In 1980, my driver’s license expired while I was away on the pro circuit in Australia. I never got it renewed because my sponsors refused to buy me any more cars. So every morning after checking the surf, I begin calling my surfing buddies. If Pat Cahill, who runs a yacht repair business, is busy I call my South Gate Paramedic buddy George Gillen. I tell the other surfers that I’m so old I have to surf with a paramedic. A few Sundays ago George, his nephew Tommy and I headed up to the Cove around 11. Silvia, my next door neighbor, waved goodbye, saying “You be careful up there Mike”.
This year the Cove crowds have rivaled Malibu. By first light, surfers, stand-ups, paddle boarders, kayaks and one-man outrigger canoes are all running over each other. My key to Cove surfing is catch the crowd on a shift change. That Sunday the wind came up early and the crowd was thinning as we scampered down the trail.
Bobby Warchola was the first to greet me. Others enjoying the solid, 5-foot swell included Boneyard Joe, Rob Rogers, Big Eric, Rocky, Colton Sarlo and Chase La Rue. George and Tommy worked the medium rights at inside Boneyards while I hung outside with Rob and Rocky. The crowd was scattered all over the place because of the cleanup sets. There were plenty of waves and everyone was having a good time. After two and a half hours I was thinking about a last wave. Tommy was already on his way in and I was looking for George when a big set of lefts popped up at outside Boneyards.
Rob was stroking down the wall right so I charged left in a semi freefall while going for a floater. A backside floater is when you drop in with your back to the wave, gently hit the top and float back over with the lip landing just out front of the whitewater. I was three for five on floaters on the day. There was a mid-20’s shortboarder on a four fin fish paddling up the face right in front of me. I couldn’t make it around him so decided to float over him as he pushed his board threw the wave. I was floating over the top when he rolled, exposing his 4-fins. When I landed, I swung my right arm around for balance and it caught one of his fins. It felt like being struck in the elbow with a small baseball bat.
When I surfaced the skinny, brown haired, brown eyed baby faced surfer nervously apologized for making me fall. I knew something was wrong by the dull throbbing pain coming from inside my elbow. I lifted my right arm up to get a look. It looked like a shark bite. The dark red hole and the two pieces of muscle dangling outside the hole looked really bad. I was outside but not far enough out to call George for help. I showed the the kid. He had a look on his face that said, “Oh my God. I just killed Mike Purpus.” I said “It wasn’t your fault. I need you to paddle as fast as you can to George, whose on the big red surfboard and wearing a hat. Tell him to get out now.”
I began to paddle with my left arm while keeping my right arm over my head. It wasn’t working. I got sick and dizzy every time I looked at the gaping hole. I’ve had over 500 stitches from surfing around the world but I never had to look straight into a gash. Plus, I was heading straight for the rocks at Boneyards. I thought, “The hell with it” and started paddling with both arms as fast as I could.
I would take 10 strokes, then put pressure over the wound with my left hand while I glided for a while. I’m halfway in when I start thinking about all the blood following me to the beach. It would be a real bummer if I got eaten by a shark before I reached the beach. Finally I’m 30 yards from shore holding up my arm screaming at everyone on the beach that I need a tourniquet. I hold my arm up and everyone came scampering down the rocks to get a closer look. From the reactions on their faces, I knew I was hurt bad.
A high school kid dove down to undo my leash, then tries to tie it around my arm. I said “What are you doing? This isn’t Shark Week. I didn’t lose a limb. I have a gaping hole and need a T-shirt to tie around it to stop the bleeding.”
Young, hot shortboarder Chase La Rue was already tying it off with his T-shirt. Bobby, Rocky, Big Eric, and Boneyard Joe wanted to see it. I said “No. I don’t want to lose any more blood.” Bobby held up an eye dropper bottle with rubbing alcohol that he uses to clean out his ears and insist on pouring some in the hole. When he does, everyone gasps. George re-ties the T-shirt while Rocky makes me a sling with his shirt. Chase was already running up the trail with my long board, his board and wetsuit. Everybody is fighting over who is going to give me a ride to the hospital. I said “I am going with George. He is a paramedic.”
They keeps asking who the kid was that snagged my arm. I don’t tell them. “Leave the kid alone. It was all my fault.” I knew the kid felt awful because he looked like Bambi after seeing his mother shot.
I got to the top of the trail and out of my wetsuit in record time. I told George to stop at my apartment so I could run get my wallet with my Medicare card. Then I insisted on going to Torrance Memorial because that is where I had my hips replaced. My medical history would already be in there computers. My arm was starting to throb. George took the paramedic emergency route through back alleys, getting us there in 10 minutes. It was the day after Valentine’s Day and the ER waiting room was almost full. I asked if Vanessa, my roommate Eddie’s girlfriend was working. She is an ER nurse there, but no such luck.
We only had to wait 20 minutes before nurse Tiffany Perez was cleaning out the wound. One piece of the muscle fell off but the other was hanging there like a piece of ahi tuna at a sushi bar. George was watching intently to see if he could pick up any new paramedic tricks. Tiffany pumped saline solution through the gash three times. It made a sound like a babbling brook. I still couldn’t look at it.
Doctor David Presser arrived, looking like a cross between Doogie Howser and Sheldon from “The Big Bang Theory.” He said cuts in the ocean are bad because the water is so dirty. “That is deep. You might have a broken bone and torn muscles. Are you right handed?” he asked.
He asked how it happened. I said that I was surfing the Cove and snagged this kid’s fin while flying off the lip.
“It is you. You surfed the Cove yesterday, too. You don’t remember me? I paddled up to you on my orange Kayak Surf Ski and said that it was a beautiful day and you said “Get that damn orange thing away from me. You better not get in my way or hit me with that thing.”
“I only paddled up to you because you seemed friendly and knew everyone out there,” he said.
“Were you wearing that goofy looking hat with the big bill and drapes covering your ears?” I asked.
He said, “Yeah,” then ran off to see another patient. I went red in the face while trying to explain to Tiffany, George and an intern named Angelo Margan that he really did look like Goofy at Disneyland. They were holding their stomachs laughing. Angelo rides a short board and knows my roommate Eddie.
“Karma is a bitch,” he said.
I hate needles and have fainted several times getting vaccinations. One time I had to get six stitches in the back of my head from hitting the floor. When Dr. Presser came back I apologized, saying that he shouldn’t take it personal but the Cove is way too crowded with just surfboards. People paddle out on stand-ups, kayaks, paddleboards and outriggers who can’t even surf. It creates a very dangerous situation when sneaker sets pop up. At San Onofre and Doheny there is a separate area for non surfboard, wave riding vehicles, far away from the surfers. There is a heavy fine for riding a wave outside the area. I apologized again before he began his needlework. He was meticulous and very understanding of my needle phobia while stitching me up.
My arm healed nicely, but I wasn’t able to surf for two weeks, which is what hurt the most. ER
