A lot has happened in 20 months, remarkable things to say the least. Wildly horrible and astounding things, all within the frame of less than 2 years. Because I've been through the wringer, what follows is only a summary of the negative followed by a gushing reminiscence of the positive in future posts.
When I returned from Ecuador in 2014 after failing to summit, I was in a haze trying to make sense of things. I didn't understand what had happened on the mountain. I. Just. Didn't. Understand. I tried to dig as far as I could reach within my soul to try to uncover what had taken place. I walked around in a fog and avoided people I might run into who might ask me about my trip. I was tired, fatigued beyond belief. I returned to work, to the cycle of frustration within my company who refused to honor their sole mission for those in need. I found it even more difficult than usual to work in an arena where there was no internal support to advocate for the neediest clients, whom we were directly charged with assisting. In late February I found myself in a staff meeting and my heart pounding out of my chest. I have anxiety when speaking in front of others, but this was new. I could feel my heart banging so loudly in my chest that I swore the person next to me could hear it too. A whooshing sound grew in my throat. I desperately wanted to get up and leave the meeting but I did not for fear of standing up to leave and passing out. My vision was blurry and as others spoke, I did my best to deflect attention from myself and try to control my heart rate with some deep breathing. Fifteen minutes later, the palpitations began to lessen, but I'm not sure why. Three hours later, at lunch with a colleague, I described what happened. I was both ashamed that I let my emotions about my job overcome me to such a degree- and worried because I was now gruesomely tired. I went home early and laid on the couch and took a nap. I slept well for a solid hour. As most people know, sleep eludes me and finding sleep was especially comforting on this day. I had a nice dinner with my family and we were all watching TV and reading when I suddenly felt my heart rate double in the course of a few seconds. I wondered to myself if I looked as alarmed as I was feeling and was it possible to pass out even if I was already sitting in a chair? My chest hurt, my arm hurt, and as my vision blurred and my heart pounded, I began to tear up wondering if this was it? Was this the way I would die, in front of my children in the middle of our living room? That's how bad I felt. The more I tried to deny how bad I felt, the more I kept hearing in my head how women deny obvious signs of heart attacks. Was this a heart attack?
I went upstairs to lay down in bed after a few minutes that I thought I felt it ever so slightly subside. I called my husband upstairs and told him what happened and that I feel slightly better but if it happens again in the middle of the night, if I told him to call 911, then he shouldn't ask why, he should just do it.
It happened again after 15 minutes or so and he called 911. We managed to go downstairs and sit in the living room with the kids to tell them what was going to happen when the paramedics arrived-- that it would probably look scary, but they are here to help me and they will probably want me to go to the hospital. If I never see the look on their faces again when the paramedics were there, it will be too soon.
In the ER they kept wanting to chalk it up to stress (don't they always?) and I kept telling them this is beyond a little stress. I asked if maybe I'm having a reaction to the antibiotics I've been on for 10 days, because over the course of the past week and a half I've felt dramatically worse on them, not better. They said, no, probably not possible (!)
What unfolded over the course of the next several months was the continued heartbeat doubling, the feeling of blacking out, even when I was just sitting down. It always came at a time I was doing nothing or feeling quite good during the day. The medication they gave me in the ER dropped my BP so it made me feel generally awful and so now I had 2 unwelcome issues, not just one. Each time I had this heart rate issue, it was followed by nausea and a severe wasting period. I have not known what fatigue truly is until this happened. I eventually had to stop working temporarily because I could not drive because of the near fainting spells. It was decided that the resignation I'd been contemplating for over a year was now indeed something that should take place. I spent the morning of my son's 11th birthday party in March crying in my kitchen that a month ago I was in the best shape of my life, standing at 17,000 feet, and yet here I was, barely able to stand for 10 minutes frosting cupcakes without passing out.
The next several months continued the cardiac testing. Everything was coming out normal, which the cardiologists were thrilled about, noting that Supra Ventricular Tachycardia with absence of underlying pathology is a good thing, "Very alarming and extremely uncomfortable, but you wont drop over dead with a massive cardiac event".
