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

Kilimanjaro: Change of Plans

Breakfast at the lodge is filled with bravado, laughter, furtive glances and wringing hands. We were all anxious to get started up the mountain. Of course, life doesn't always proceed as planned.

We headed to the park gate to check in and get our porters. Forty climbers make for a HUGE pile of gear!









After many delays getting gear and porters sorted out, weighing all the bags (all bags are limited to 33lbs.), and filling out paperwork, we left the check-in. Big rain the night before had washed out sections of the road. We had one bus and one vehicle that looked like an army truck converted into a bus. We knew our bus would not make it. The decision was made that we would drive as far as possible and then wait for the truck to come back to pick us up.

As advertised, the road was not passable. Even before we reached the impassable section, we had some interesting stops and starts, scrapes, and close calls that made some in my bus gasp. I've had enough 3rd world bus trips on some very dicey roads to know that there's not really anything I can do; the driver knows a lot more about driving that road and those conditions than I do. I just sit quietly and trust.

Once we cannot go further, we unload our gear and sit under the trees, waiting for the truck. We were hoping we could walk, but are told we need to stay together with the gear. Relax. There is nothing we can do. No amount of American "but we have a schedule; we have to get this done" will change anything. Relax. Life doesn't always proceed as planned. We pull out journals and books, Charlie naps, Brian plays guitar. This forced rest ends up being my favorite moment of the day.

Because of the unforeseen delays, we cannot make the first camp that was planned. Instead, the course is re-figured. We will camp just at the start of the trail so that we won't be arriving into the originally planned camp well after dark. Given that several people in our group have very limited hiking and camping experience - and 2 have never slept in a tent before - not arriving after dark is an excellent idea. We'll make up the distance later.

I find it ironic that in the bus this morning - morning which seems like it was weeks ago - I told Theresa my cancer story. How my initial diagnosis was so very different than what eventually turned out to be reality. Scans and biopsies had not shown any tumors, only widespread non-invasive DCIS. Surgery revealed 2 moderately large tumors. Final pathology reported aggressive tumors, poor margins, and a high number of positive lymph nodes. Life doesn't always proceed as planned.

Our camp is nestled close under the trees. My tent-mate and I choose a tent far from the people who admit to being snorers in the hopes of getting a good night's sleep. Already, some in our group are suffering from stomach problems. After dinner in our extremely long mess tent - a dinner of soup and some rice with vegetable curry - a meal we will become depressingly familiar with - we say goodnight. I lie in my sleeping bag which is far too warm for the temperatures in the lower foothills and listen to the sounds of the night. Men giggling in their tents like 7-year-olds, laughing at their bodily functions. Monkeys howling in the night. Porters softly whispering in their lilting, melodic tongue. All the quietude punctuated periodically by belches and gas. I wonder how Tim and Nina are feeling on their first-ever night in a tent.

Morning; packing; the first of the daily struggles to wrestle my thick -20 degree sleeping bag into a compression sack; breakfast of thin porridge, eggs, and hot dogs; yoga; and finally hiking.

We hike slowly in 3 groups. The pace is slow for me, but it's fine. Most of my companions are new to this sort of thing. We're a group; we all work together to help each other out. This trip is not about a few people getting to the top of something; this trip is about a group of ordinary people trying to do something extraordinary - together.

We make camp 2 - the Big Tree. More people are hit with stomach disorders. John, our cameraman, is hit with something else. He has an abscessed tooth. By late afternoon, the whole side of his face is swollen. There are discussions with the doctors. John is reluctant to go down the mountain. He is here to do a job and he wants to continue. The doctors are worried about his continuing up with a worsening infection. But what are the options? Lance it here on the mountain? Will that be effective? Will it be safe? Go down to Moshi? What kind of care will he find there? They decide to wait until morning to make a final decision. Morning comes and the infection is no better. John chooses to cast his lot with the doctors he knows - here, on the mountain. Syringes, alcohol preps, no anesthesia. The abscess is drained. John continues up the mountain.




Julie

The Kili Story

Now that I'm home (and awake - thank you jet lag), it's time to write the Kili story. Or start telling. It was a very intense trip for a lot of reasons and I'm still processing it. I think I will be for a while.

I was struggling mentally in the first couple of days. I was tired, hadn't slept much before I left, couldn't sleep once I was there. Large groups make me a little nervous; I'm much more comfortable with just a couple of people at a time. I marvel at how easy everyone else is. Yes, most of them already know each other, but many of them also have that ease with people that I envy. I try.

I struggle to learn 39 new names. This is tough for me. I've never been particularly good with names, but I still suffer some after affects of chemo that make it much more difficult. Chemo brain can be so damned annoying! I don't want to insult these people by not remembering who they are. I don't want to worry about it. I just want to remember and be able to say the names. Often my chemo brain takes the form of aphasia: I know in my head what I want to say, but can't make the word come out my mouth. 

I have little tricks to help me remember. We have 3 Gails and 2 Jims. At meals I look around to find the Gails - like living in a Where's Waldo picture. Thinking of personal connections  somehow helps me. Steve, father of Jed, friend to Jim. Tim, tall, not a Jim. Theresa, a mother, but not Mother Theresa. Unfortunately, these threads are not fast enough for conversation. I notice that so many of them already know my name. They greet me - Hey, Julie, how's it going?....How's it going? My brain has dribbled out on the floor. That embarrasses me. I don't want people to know that sometimes my brain is a pile of goo. I guess that's pride; I guess that's not particularly useful.

