Kilimanjaro - Decision

We continued our climb up through the forest. I regretted not bringing my East African bird guide. With a weight limit of 33lbs per bag, I chose to leave the volume behind in Moshi. When packing for a climb to 19,000 ft., a choice between bird book or down parka or extra fleece seemed obvious. But here in the trees, I wanted to identify the birds I was seeing and hearing. I took notes and pictures when I could so that I could look them up later.

As we gained altitude, we came out of the forest into scrubby bushes and stunted trees, which gave way to the sedges and lichens of the alpine tundra.

Finally, after 3 days, we came around a corner and had a view of our goal across the plain. It was an awesome, if daunting sight! I looked across the vast Shira Plain at the route we would take up to the crater and felt the familiar insignificance I always experience in the mountains. (This feeling was only enhanced by a conversation I was having at that moment on the nature of evil with Father Frank - 71 yr. old Monsignor, cancer survivor, and steady presence on the mountain.)

That night's camp was in the middle of the plain. The day had been long; some didn't make it in to camp until dark. We cheered our teammates and helped light their way. Those of us who were already comfortably settled in helped our tired friends to their tents and carried their bags.

The next day we continued our trek across the Shira Plain. I obsessively took pictures of the mountain and that day's vegetation. Our next camp was on the ridge between the plain and the next valley, where winds blowing across the plain roil moisture-laden clouds rising up from the valley.

Shortly before pulling into camp, I started feeling sick. Once in camp I napped on the rocks in the sun (covered with sunscreen, of course). Until I started throwing up. Then the diarrhea. Then more vomiting.... I was sick!

I spent far too much time during the night out in the rocks puking. (I always tried to do it in a more out of the way spot and covered the spot with rocks so I didn't give some other hiker a nasty surprise.) I started antibiotics and tried to keep anti-nausea meds down (without much success). In the morning I pulled Charlie (Charlie Wittmack, executive director of Above & Beyond Cancer, leader of our merry group, climber, adventurer, encourager, knower of many things) aside to talk about my options. I wanted to know what the possibilities were if I needed to retreat. I knew there was a road close to this camp for rescue vehicles. Leaving this camp would be easy. What about the next ones? I didn't think I was finished with the mountain yet, but I needed to know the options.

Charlie told me that 3 of our group were sick and would be going down that morning. Our oldest teammate - 73 yr old prostate cancer survivor - was very sick, suffering from dehydration and exhaustion. The 3 would go down to Moshi, recover, and await our return.

Charlie came back to me a few minutes later with more news: escape from the mountain would become much more difficult in the days ahead. If I thought I needed to leave, today was the day. I needed to make a decision.

I wasn't ready for that. I wanted to hike that day and see how I did. I wanted to see how I might recover. I needed more information before I made this decision. 

I have experienced being sick on a climb. In fact, I puke on every mountain I climb. I have a hard time with altitude - I puke - it's what my body does. But I know this, and I know that I'm strong enough to continue. I've also experienced major stomach illness on a mountain. On Aconcagua I had to be on antibiotics the entire climb. I was much sicker than now. The difference was that on Aconcagua we had some rest days built into our schedule. And since we were a small group we could easily adjust the schedule so I could take a rest day after my all-night sick-fest which left me so weak I could barely walk. From that experience, though, I learned just how quickly a body can recover. One day of complete rest and re-hydration saw me ready to continue. It was a struggle to continue, but it was possible.

I'm tough. I know this. I know that I can continue against great obstacles. My concern here on Kili was that I wouldn't have any rest days. Quite the opposite. We had some long, tough days ahead. 

I felt completely unready and unable to make this decision. I wasn't ready to quit, but was it wise to continue? In the past, I have made the choice to back off a mountain. But that choice was always completely obvious to me. This was not. I cried. I talked with John, our cameraman. Thanks to his recent abscessed tooth, he had been added to my list of toughest people I know. He's a climber; he understands. He understood, but of course he had no answers. The answers had to come from me.

Charlie approached, wanting a decision. I don't have one. He thinks I'm freaked out by the road. It's so easy here. The road is just 15 minutes away. If I'm too sick to summit, it's just so easy to leave here. But if there were no road? Charlie asks what I would do if I were this sick on Aconcagua where retreat still means days of walking out (unless I need helicopter rescue). Of course, I wouldn't go. I didn't go.

It's so simple. My decision is made. I'll continue. (I told you, Charlie is the knower of many things.)

That morning's reflection - each morning we have some sort of reflection for the group - given by Dick (Dr. Richard Deming, founder of Above & Beyond Cancer, caregiver, healer, chief encourager, wise fellow, light spirit) seems directed to me. It is about accepting help. About accepting assistance when it's offered and asking when we need it.

I pride myself on my self reliance, on my capableness. I am strong. I have endurance. I am tough. I will not run at the first sign of trouble. 

Accepting offers to carry my water and my pack is not easy for me. As a climber, I believe in taking care of myself; no one else climbs for me. But clearly, these people - my teammates, my friends - are not going to let me out of camp with my pack on my back. 

The lessons from this mountain, from this stomach bug, are not what I expect. I expect that I will learn lessons about strength and perseverance. But really, those are lessons already learned. The surprise lessons this day are about not being the toughest person. About accepting help. About assistance freely given and reluctantly but gratefully received. 

So, with a little help from my friends, I climb, stopping periodically to puke.

Julie