I was nervous that heart issues could possibly preclude one from mountaineering and I took up reading every article possible on cardiac management at high altitude. As luck would have it, a friend's brother who is a physician knew just the cardiologist I should see for an expert evaluation, and even got me an appointment that same week. He referred me to the electrophysiologist in his office who implanted a Linq Reveal cardiac monitor that had recently been approved by the FDA to capture what may be an arrhythmia. Basically all signs pointed to it but they have not captured it yet. The interventional cardiologist said the most magical words to me " I believe you. Your symptoms are real".
Fast forward a few months....I'll gloss over the parts about nearly bleeding out during implanting the device, the insurance issues that nearly bankrupted us, and the deconditioned state that my body was in. Most importantly however, I had a renewed appreciation for small things in life, still remembering vividly the feeling that I was going to die, in my house, with my kids watching. I still cry thinking about that night.
As the months unfolded into the summer, I began to feel stronger, began to understand the subtle feelings that precede an event with my heart. I understand now that what I experienced in January 2014 on Cotopaxi was most likely this problem rearing its head. What I thought of back then as one of the most difficult and disappointing things I'd experienced in my life, quite possibly may have been the thing that saved my life.
In June 2014 we headed to Colorado for a friend's wedding and a week's vacation in Rocky Mountain National Park, the first time I would experience altitude since Ecuador. On some days I felt weak but my heart was OK until the evening. The medication would ease it back with in an hour and I would be relieved. We completed nearly 50 miles of hiking that week, mostly about 9,000', topping out around 12,000'. It gave me my courage back.
In August 2014 I started working for a new company and by November, I had already decided that I would try Cotopaxi again in 2015 if my family approved and if I could attempt it 1:1 with a guide, not a group. I contacted the only guide I knew, who saw what happened last year, who could bring out the best I had in me if I wanted to try again. The problem was, he had only one opening in his schedule and it was far sooner than I thought I'd be ready.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Worlds colliding
Chicha bowl, traditional table linens, and a minion
My climbing buddies
In Quito, roadside vendors sold a bag of 60 limes for $1.
Here, they are $2 for 9 limes...
The locro recipe and ceviche I made for Superbowl Sunday
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Poor bag, waiting to be unpacked
Leaving Rumiloma
James left yesterday and Jim and Reid left early this morning. Thanks to Annabelle and Emma for one last dinner together before I left. Good luck on Chimborazo/Cayambe next! And enjoy your Galapagos adventure later this week!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
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Monday, January 27, 2014
Guagua Pichincha Climb #4
Navigating a few big boulders
Emma admiring the views into the crater
A slight clearing
The stroll
Me, Rafa, and Annabelle
The chimney section scramble
The top!
One last "summit" today, an unscheduled trip to Guagua Pichincha, the easier counterpart to Rucu. Guagua is an active volcano that last erupted in 1999. This hike had some great rock climbing above 15,000' and a few welcome flat parts on trail. A happy, easy climb. It was led by "Rafa"- Rafael Caceres, who summited Everest last year with our guide Ossy.
We enjoyed lunch at the top that Rumiloma sent with us before the light rain started.
high alpine flowers
not sure if video will load (panorama)
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Darius and Tomas, back at the hut, post script of summit day
From this:
Darius needed to descend and Tomas was then forced to go down too, as they were roped together with one guide. They turned around at 17, 400', just slightly above me. Apparently there were many teams that did not summit that day. Although there were clear skies, the winds were unusually strong (I overheard they were around 40 mph at summit) and the temperatures were as low as -5 just before sunrise. On a typical day, Cotopaxi sees only a 50% success rate anyway.
While I was buried in my sleeping bag back at the hut, the German guys sat and had tea and tried to figure out their next move. They were supposed to climb Chimborazo next but Darius felt he could not handle it, and thus Tomas then could not either unless he went alone. It was sad to hear grown men who were lifelong friends discussing their disappointment and being sorry for his "weakness" as Darius called it. More than anything he kept apologizing for letting Tomas down.
Their guide told me that 17,400' is just under Yanasacha- the big black rock clearly identifiable on the mountain's face. While I'm proud of ascending that far, I can't help but wish I would have seen it in the daylight.
Cotopaxi climb day
I'm not sure where to start but I'll just get it over with: I did not summit Cotopaxi.
