[originally posted on Dropzone.com, 09/17/06]

So I finally did it. Made that first jump. A tandem. A couple of years after I first contemplated going skydiving, I finally did it.

For 2 summers, I casually thought about it, but it was a scary proposition. So excuses always won out. Finally, a few weeks ago, the summer was coming to an end, the weather was good, so I finally committed to doing that first jump. Making the phone call to place the reservation was the most difficult part of the process.

August 26th. An overcast morning. Two hours of driving, and I pull into parking area at Skydive Delmarva around 8:30 AM. The dropzone is begining to rouse. I walk over to the manifest building and check in. I fill out my waivers. Then wait for the fun to begin. I'm rather calm. I've committed to doing this, so now, it's a question of executing well.

Finally, 20 minute call. Things start moving. I meet the Tandem Instructor, we suit up, and go to the loading area. The videographer stops by for a quick interview. The big Otter fires up, rolls around to the loading area. The TI and I are the first two people on. I'm a little nervous but also trying to take in the sights and sounds.

Take off and the climb to altitude. Unbelievable. I've never been in anything smaller than a 737. This time, we're sitting on the floor, cheek to jowel in this loud, rattling prop-driven plane. Seems pretty small now that I'm actually inside. Holy crap, I'm really going to do this. Finally, I hear a buzzer and see the famous green light go on next to the door. People are jumping out of that door. The plane is emptying fast. Just do it. The Tandem Instructor tells me to get up on my knees, one last adjustment and we waddle up to the door.

Holy crap, here it is, standing in the door. Whipping wind, clouds, the ground so far below. I'm about to jump out of a f*cking plane. Just do it. TI tells me to cross my arms, look up, remember to arch. Then, incredibly, we're out of the aircraft. I'm trying to take it all in. Remember to arch. I see the Otter getting smaller and smaller as we're falling away. Then, soon, we're face down, rocketing towards the earth. Like jumping off the highest high dive ever. Falling through the clouds gives me a sense of incredible speed.

Then, several seconds later, sudden deceleration, and quiet. What a view. Hanging under this piece of nylon several thousand feet up. Not many people get to see creation from this perspective. Glorious.

The TI points to a light brown circle and says we'll land there. We get closer to the ground. We're coming in fast. The toggles are pulled all the way down. Can't PLF a tandem. Gonna have to run this one out. I put one foot down, concussion, a confusion of lines, and we're down.

The TI unhooks me. Asks if I'm okay. I feel the concussion, and the dull ache setting in, and realize my foot isn't quite pointing in the right direction. He asks if I can get up. I am now unhooked, and realize there's no chance I can stand up. I say no, and lay down on my side. Then once I'm clear of the lines, I roll on my back. So much for my Saturday schedule.

A few jumpers move into action. One skydiver, identified himself as a paramedic, supports and elevates my ankle. He and another jumper carefully remove my shoe and sock. No pain from that. Surprising, the injury is gross-looking (caution, somewhat graphic - me in the ER), but I'm not feeling much pain at all. I remark on this. A thoughtful skydiver says, Oh, it'll start to hurt soon. Gee, thanks for that tidbit. I'm looking up at the clouds. Wow, I haven't done this in a long, long time. Beautiful. I ask for water. I realize I'm suddenly parched. Someone hands me a bottle of ice cold water. One of the sweetest bottles of water in my life. Then they take it away. The paramedics say I can't have any. I hear the ambulance. My jumpsuit is carefully removed. Ahhh, coolness.

Then I'm loaded on the ambulance. Then I'm in the ER. I'm fortunate to have an excellent doctor, and fortunate to have gone to a good hospital. The doctor skillfully anesthetizes the ankle with a hefty dose of lidocaine directly into the joint. He comes several minutes later and says it's time to reduce (relocate) the joint. I grasp the edge of the bed, clench my teeth, and think of civil war infantry. Doc says it won't be that bad. Prior experience contradicts his statement. A quick pull and I feel it go back in. Not much extra pain. In fact, now, it feels a bit better. Thanks for the skill and the anesthesia, doc.

Then it's off to surgery. Uneventful. I come out with hardware. Nine screws and a metal bar. A night spent in the hospital. The drive back to my place. Now, with the staples removed, and a hard cast on, I have probably 5 more weeks of not putting load on the ankle.

I did it. I f*cking did it. Do I regret it? No. It was a rare experience. I experienced jumping out an airplane for the first time. I suffered a serious injury. I had emergency surgery for the first time. I get an ankle full of hardware. I get time off work. And, I get one heck of a story.

As I was being worked on in the field, a jumper said that skydivers owe beer when there's a first and that I owed beer. Do I owe beer? I know I owe the people who kept my ankle elevated something.

As badly as the jump ended, I was lucky to be assisted by skillful and helpful jumpers, a great paramedic team, an outstanding hospital staff, and an outstanding orthopedic doctor. And friends and family have been great too. A freak accident, it could have been much worse.

First jump. First metal. Do I owe beer?