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| Mt. Kilimanjaro - Christmas Eve, 2016 |
The hike has become more of a mental challenge, rather than a physical one.
I'm writing from Kibo Hut, base camp for the summit attempt. It's nestled at 15,518 feet. Tonight, I must conquer this foreboding monster to reach my goal.
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| Base of Mt. Kilimanjaro - Christmas Eve, 2016 |
During today's six-mile trek, I traversed an
alpine desert.
As I took each agonizing, uphill step, powerful winds slammed
against my body.
During my Everest hike, I made the mistake of looking too far into the distance, worrying how I'd scale each peak, sometimes losing hope I'd ever arrive. Now, my single focus is on the footsteps of my guide, Raphael.
Where he steps, I step. Where he goes, I go. There are no destinations to reach, just follow the leader mile after mile, hour after hour.
Time flows backward and forward. One minute I'm in Nepal, envisioning scaling the Himalayas. The next, I'm fantasizing about summiting Kilimanjaro. The next, I'm reliving Christmases from years past. I miss my family.
Pole, pole
Raphael spots it first – a climber being whisked down the mountain on a one-wheeled stretcher.
"It's your friend," he says.
Without looking, I know who it is, Robert. One of the porters tips up the stretcher, so we can talk.
Robert reminds me of someone who has just awakened from anesthesia – groggy, incoherent, disconnected from reality. He's a victim of the altitude. He'll be fine, as soon as he gets lower on the mountain. He wishes me luck and is off.
As disappointed as I am by Robert's misfortune, I immediately block it out of my mind. With self-doubt, comes worry. With worry, comes despair. I won't join the 54% who never make it to the top. I'm different. I'm special.
On a brighter note, my medical school friend, Kevin, reached the summit. While I congratulated him on his efforts, he asked my guide to check his oxygen level. Again, 95-100% is normal. His level had plummeted to 62, a reminder that Kilimanjaro always takes a toll on the body.
It's 3 p.m. In about seven hours, I'll wake up in the middle of the night and begin my quest.
I'm praying that I don't succumb to the altitude. I'm still not taking Diamox. "The best medicine of the mountain is water," says Raphael. "It's a lot better than Diamox."
I'm trusting him, but at the first signs of altitude sickness, I'll be popping the pills. I've felt altitude sickness and will do anything I can to avoid being sidetracked from my goal.
Before dinner, Raphael let me know what's potentially in store for this evening, as far as acute altitude sickness.
"Fatigue is normal. Extreme cold is normal. Headaches are normal," he said. I asked for honesty, and he's delivering. "Nausea is normal. Vomiting is normal. Dizziness is normal," he added.
So much for confidence. All I asked is that he tell me immediately if I enter into the realm of severe altitude sickness. Acute altitude sickness is bad enough. Severe altitude sickness – either in the form of pulmonary edema (fluid in the lungs) or cerebral edema (swelling of the brain) – is deadly.
At 5 p.m., I'll eat dinner, try to sleep, and then push toward the summit.
Hopefully, I'll have positive news to report. If not, I promise I tried my best.
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DAILY TRIP DETAILS
Start: Horombo Hut - 12,155 feet in elevation (3,705 meters)
Finish: Kibo Hut - 15,518 feet in elevation (4,730 meters)
Distance Covered = 5.96 miles (9.6 kilometres)
Elevation Gain = 3,363 feet (1,025 meters)
Time of Hike = 4 hours, 46 minutes
Results of nightly health screening: Pulse = 82 Oxygen level in the blood = 87% out of 100 (Note: An oxygen saturation reading of 95% or better is considered to be normal. If my level drops below 50%, it's serious, and I'll be asked to discontinue my trip.)
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Note: These are the exact words I wrote while climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. After returning from my six-day trip, I transferred my unedited thoughts directly to the blog. In some cases, I added extra information for clarity. You'll find those passages in italics.
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