In my 42 years of life, I can't think of many other times that I have been so profoundly sad and disappointed. Not so much in myself, because I gave it my all, but because of something beyond my control. Not only do I feel disappointment and sadness, but there is an undercurrent of anger that I feel towards my body for letting me down. Again.
I know I can look at this day in one of two ways, but right now the sheer disappointment I feel overshadows the BILLION positive things that happened and friendships made in the last 12 days. If I process the negatives out loud, I can move on. Discussing how I felt about summit day with the rest of the group a few days later helped immensely, as did the careful few words Ossy said to me afterwards.
On summit morning I was about three days past the the tinge of fear and anxiety I felt when I saw the mountain present itself when we were in the Illinizas. I acknowledged my feelings then and let them go. If you didn't have a little fear of a 19,000 foot mountain, it probably wasn't normal, right? But it's a new feeling for me, I'm not really afraid of anything. I have said (to myself and others) that I would be OK if I did not reach the crater on Cotopaxi because I would be climbing and learning. Just being on the mountain was good enough for me.
And I meant it.
Even though I move at a pace somewhat slower than the rest of the group, I am able to see the benefits of ascending slowly on most days. Acclimatization happens at a good rate for me when I move slow. I don't feel great about it but I've accepted it. On a good day at higher altitudes, with exertion, I can feel a tug on my right side where the surgeon tacked my lung to the chest wall via pluerodesis during the thoracotomy 10 years ago. It doesn't bother me per se and I'm not short of breath or in any pain, its just my lung reminding me its there.
I know I can look at this day in one of two ways, but right now the sheer disappointment I feel overshadows the BILLION positive things that happened and friendships made in the last 12 days. If I process the negatives out loud, I can move on. Discussing how I felt about summit day with the rest of the group a few days later helped immensely, as did the careful few words Ossy said to me afterwards.
On summit morning I was about three days past the the tinge of fear and anxiety I felt when I saw the mountain present itself when we were in the Illinizas. I acknowledged my feelings then and let them go. If you didn't have a little fear of a 19,000 foot mountain, it probably wasn't normal, right? But it's a new feeling for me, I'm not really afraid of anything. I have said (to myself and others) that I would be OK if I did not reach the crater on Cotopaxi because I would be climbing and learning. Just being on the mountain was good enough for me.
And I meant it.
Even though I move at a pace somewhat slower than the rest of the group, I am able to see the benefits of ascending slowly on most days. Acclimatization happens at a good rate for me when I move slow. I don't feel great about it but I've accepted it. On a good day at higher altitudes, with exertion, I can feel a tug on my right side where the surgeon tacked my lung to the chest wall via pluerodesis during the thoracotomy 10 years ago. It doesn't bother me per se and I'm not short of breath or in any pain, its just my lung reminding me its there.
But it wasn't my lung.
Nor was it my legs, they were not tired.
Nor was it my mental state. Not only was I NOT doubting myself, I was really excited to be there, finally going up Coto. Almost giddy with excitement.
I had gotten into the rhythm of ice axe, step, step, repeat. It was soothing to focus on the sound rather than your exertion up the incline. I was happy to have drawn the hand of Annabelle and Ossy as my rope team.
Out of nowhere, I became extremely nauseous at 17, 000 feet. Nausea to the point I had to stop to double over because I was on the verge of throwing up. I hadn't had any other AMS symptoms other than the slight dizziness 4 days before and I don't know where it came from as I never reacted that way on the EBC trek above 17,000 feet.
I was roped in to Annabelle who was roped to Ossy. Other team members were roped in groups with different guides, Reid and James with Nico, and Emma and Jim with Pablo. It is pitch black out and you can see only the few feet in front of you that is illuminated by your headlamp. On either side of the narrow frozen path, I can only see enough to know that it drops off rather quickly. I would guess the incline to be a 30 percent grade? at this point.
