Home!

John plays a pitiful travelor to an Oscar-winning level, so we manage to get placed #'s 1 and 2 on stand-by for the plane out of Bangkok. The moment they handed us our boarding passes, we knew we were bound for home, as we had reserved seats waiting for us on the flight out of Seoul.

I cried.

My daughter observes that she's never seen me cry; it's something I do privately. But on this trip, I cried frequently and profusely. I was grateful to be wearing dark sunglasses on the trail when we at last encounted the doctors who offered treatment to John, because at that moment I began crying and couldn't stop for several minutes. I cried when I tried to express words of gratitude to Passan for his help in getting John down the mountain. John and I choke back tears when later we admit just how concerned we were about his safety. I cried when I emailed messages home to Debbie and I sobbed when reading messages from her. I cried when reading notes from friends and church members. Of course I cried when I read the Tennessee-Alabama football score, but...

They were good tears, tears that reminded me of where my heart belongs, of how strongly my life is bound to people I love and who love me, tears that felt like prayers without words. Now, some time after the trip, the memories bring smiles as often as tears, but the tears were important and I will continue to cherish them as much as the smiles and the beauty.

Friends in High Places

Having attained Gokyo, we've reached our highest point and the farthest goal of our trek. The mountain we're scheduled to climb (Gokyo Ri) is as unattractive and unappealing as Stone Mountain if Stone Mountain were settled among snow-capped jewels. The only reason to climb Gokyo Ri is to say you've done it--not enough motivation for either John or me.

Then in the night, John develops a serious case of HACE. ("E" = edema, or water where you don't want water; "C" = cerebral, or brain; H.A. = caused by high altitude.) HACE is life-threatening, and John seems to be getting worse by the minute, so we soon decide that we need to get him to a lower elevation. However, that will require a considerable 3-4 hour hike, and John is clearly in no shape to undertake a day's hike. But there is no other way to get help other than taking ourselves there, so we begin.

Within half a mile, John is staggering and already completely spent. A cloud cover hides the warmth of the sun and we feel the temperature descending much faster than we are! A relentless wind in our faces soon carries snow and sleet. This is turning out to be not as much fun as we'd hoped for! Passan, one of the sherpa guides, drapes John's arm around his neck and provides support as we continue. When we descend alongside sheer cliff dropping off to the Dudh Kosh River, Passan's sure-footed assistance keeps John on his feet and his feet on the trail.

For three hours or so, we continue to walk. Near noon, a couple of trekkers bound for Gokyo inform us that two Brit doctors are on the trail, headed our way. Ten minutes later, we encounter these doctors, who turn out to be the physicians who direct the Mountain Rescue Clinic in Machermo, our destination. They've left the clinic for the day, taking a day hike to Gokyo. They examine John at trailside, administer a syringe of methasolamine (shot into his thigh through the pants leg) and send for a litter to carry him the final mile back to the clinic.

At the clinic, they give John oxygen, a couple IV's of fluid, and place him in a portable Gamow bag, a decompression chamber that places him in an atmospheric pressure of a couple thousand feet lower elevation. The effect is dramatic and almost immediate. Though he is clearly not back to full strength, his recovery is assured and we all feel more confident.

The next morning, the doctors insist, however, that John must be evacuated out by helicopter. Even if he were to recuperate 3-4 days at the clinic, the trail out has a high and serious climb over a ridge that would immediately set John's condition back to its worst. So arrangements are made, and at 11:10 Thursday morning, the helicopter sets down and loads John and me (as his escort) for a flight to Kathmandu.

Soaring over the trail we'd hiked up a few days before, I am struck with how rugged the terrain is; walking it a step at a time, we hadn't really noticed the countours of our route--simply keep walking until reaching the next ridge, then descend to the river, then re-gain the elevation until our sidhar announces we've arrived at our campsite. Wow, those are impressive mountains!