Fighting Back

The admitting physician asks me, "Can you drive independently? Can you go to the bathroom by yourself?" Something deep inside wants to say "Google me, bitch!" but i bite my pride and respond appropriately, letting him examine me with his chubby fingers. I'm not the usual patient here and baffled nurses scuttle out of the room, agitated that i refuse their pink plastic water pitcher and choose to use my own glass bottle.

It's been a long battle, these last three months. Somehow, someway, a Staph infection made its home deep in my spine and moved quickly. It literally ate one of my vertebrae and part of another. How does that happen? I mean, exactly how does an infection find a vertebrae and eat it so quickly? One MRI showing nothing and then another three weeks later corralling all types of doctors into urgent action. I've never heard of anything like this and the doctors have no clue how it came to this, but here i am, two major surgeries later, healing, fighting back, as my beside lamp from home softly illuminates this white stale room.

Rewind three months.

Water (sweat) fills my ear and i awake in total panic. I'm under water! I fight to breathe and swim, but realize i'm in a bed. Confusion. I don't know who or where i am. Delirium. Complete amnesia. I'm scared. "Somebody help me!" Expletive after expletive, i scream into the salty darkness. Soaking wet and freezing, survival mode takes over and i tear off my shirt, burrow into the wet blankets and cry myself to sleep.

That's what the fevers did to me and when they started, my appetite stopped. Five days with no food and a good friend, fed up with me, bought me a thermometer. This was the thing that finally told how high my fevers actually were and when the 105 degree crash landing into the ER happened.

My spine needed to be rebuilt and the surgeon needed to gain access through the side of my chest, remove a rib and detach my diaphragm to remove the leftover fragments of bone, crumbs from the table, and the other infected vertebrae. Cadaver bone was put in place, but during surgery i lost too much blood so they had to stop. Waking from that surgery was a nightmare. Fear. Claustrophobia. Pain. Unable to move. Every breath excruciating. And you can count out sleeping too. I think I went five or six days without sleep.

The next surgery was seven days ago and the surgeons are amazed at how fast i've recovered. The stationary bike, resistance bands, weights, stretching, and throwing the medicine ball around all have me exhausted and it feels good. I was sick for so long. My appetite returned a few days ago and now i can't stop eating. I'm pale and thin, but my resolve feels strong as ever. The next few months of rehab will be very difficult, but i'm fighting back.

This has been the biggest mountain i have ever had to climb.

Life Lesson: We manifest what we want for our lives, but getting there might not look like what we expected and most likely is very painful and difficult. Relish the journey no matter how difficult it is. There is beauty in the struggle.

Descending Bloody Couloir

The knot in the rope reached the pulley at the top and we were there. I collapsed in exhaustion. Lead climber, Charlie Barrett, who rarely shows emotion, jumped on top of me, his tears raining, his voice quivering, "We made it. We're here." My emotions broke into a thousand pieces as my body refused to maintain any sort of balance after what it had just been put through and i sobbed uncontrollably, convulsing with huge gasps, face down in the snow. My arms and shoulders screamed, seemingly hissing at me like a cat recoiling in fear. To get here, took reaching deep and strangling my soul into submission, to find a realm beyond physical possibility where pain has no meaning. This resolve got me up that mountain, but completely destroyed my body. I was done...or was i?

Expansiveness. Dramatic snowy mountains forever. Scores of untouched pristine golden blue lakes. Towering peaks dwarfing this mountain, which dwarfed others below. Seeing the other side for the first time stole any words. Surreal. But thankfulness consumed me, as i sat on top and i struggled to seem interested as Charlie pointed out various lakes and peaks, rattling off names...so full of knowledge. All i could do was look at him and think what an incredible man he is. His light out shining the unreal scenery before me. Looking around at the crew, it was all i could do to hold back my tears as i considered what all these people had gone through to fulfill a dream of mine. Each one of them, now my friend for life.

Leading up to this expedition, the thought that turned my stomach into knots was the consideration of skiing this thing. Stories coming back of steep treacherous rocky no-fall zones, scaring the most expert of skiers, and it was this thought that now began to creep up my throat. I was scared. Did anyone notice the deep breaths i was taking or my hands shaking? Climber Matt Waugh made the announcement i was dreading, "OK guys. We gotta start thinking about the descent." Instantly, in hearing those words, i almost threw up, my stomach tightening up with a gag reflex i did my best to hold back. My mouth tasted pasty. My eyes welled up.

Everyone rose to the occasion, bustling about, focusing on getting me all together. Could they see what a wreck i was? I was doing my best to be brave. The crew cut a ledge in the snow on the steep slope for my sitski and three grown men braced me so i wouldn't tip over as i followed my very meticulous system of getting all strapped into this crazy metal contraption. I refused to look down, the lump in my throat growing bigger with every difficult swallow. When i was ready to go, i got my balance and told the boys i was good. "Are you sure?" "Yup," trying my best to be brave and they let go of me. When they cleared out of the way, i could see down this thing for the first time. It was so steep that i could only see to the first pitch, the snow rolling over into nothingness, how the first explorers imagined getting to the end of the Earth was like. I looked around and got approval from everyone that it was time to go and the moment that tormented me for so many months came to fruition. Never mind my body in a state of depletion, i had to pull myself together because there was only one way down. It was time to let go and drop in, so i turned my head downhill, took a deep breath, leaned into gravity and let my ski lead me...well outside my confort zone.

