. She takes another step. Small, foamy waves crash against her shins as glittering gold shreds of seaweed dance in the churning water. Her delicate skin goosebumps, unused to such exposure, as the coldness laps at her legs.
The water gleams a deep blue off to the right, mirroring the sky with tinted glass. Out in front, a grey-green expanse meets a white horizon, while left, the low sun dapples blinding white on the water’s surface. She marvels at these three different seas all merged as one. The sun glitter burns her retinas, but she can’t look away – it is a form of magic that transfixes her to the spot. Finally glancing down again, she notices a knee-high unrooted tree of yellow-brown seaweed, pods and leaves swaying, passing as she drags herself deeper.
Pebbles push up at her soles as she walks, and flat feet turn to tiptoes as she tries to ward off the inevitable; keeping her upper body out of the cold grip of the ocean for as long as possible. Finally, up to her waist, she knows it’s now or never. Unclenching her fists and arms – instinctively huddled to protect her chest – and, gluing her fingers together, she plunges into the water. And feels her body come alive.
The freezing water pierces, numbing; from her toes, up through her chest, up still to her tingling scalp as weightless curls float around her face. Pulling strokes through the frosty waters makes her shiver with delight. The discomfort feels good – the same strange way colds and normal-person afflictions are always an odd relief: at least they have tangible causes, and often treatments. At the very least, they have expiry dates. They are a known entity. Like the cold water: the adversary is visible, it can be overcome.
Under the water, her shoulders drop and her jaw unclenches. A lightness washes over her. After a few moments of broad strokes, the shock subsides and an unsettling warmth starts radiating outwards, flowing along ribs, arms, palms, and out to her fingertips. A power she doesn’t recognise surges through her. No, not completely unfamiliar, just lost, from a long time ago. Like a distant smell that conjures a blurred mirage of childhood. Maddie used to be good at swimming when she was younger, in the before times, and she soon finds her rhythm with the ocean – pulls a hard stroke to flow up through the small waves, the water sluicing over her. She remembers playing mermaids in the big swimming pool with her friends, and rescuing a brick in her pyjamas in Aquanauts class. That sense of weightlessness and freedom comes back to her now, as the silence of the watery world engulfs her.
When she breaks for air she laughs and whoops, diving immediately back down, much to the bemusement of a silvery shoal. It’s like she’d never left the water. Rolling onto her back and stretching out her limbs, she feels a delicious release. Tired, angry muscles feel young and supple again as the salt-thick water supports her weight, and she smiles. Smiles so much the salt stings her cracked lips.
The peacefulness is audible out in the bay, the sounds of humanity left far behind. A gull dives for its lunch; a dog bark echoes off the rocks. Realising how far out she has come, she takes a deep breath, the clean salty air filling her lungs, and turns back towards the shore. Her rhythm lost momentarily, a mouthful of briny water makes her tongue pucker. She playfully squirts it out, laughing, as a shag pops up just ahead. They look at each other, briefly surprised, before it disappears back down just as suddenly.
Vibrant boat sheds guide the way back, their bright colours incongruous against the brown slates of rock and orange-grey sand. As she swims, her hands graze salps and suddenly she’s swimming through a mass of jellied lumps. It’s disconcerting to begin with, then reminds her, this is the real world, this is the wild. And you are part of it.
Pasifika reggae bounces off the dunes as she nears the shore. A family has set up picnic blankets and a barbecue. The adults wear coats against the cold, the kids run around oblivious in long-sleeved togs, squealing in delight. A dog surreptitiously lingers by the barbecue, as delicious smells of kūmara and indefinable meats waft over. A real hunger stabs at her belly and for once she feels she has earnt it.
Trudging out of the water, the shin-high waves crashing on the shore sound leviathan, the noise almost painful to her sensitive ears. A tūī lands on a bush nearby and, cocking its head, warbles its guttural song as if to say, What was a land animal doing in the water?
Back on the beach the sun beats strong for winter; spring isn’t far off. There’s a cold breeze though, and the warmth from swimming quickly fizzles. “Did you see me?” she squeaks at Jake. He smiles at her, a hint of panic melting from his eyes. He hands her a towel. “Of course I saw you, love.” He sweeps his arm around her and gives her a squeeze.
Maddie towels down and, wriggling out the top half of her one-piece, slips on a T-shirt. “Looks like my little fish is back.” He grins. And it was true, she’d felt more free and alive than she had in years. Like she’d been back where she belonged – her old spark finding oxygen amongst the seaweed.
But even as she is stumbling out of the bottom half of her togs, she feels the exhaustion seeping back into her bones. Her movements slow, like she’s re-entering the all-too-familiar pit of liquid concrete. Her mind is already fogging over, and the memory of the water is fading far too fast.
Almost lost.
But not quite.
As Jake leads her to the car, her head drooping onto his shoulder, she takes a last look at the ocean. The sun is grazing the horizon now; Mana Island and circling seagulls are distant silhouettes. The clouds above are taking on a pink tinge, matching her frost-nipped skin.
The sea is calling even now. Soon. I’ll go home and sleep for a week, a month, whatever. And then I’ll be back.
With a smile, she clambers awkwardly into the passenger seat, pulls the towel up around her, and falls asleep. She dreams of dancing in a wild, weightless world.
Author: Hellie Hadfield
This story combines both the author’s love of the ocean and her struggles with CFS. Finding calm in creativity, Hellie has recently taken up woodworking to complement her existing rotation of writing, drawing, macrame, painting, crochet and photography.