The wind is howling and making the light powdery snow blow in my face and my nose starts to run and I keep wiping it uselessly with my glove. I stopped walking again when the nausea surged and told Annabelle to tell Ossy to just give me a second. I started again, but at some point had to stop for a moment after a little while. Ossy came down to me and made me drink some water and practically fed me a bite of granola bar to see if it would settle my stomach. He made me put on my heaviest jacket, a down parka that's usually saved for rest stops or emergencies or extreme weather. I immediately warmed up and had a split second thought of how glad I was that I spent the money on that jacket. Mind you, I was already wearing an Under Armor tank, a long sleeve base layer on top of that, a 200 weight fleece, and a softshell jacket. Down mittens and wool hat, too. But the more I felt like throwing up, the more shivering now accompanied it.
The wind is howling and making the light powdery snow blow in my face and my nose starts to run and I keep wiping it uselessly with my glove. I stopped walking again when the nausea surged and told Annabelle to tell Ossy to just give me a second. I started again, but at some point had to stop for a moment after a little while. Ossy came down to me and made me drink some water and practically fed me a bite of granola bar to see if it would settle my stomach. He made me put on my heaviest jacket, a down parka that's usually saved for rest stops or emergencies or extreme weather. I immediately warmed up and had a split second thought of how glad I was that I spent the money on that jacket. Mind you, I was already wearing an Under Armor tank, a long sleeve base layer on top of that, a 200 weight fleece, and a softshell jacket. Down mittens and wool hat, too. But the more I felt like throwing up, the more shivering now accompanied it.
When I stopped the first time to regain my composure and try to will myself to feel right again, this in turn stopped Annabelle (and Ossy). So each time I stop, she can not move forward either. I'm slowing her down and causing her to get cold when I stop, but she is so nice she never lets on that I'm being a pain. Instead she is the opposite, concerned and completely feels for me.
Ossy asks me if I can keep moving for another 15 minutes and I tell him I can and we start moving. I keep thinking what I always think, The Body Does What The Mind Tells It, The Body Does What The Mind Tells It....The first few steps are fine and I'm relieved and settle down and try another "get a hold of yourself" speech to myself. But the nausea returns in full force and I just want to sit down on the mountain and throw up. Of course there is no place on a steep incline to sit. In the dark. In the cold. In the wind. I can't unclip myself from the rope. At this point I don't know what to do because its clear I can't control when I feel sick. And I'm starting to realize maybe I will have to descend and that means maybe Annabelle has to descend which makes me feel worse. At the very least, its too dangerous to keep stopping as its bitterly cold.
What I know from here is that I think Ossy radioed to the other guides that they needed to merge the two teams into one and send one guide down to clip in with Annabelle so one guide could take me down. I felt so suddenly, incredibly sick but yet my lungs and legs and mind felt fine. I don't understand.
A team of Germans with an Ecuadorian guide happened to be descending at the same time and it was a guide that Ossy knows and works with and trusts and somehow I ended up descending with that team instead. I don't know the specifics but I was completely fine with it and trusted his decision wholeheartedly. Before I left, I got some more encouraging words from Annabelle and a hug and reassurance from Ossy. His altimeter read 17,310 feet.
To add insult to injury, as I turned around to go down, I slipped and fell in the powdery snow and had to use my ice axe which further panicked me. Fear and humiliation all at once. The guide let me put one hand on his shoulder while we descended until I steadied myself and learned to trust my crampons. At the base of the glacier I took off my crampons and sipped some water. I could finally sit down but still the nausea wouldn't go away. Only now it was coupled with sadness. The two Germans and the guide and I slogged down another 700 feet to where the Jose Ribas hut is at 15, 700', traversed a bit to the scree slope and descended further. The last 1000 feet was mostly a combination of me trying to look up at the stars in the impossibly clear black sky combined with massive amounts of tears rolling down my face. If I said I'd be happy with any time on the mountain, I hadn't accounted for the fact it would all be in the dark and I had not seen one thing. Not one thing in 6 hours. As we made our way down to the parking lot, it was 20 minutes away from sunrise and this is the only photo I have of the whole climb:
The nausea was still plaguing me and after the drive back to the hut with the other team, I laid in bed in my sleeping bag fully clothed including my coat and slept for a few hours still unable to eat or drink anything. When I woke up I was queasy, which reminded me of what had just happened. I spent the next 2 hours zipped into my sleeping bag with it pulled over my head, sobbing uncontrollably, mad at my body, and trying to figure out what I was going to say to the team when they arrived back at the hut so as not to ruin their high or make them feel sad for me. I was genuinely interested in what happened on the remaining part of the climb and desperately wanted to hear their stories and see their pictures, but I knew at some point I would have to face the fact that I was not in the group picture at the summit and I would not share their bond.
