My Experience with Decompression Sickness: Breaking the Silence on Stigma

“My name is Byron Conroy and I’ve had DCS” ….. there you go, I said it …….

When I learned to dive, I quickly found it became an obsession; 15 years later I’m still obsessed. I have seen everything there is to see underwater, from caves to wrecks, to the smallest marine creatures and all the way to the largest creatures including sharks, mantas and whales. My search for these has taken me many times around the world to the most magnificent locations.

However, even though I have seen all of this, I have also witnessed all of the drawbacks of diving. I have seen people die underwater, I have conducted CPR on shorelines, and I have also been treated for DCS.

This is my story about experiencing DCS and the struggle to not only recover physically but also mentally and emotionally from the stigma that surrounds it. Admitting I had DCS is something I tell people all the time, especially when I meet divers on liveaboards etc. Despite the initial look I get from these divers, I do this to share the story. Without sharing our dive stories, nobody can learn from them and no progress can me made.

It's more than 10 years since I had a DCS hit, but the lessons I learned around it have helped me in the rest of my diving career.

The Dive That Changed Everything

When I was still relatively new to diving, I lived in Mexico and found myself surrounded by highly skilled divers whose expertise surpassed my own. Their impressive buoyancy and trim, especially while navigating the Mexican cenotes with twin sets and sidemount gear, were nothing short of inspirational. These expert guides moved effortlessly through the water, making their guests look like fish flopping on a beach. Their mastery ignited my passion for diving and fueled my desire to explore various types of diving.

At that time, I had completed around 100 dives and earned my Open Water, Advanced, and Rescue certifications. I was on the verge of beginning a three-month internship in Southern Mexico to complete my Divemaster course. Eager to experience the location where I would undertake my training, I traveled from my home in the northeast of Mexico for a weekend of diving.

Diving in Mexico typically takes place on the outer edge of the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef, where deep water meets the reef. To access most dive sites, boats must navigate through the breakers to reach the outer reef. Unfortunately, during the weekend we ventured down, the weather was windy, which left us confined to the shore for a few days. We spent our time gazing at the big waves, wishing we could dive.

After a couple of days of large swells, the wind finally subsided a bit. While the conditions weren’t ideal, we were eager to dive after being landlocked for the weekend, so the shop and our group decided to take the boat out and assess the situation. We loaded up the small boat and headed toward the breakers. As we approached, we realized the swells were larger than they had appeared from the shore. Nevertheless, we made it to a renowned dive site known for its legendary schools of tarpon that we would drift through. After five hours of driving and two days spent on the beach, our excitement to dive was palpable.

The dive went well, reaching depths of around 20 meters (66 feet) while navigating a current. There was some exertion as we fought against the current, trying to enjoy the tarpon and the incredible sights this dive had to offer. Ultimately, it became a drift dive through an underwater canyon. After about an hour, we let the current carry us as we began our ascent. Once we reached about 8 meters (26 feet), we signaled for a safety stop, and I deployed a surface marker buoy (SMB) as we continued to drift. However, when we reached the end of the canyon, we found ourselves in the same area where the swell and breakers were. At that point, the situation became a bit chaotic, and I got caught in a washing machine effect. The breakers were pulling me from 9 meters (30 feet) to the surface and back down again. After a couple of attempts to fight it, I abandoned the safety stop and decided to surface.

By this point, I had been pulled to the surface and back down around three times, but everything seemed okay. Our overconfidence and bravado persisted as we managed a rough boat entry to get everyone back on board. We concluded that we had done enough diving for one day and returned to shore, where we enjoyed dinner with friends that night.

The Diagnosis

A few days later, we set off for Belize via speedboat, where we planned to embark on a deep dive at the famous Blue Hole the following day. During the 2.5-hour ride on the bouncy speedboat, I noticed a bit of soreness in my right arm, particularly around the shoulder joint. It felt unusual, almost like a dead arm, but I pushed it to the back of my mind and didn't dwell on it too much.

Later that evening, the dull ache in my shoulder persisted, and I realized it had been bothering me for a few days. I started discussing it with my travel buddy, Lena, opening up about my concerns. This was the first time I had mentioned it, but as we talked, especially with our plans for deep dives the following day, we decided it would be best to get it checked out for peace of mind.

Upon arriving at the hyperbaric doctor’s office, he conducted a few tests and asked several questions. He quickly diagnosed me with decompression sickness (DCS) and recommended treatment using Navy Table No. 6 in a hyperbaric chamber with 100% oxygen. This would require three sessions in the chamber before we could determine the next steps.

For those who haven’t experienced it, decompression sickness (DCS) occurs when nitrogen bubbles form in the bloodstream due to a diver surfacing too quickly or not allowing enough time for the gases to safely come out of solution. These bubbles can lead to a wide range of symptoms, from joint pain and fatigue to paralysis and even death in severe cases. In my case, the symptoms were moderate, manifesting as shoulder pain and some fatigue. However, the emotional impact was more significant than the physical symptoms.

The Stigma of DCS

When I was diagnosed, I quickly realized that DCS carries a stigma in the diving community. There’s this unspoken belief that if you get DCS, you’ve made a mistake—that you weren’t careful, that you didn’t follow the rules, that somehow, you’re not a competent diver. It’s almost like a badge of shame.