And I'm nervous. I always worry about whether I'm ready. 

But we're off.

Julie

Tracks, Holes, and Buffalo - Walking In The Serengeti

My safari (through Wayo Africa), includes a couple of days in a remote camp in the Serengeti. The big crowds, both of animals and tourists, were left behind. The great migration of zebra and wildebeests is currently further south in the short grasses. It was a wonder to see them, but this place has other joys. We have fewer big animals here in the long grasses, but we have birds, open spaces, hyenas calling in the night, and walking.

We spend a few hours out walking in the morning. During the heat of the day we rest at our tents. And then back out for an evening walk to watch the sunset from one of the kopjies (big rocks, pronounced "copies").

Besides the 3 of us tourists, we have some extra guides who are out here for a guide training course with an expert from South Africa. I was thrilled this morning when they invited me to tag along. We didn't cover a great distance, but we did cover a lot. We stopped frequently to look at tracks, birds, holes, dung, spiders, and rocks.

Big excitement came when we heard a buffalo snort. We continued cautiously. I did what Jean, Sean, and the other guides told me to do - I walked or stood where they told me to. Our buffalo was eventually found in a cave they like. He was encouraged to move elsewhere and we were able to safely explore the cave.

It was so much fun for me to explore this land in such minute detail with these guys. I'm really grateful to them for letting me tag along.

BTW, if you're ever in Tanzania, I highly recommend Wayo Africa for safari. They care to be good stewards of the land, and make sure their guides are knowledgable and very well trained.

Julie

Happy for Core Strength

Day 2 of my safari. Spent the day at Ngorongoro Crater, the densest animal population on the planet. We saw cats - lions, cheetah, and a serval cat. We saw antelope. We saw zebra and wildebeests by the hundreds. Elephants. Black rhinos. Hippos. Birds, big and small. It was a good day!

I quickly discovered my favorite way of traveling - standing up in the back of our safari jeep, holding on, wind in my face. That way I can see in all directions. But it's not easy. We bounce along on wildly rough roads.

Days like this make me very glad that I have worked hard to keep my body strong. Solid legs and strong core muscles help me keep my balance no matter what the road is like. I am happy that I am strong enough to do what I want, when I want, without much thought about whether my body can handle it.

Today, I am grateful for my core because it has allowed me immeasurable pleasure.

Julie

Something Different - Canoeing!

I awoke just after sunrise. My guide for the day was picking me up at 7. We were headed for Arusha National Park for game drive and canoe safari!

On the drive in to the lake district, I saw zebras, giraffes, warthogs, monkeys, and baboons. We met a couple from Lyons who I would be joining for the canoe trip. I shared the canoe with the guide.

We donned our lifejackets and were off. We had to stay close to shore while we looked for hippos. They are very dangerous, so we had to locate them before crossing the open water. As we glided along the shore I saw plovers, sandpipers, and crakes. I saw a beautiful male bush buck, but wasn't quick enough with my camera to capture him.

It felt good to be using different muscles for a change. My shoulders and back thrilled at being used for something other than carrying a pack.

As we pulled out of our protected inlet the wind hit us - and our canoe. It ended up being quite windy and the waves picked up fast. We paddled fast and hard to avoid being blown into rocks. Then we would get a respite as we turned into another protected inlet, and could leisurely float along looking at wildlife.

The hippos, it turned out, were not to be found this morning in our lake. We had wound our way to the opposite side, had full view of the lake, but had found no hippos. (We did find them later in a nearby lake.) So we made a beeline back across the lake. Or we tried to. With the wind, it was much more like a ragged zig-zag. And it was hard work, but fun.

Julie

Kili - Back To The Beginning

So...I was much less able to post on the mountain than I expected. Cellular coverage was non-existent for much of our route, and when it was available I was too sick to feel much like typing on my phone (more on that later).

For now, I'll go back to the beginning. We all arrived - or at least most of us did. I had met up with a large part of the group (40 people -19 survivors and 21 caregivers) at the airport in Amsterdam. We arrived. We settled into our hotel. We ate. We slept. Or we tried to sleep.

Next morning we had our first look at the mountain. We started off the day with some yoga on the lawn. Later, we took a nice hike while waiting for all those whose flights had been delayed. Or almost all. We were still missing one.

I'm used to hiking and running alone, or with a very small group. Hiking with a group of 40 was BIG change! I tried to move through the pack, walking for a while with different people, getting to know my new neighbors. Many of them are from Iowa, and many of those from Des Moines, so they already knew each other.

After my scramble to get ready to go, end-of-year work, and nearly 24 hours of travel, it felt great to get out and hike! Beautiful scenery was all around as we walked through the foothills of Kilimanjaro.

Here are a few pics from our day.

Julie

Summit

Summit - sick - down - more later

Kili

I'm here- 2 days from summit. 1st cance to post. Been sick, but still moving forward slowly, my teammates are great!

Julie

Kilimanjaro prep - the next big thing

ready to go!

Julie