I NEVER USED TO BE CLAUSTROPHOBIC, but for some reason I am now. I can't even go in a conventional MRI—it's got to be an "open" MRI. I can't sit in the back seat of a vehicle if there isn't a rear door. And up until about 20 years ago, stepping into an elevator immediately upped my blood pressure by a good 50 points! (Thankfully, elevators don't bother me anymore.)
However, my affliction with this phobia just might date back to a certain incident that I'm about to share with you.
As a 13-year-old, I used to spelunk (explore caves) with my buddies, Denny and Dean. There wasn't a passage too narrow or an underground chamber too small for us. We climbed and squirmed our way into every nook and cranny of every cave within a 50-mile radius of our hometown, West Union, Iowa.
I remember one time, Dean and I were slithering on our bellies through a muddy crawlway in Sauer's Cave (just a couple miles outside of West Union.) We'd seen this passage before; but on this particular day, we were going to explore just how far back it went. The diameter of the tunnel was just a little larger than our own bodies; and the further we'd crawl, the narrower the passage became.
I was in the lead followed closely by Dean—like a couple of worms in this dank, limestone tunnel. 'Cuz my arms were fully extended in front of me, inching forward was slow and tedious. In my left hand, I tenuously held a flickering flashlight; and in my right hand, I gripped a wadded-up piece of paper (more about that later.)
I finally reached the end of the passage as it had narrowed into a solid mud closure. It was there that I was going to wedge that piece of paper into the mud. Having anticipated that we'd only get so far back into this passageway, I'd earlier written the following words on that scrap of paper: "Floyd Collins was here!" (at the time, Dean and I thought that was beyond clever!)
My voice loud yet muffled, I called back to Dean that I'd planted the note and was ready to back out. But Dean didn't budge and didn't say a word.
"Dean! Let's get outta here!"
No response! Had he passed out—overcome by CO2 (a common danger in enclosed spaces such as caves)?!
Oh no!! Dean must be unconscious, and we're trapped in this tube—I'm blocked by him and unable to back out!! No one knows we're here!!
My life flashed before my eyes!
Just about then Dean let out with a loud "Waaahhhh soopie!!"—a playful, apelike cry that he had coined and was known to yell when he was in one of his frequent mischievous moods!
We both slowly backed out of the passage, and I was never so glad to see the light of day than when we emerged from the mouth of that cave. Maybe that's when and why I developed my claustrophobia—thanks to my old pal, Dean!
PS. For those of you who didn't get the Floyd Collins reference, check it out: click | 
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