Due to the diagnosis and treatment, I was not allowed to dive for at least 30 days. This meant that while I had booked the Divemaster program, I could not participate in any of the in-water activities.

I could feel the judgment, even from other divers who were supportive on the surface. They didn’t say it outright, but I could sense the questions lurking behind their eyes: What did you do wrong?

The truth is, DCS can happen to anyone. Even the most experienced divers can develop it despite following protocols. There are so many factors—hydration levels, fatigue, body composition, even changes in weather or current—that can affect your susceptibility to DCS. But knowing this didn’t stop me from feeling guilty and ashamed.

At the time, everyone was aware of my situation, and I managed to navigate through it. I completed my Divemaster course within the 90-day timeframe after receiving clearance from a hyperbaric doctor in Playa del Carmen. I recall feeling so eager to return to diving that I put pressure on the doctor to sign the clearance document. My desire to be deemed “fit to dive” again outweighed my concern about being known as the person who experienced DCS at the dive center.

The Pressure to Stay Silent

For a while, quite a few years in fact,  I didn’t want to talk about my DCS hit. My dive career was continuing, I had moved to Australia and been working as a Divemaster taking people diving 5 times a day. I was taking my instructor course and had begun looking for jobs to work as a full time instructor. There’s this pressure in the diving community to appear strong, experienced, and invulnerable. This is especially the case if you are working as a professional diver and taking additional continued education courses. If you admit to having DCS, it’s like admitting that you failed. And that’s not something divers like to do. We like to think we’re invincible, that if we follow the rules, nothing will go wrong. But that’s not always the case.

I found myself downplaying the experience, brushing it off as “no big deal” in my mind and never really addressing the situation. I didn’t want people to think I wasn’t a safe diver or that I didn’t know what I was doing. I wanted to protect my reputation and keep diving with the same groups, but the fear of judgment held me back from opening up.

The Road to Recovery

Physically, I consider myself quite lucky; I received treatment and was young and energetic, allowing me to return to diving. However, even now, a decade later, I still experience some trouble with my shoulder. This lingering issue stems from the delay in my treatment, which led to the formation of scar tissue around the nitrogen bubble that had formed on my spine. Although the bubble has been resolved, the scar tissue continues to cause a slight dull ache in my right shoulder.

Having experienced no major repercussions and no further incidents in the last ten years, I consider myself fortunate to have learned a valuable lesson about not pushing things too far—there's always another day to dive. Now, I'm much more open to canceling a dive for any reason, a mindset that I attribute to this experience. I also strive to be very accommodating of others who wish to cancel a dive, understanding that no excuses are needed and that judgment should never be passed.

Confronting the Misconceptions

One of the biggest misconceptions I faced was that DCS is always the diver’s fault. That if you get it, you must have done something wrong. While it’s true that certain behaviors can increase your risk, the reality is that DCS is unpredictable. Even with perfect dive execution, it can happen due to factors beyond your control. For me, although there was an issue with the dive, there were many people also on the dive who went through the same thing and had no repercussions.

This misconception is one of the reasons many divers hesitate to speak up when they experience DCS; they fear being labeled as careless or reckless, even though that is far from the truth. In my case, I followed the dive plan, encountered an issue, and handled it as best as I could by choosing to skip the safety stop to remain at the surface and out of danger. I wasn't pushing dive limits, I hadn’t been drinking, and I wasn't dehydrated or violating any decompression obligations, yet it still happened.

I learned that it’s important to educate other divers about this. We need to stop perpetuating the idea that DCS is a mark of failure. Instead, we should focus on awareness, prevention, and recovery without judgment. Divers who experience DCS shouldn’t feel like they have to hide it or be ashamed.

Finding Strength in Vulnerability

Admitting that I had DCS wasn’t easy; it meant acknowledging that something had gone wrong and that my body had reacted in a way I hadn’t anticipated. However, over time, I found peace with the situation. By sharing my story, I became more comfortable with what had happened and stopped viewing it as something shameful. I realized that every diver has their own journey, and this was an important part of mine.

Today, I’m back to diving, but I approach it with a new perspective. I no longer feel the need to prove myself or hide behind a façade of invincibility. I’ve accepted that DCS can happen to anyone, and that doesn’t make me any less of a diver. In fact, it’s made me more mindful, more aware, and is one of the reasons I have chosen to do so many technical diving courses so I can understand diving and diving physiology a lot more

Moving Forward

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this experience, it’s that we need to break the silence around DCS. The stigma doesn’t help anyone—it only isolates those who have gone through it. Divers who experience DCS should be able to talk about it without fear of judgment. It’s part of our reality as divers, and the more we discuss it openly, the better we can support each other.

I hope my story encourages others to share their own experiences, to confront the stigma head-on, and to realize that having DCS doesn’t define who you are as a diver. It’s just one chapter in a much bigger story—a story of exploration, learning, and resilience.

I’m not afraid to admit it anymore: “My name is Byron Conroy and I’ve had DCS” and I’m still a diver.