Instinct took over and i immediately arced a turn easily in the smooth spring corn snow, edging to a stop and falling over into the hill, my ski barely holding onto the steep pitch. Everyone cheered! I did it! It actually wasn't that hard. I could totally do this. We all had agreed that i would ski with a rope attached to me so that if I did take a fall, i would not go the distance. Charlie would need to let out enough slack for one turn at a time so i had to come to a stop each turn. That's not so bad, except that when skiing steeps, the first turn is the scariest. Every time, i had to take a deep breath and lean into my instinct. Slowly but surely we inched down the face. I got a little frustrated with myself at one point because i knew i could do this but faced difficultly overcoming my fear a few times, taking a long time to initiate the next turn. I lashed out at myself, immediately apologizing, feeling embarassed for not being positive and thankful.

Eventually, we came through the rocky areas where the couloir opened up and i felt comfortable coming off the rope. With approval from the crew, we took the rope off and i skied that thing, seemingly bending my ski in half under the force of my turns, sending huge waves of snow into the air. It felt SO good, skiing with my friends in the backcountry. Just writing it brings me to tears. I guess my one thought is that we spend so much time making our lives as comfortable as possible. Well, what if life's not supposed to be comfortable?

I am a Backcountry Skier

I sat at the edge of my tent; feet dangling over the edge, surrounded by snow, mountains and good people who i now loved with all my heart; and i cried softly to my myself. No one noticed. I was happy. I was in the wilderness. I was brave. I was now a backcountry skier adventuring into the wild. I was being me. A bottle of Jack Daniels made its way around the circle to me. My gloved hand squeezed it and lifted it to my lips, the warm liquid calming my nerves. I soaked in the scenery...nothing like i had ever seen before. Dramatic rock formations silhouetted by the sun setting in a bath of warm color. Mountains and lakes spanning forever. The peaceful silence filled with laughter and joke telling from the inspired crew. I was surrounded with love, but in the midst, I was nervous. The most difficult task of my life started promptly at 6am. Could i do it? Everything was coming to fruition and reality sat heavily on my shoulders, so i took a deep breath, closed my eyes and felt the love surrounding me.

"Time to go, Jer," the expedition leader's voice from outside the tent in the waning morning light letting me know it was go time, but i wasn't asleep. I spent the restless night in all my gear, boots and everything, so that when this moment came, i would be ready. I couldn't eat, too nervous and nauseous and early, so i pounded a Rockstar for my caffeine fix and let my destiny begin to unwind. Time to put our stamp on the world.

The day began with a hellacious fireman carry over a boulder field to the edge of the snow where my little sled waited. I mounted her, after the guys sat me down gently in the snow, harnessed in and the climbing began immediately...one pull-up at a time with 2000 vertical to conquer. Not sure what 2000 vertical feet translates to in actual distance, but it meant a lot of pull-ups for me and my muscles were not awake yet. Everything hurt. Still in the early morning shade, the rock hard snow provided little resistance and we moved along quickly. I couldn't believe how much i hurt though and pessimism set in. I didn't think i could do it. The top of the couloir loomed overhead ominously, watching, from what seemed like miles away, so i just put my head down and breathed...in and out...timing my pull-ups with my breath, pulling the ascender to me with every exhalation, resting when i could no longer pull it to me and thus creating the rhythm that i would suffer through for almost six hours.

Climbing was all business. I was focused. The climbers were focused. The camera guys were focused. And i'm sure the members of the sherpa team hiking up the ridge with my sitski were focused too. For me, getting from point A to B, one pull-up at a time, one rope length at a time, was all i could concentrate on in that moment. Focusing on the next anchor point, slowly but surely inching up that massive couloir. All the while, the slope getting steeper and steeper and the view growing, becoming more expansive and breath taking. At the end of each rope length, when we reached each anchor point, i would stop to rest, turning around to soak in the view, and i was blown away at how dramatically it changed and grew. Each time we stopped, we could see more and more. I had flown over the mountains in a plane before, but this was different. Indescribable. Unreal. It took a lot of energy to twist around to see everything, so i spent a lot of time with my head down, face in the snow, letting blood refill my arms. I found myself, in my pain, focusing on individual snow crystals sparkling in the sun. They were just as beautiful, seemingly smiling at me as i lived my destiny, proud i was there to acknowledge them in a place where no paraplegic had ever been before.

At the steepest point, when things were the most difficult, i heard voices from above. It was the sherpa team! They had made it to the top from the ridge line and we were now close enough to hear them! They waited anxiously for their rendezvous with us. I had been so focused i didn't even realize we were almost there! The thought of connecting with them gave me strength. Although i was depleted, a strange energy came over me. Suddenly, I felt fresh and pulled myself along with a renewed fervor as if i had all the energy in the world. Then, as i neared the summit, they came into view and a very different reality from what i had felt the night before began to overcome me: i was going to make it. I reached the final anchor point and collapsed in exhaustion. Charlie, the lead climber, jumped on top of me, our tears flowing together, everyone's cheers echoing over the Sierras.

Sitting on top, seeing what's on the other side, taking photos, embracing everyone, shaking hands, signing the register and enjoying a very symbolic PB&J sandwich, seemed surreal. The moment of so much focus for so many people for so many months had arrived and i felt God's delight as the sun warmed my tired face. We enjoyed our time up there, but soon another reality took over. It was time to ski this treacherous thing and i was scared.

Descending Bloody Couloir in my next blog...