Ossy asks me if I can keep moving for another 15 minutes and I tell him I can and we start moving. I keep thinking what I always think, The Body Does What The Mind Tells It, The Body Does What The Mind Tells It....The first few steps are fine and I'm relieved and settle down and try another "get a hold of yourself" speech to myself. But the nausea returns in full force and I just want to sit down on the mountain and throw up. Of course there is no place on a steep incline to sit. In the dark. In the cold. In the wind. I can't unclip myself from the rope. At this point I don't know what to do because its clear I can't control when I feel sick. And I'm starting to realize maybe I will have to descend and that means maybe Annabelle has to descend which makes me feel worse. At the very least, its too dangerous to keep stopping as its bitterly cold.
What I know from here is that I think Ossy radioed to the other guides that they needed to merge the two teams into one and send one guide down to clip in with Annabelle so one guide could take me down. I felt so suddenly, incredibly sick but yet my lungs and legs and mind felt fine. I don't understand.
A team of Germans with an Ecuadorian guide happened to be descending at the same time and it was a guide that Ossy knows and works with and trusts and somehow I ended up descending with that team instead. I don't know the specifics but I was completely fine with it and trusted his decision wholeheartedly. Before I left, I got some more encouraging words from Annabelle and a hug and reassurance from Ossy. His altimeter read 17,310 feet.
To add insult to injury, as I turned around to go down, I slipped and fell in the powdery snow and had to use my ice axe which further panicked me. Fear and humiliation all at once. The guide let me put one hand on his shoulder while we descended until I steadied myself and learned to trust my crampons. At the base of the glacier I took off my crampons and sipped some water. I could finally sit down but still the nausea wouldn't go away. Only now it was coupled with sadness. The two Germans and the guide and I slogged down another 700 feet to where the Jose Ribas hut is at 15, 700', traversed a bit to the scree slope and descended further. The last 1000 feet was mostly a combination of me trying to look up at the stars in the impossibly clear black sky combined with massive amounts of tears rolling down my face. If I said I'd be happy with any time on the mountain, I hadn't accounted for the fact it would all be in the dark and I had not seen one thing. Not one thing in 6 hours. As we made our way down to the parking lot, it was 20 minutes away from sunrise and this is the only photo I have of the whole climb:
The nausea was still plaguing me and after the drive back to the hut with the other team, I laid in bed in my sleeping bag fully clothed including my coat and slept for a few hours still unable to eat or drink anything. When I woke up I was queasy, which reminded me of what had just happened. I spent the next 2 hours zipped into my sleeping bag with it pulled over my head, sobbing uncontrollably, mad at my body, and trying to figure out what I was going to say to the team when they arrived back at the hut so as not to ruin their high or make them feel sad for me. I was genuinely interested in what happened on the remaining part of the climb and desperately wanted to hear their stories and see their pictures, but I knew at some point I would have to face the fact that I was not in the group picture at the summit and I would not share their bond.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Prepping for Coto
Found out earlier this week that the Jose Ribas Refugio/hut at Cotopaxi will be unexpectedly closed starting January 20th in order to get a new roof. This means we can not overnight there before our summit day and will have to start from a lower elevation- the parking lot- adding an additional hour onto our climb. It also means we will have to wake up much earlier in order to drive to the parking lot from wherever we are staying, I believe La Rinconada hostel. Instead of waking up at 12 midnight and setting off from the refugio by 1am, we will have to get up at 10 pm, leave by 11pm, arrive at parking lot and start at midnight. The route we are taking has also slightly be altered to the longer, steeper Eternity/Heartbreaker route because the normal route has crevasse issues.
Rolling with the flow----
Rolling with the flow----
Entering the park
Covered in clouds
Claiming a bunk
The dining area
James and Jim burning the ends of our prusik rope to seal them
Ossy helping Emma with her harness
Emma and Jim learning about not leaving slack in the rope
The hostel La Rinconada and its soccer field
One of our guides, Nico
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