Sick

Day Fourteen 01/02/15: I wake up with full blown wet, thick, sputum cough. Likely high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). I can hardly stomach any food. Mong and Forrest take almost all my weight, and I stumble to the latrine for more explosive diarrhea. The 4hr hike that took us to basecamp takes me 8hrs to descend shakily, walking like a toddler with two trekking poles across rock trail that is now coated in snow. I have to stop twice more with horrible diarrhea on the side of the trail. I try to drink and can only get 1.5L of hydration salts down. We reach Chukkung eventually and my cough is so bad that I don’t sleep at all. I can no longer walk or stand under my own power and my bathroom trips are poorly coordinated. I piss all over myself trying to operate the complexities of my own pants. I cannot eat because I am too tired, I fall asleep during the act.

Day Fifteen 01/03/2015: My level of responsiveness drops substantially to level two, I know where I am and who I am, but that is about it. I am no longer speaking coherently or able to answer questions. I have very little memory of this day, I spend most of this time slouched in bed wearing my full down parka and in a down sleeping bag trying to stay warm. Forrest periodically hands me something and tries to shake me awake to get me to drink it and take some meds. This persists for one or two days, I’m not really sure because I remember very little. Eventually, the tea house staff rallies to drag my weak frame outside and prop me on a lawn chair. I am loaded into a helicopter and flown to Kathmandhu. By this point, I feel like I am hammered drunk and reeling even sitting still in a chair. Halfway down Forrest and I sit on a helipad and wait to be transferred to another helicopter. I am feeling slightly better, but still so very weak. Eventually, I am loaded onto an ambulance and taken to a hospital for the works. CT scan, x-rays, IV fluids, antibiotics, and antivirals. My white blood cell count is over 20,000 and I am severely dehydrated.

Day 16-18: 01/04/2015-01/05/2015: Each morning two nurses greet me between 6:30-7:30 am and examine the IV going into my hand that is supposed to replenish my fluids. “How many times did you make the urine?” I shake my head, and reply “none”. An exchange of surprise looks is followed by a painful flicking and attempt to adjust the less than ideal placement of my IV. During the days, forests large six foot frame is uncomfortably crunched on a guest couch in my room as he attempts to Skype my health insurance while I drift in and out of wakefulness. The steady flow of oxygen and bizarre array of American B movies is enough to numb my mind back into sleep. Eventually, Forrest’s Mom Debbie comes by the hospital from her nearby work with the AACC in the area and visits. She is pretty quickly alarmed by the massive swelling in my IV hand which is clearly infected and encourages a new placement by the nurses. After two days without fluids, I am finally hydrating. My first micturition smells horrible and has maple syrup like coloration/consistency, but it seems to satisfy the the nurses nonetheless. How many times did I make the urine? One. The doctors agree to release me at the end of the third day with a pile of antibiotic pills to take as well as some cream for my ballooning infected hand.

I spend the remainder of my trip either sleeping, eating, or walking short distances. There are many takeaways from this trip which are great lessons albeit hard ones to learn first hand. First of all, I am very grateful to have such amazing friends and family to care for me in a time where I was incapable of doing so. Forrest and Debbie made my experience a lot more bearable. Secondly, I am very much ashamed of my ego clouding my judgement in a way that potentially endangers myself and others. From the start, I was determined not to be another white tourist taking advantage of underpaid native guide/porter services. Realistically, Nema and Mong are stronger and more fit than myself, and my reluctance to let them do the job that they are paid for is disrespectful in its own way by not recognizing how things are done in Nepal. I avoided being carried to the top of some mountain in the Everest circuit, in part because of what a terrible stain it has become on broader implications for alpinism and mountaineering. This logic is what caused me to overtrain prior to my arrival, fail to take time to acclimate appropriately, and over-assess my ability to ascend rapidly. It was not entirely pride that caused me to deny the obvious signs of my upper respiratory tract infection prior to HAPE onset. The other factor was the large amount of money, time, and closing weather window that made bailing on the climb undesirable. The results were humbling. I have intentionally avoided high altitude ascents since that time in favor of more technical vertical climbing, who knows if I will return to Nepal anytime soon. If I decide to climb something tall again, I will definitely acclimate properly and will likely not shoot for much taller than 16,000-17,000ft since I know how my body responds to said altitude.