It’s 8 a.m. on Wednesday, May 17. I should be summiting Mount Everest about now. The last 36 hours went in a direction I was not expecting.
On Monday, May 15, early in the evening, I was sitting in my tent at Camp 3 with my guide, Tomi Ceppi, and the head western guide, Quique Clausen. It’s hard to describe Camp 3 (approx. 24,000 ft), but imagine terracing on a steep slope like you might see in Asia, but these terraces are covered with ice and snow, are only 15-20 feet wide, and are very steep. There are tents stacked on them to provide protection from the elements for climbers heading to Camp 4 to rest for half a day and then proceed on to the summit. Camp 3 is the last place one will get meaningful sleep before attempting the summit.
For the past four to six weeks, I have been dealing with bacteria, including Giardia, that are common for trekkers in the Khumbu Valley. My primary symptoms were severe diarrhea and dehydration. I took several different types of drugs my team members generously offered, including Imodium, Azithromycin, and others, but nothing would impact the little travelers who seemed intent on joining me in my attempt to summit Mount Everest.
During my first rotation up the mountain, I had many bouts of diarrhea, but I was able to perform pretty well. After that rotation, Ellie and I flew to Kathmandu to recuperate for a few days, which is fairly common for Everest climbers.
While there, I decided to go to the hospital to see if they could do anything to eradicate these now annoying, but not yet debilitating, fellow travelers. The doctor prescribed two pills, taken at the same time, that target Giardia. I was amazed. The Giardia was GONE! All was normal.
We returned to base camp and several days later I began my summit rotation. On my trip through the ice fall, I reduced my time by an hour, which was an indication of improved acclimation and performance. The next day, on the way from Camp 1 to Camp 2, I could feel the diarrhea starting again. In fact, at one point, I told Tomi – likely one of the more patient guides on the planet – that I needed to go to the bathroom NOW. He said we were in a dangerous spot and could I wait one or two minutes. I responded, “too late” and the whole cycle started again. As before, team members started generously handing out meds, with one even giving me something similar to what I had received at the hospital in Kathmandu. None of it was working and my symptoms were getting worse. At camp 2, for the third time, I couldn’t make it to the bathroom. Fortunately, I was wearing down pants beneath my down suit. Those down pants are sitting beneath a pile of snow near the bathroom. Somebody is going to be initially excited by their “find”, but will likely reject the find on further inspection.
Back to the tent at Camp 3. I’m in a tight space, in my down suit, using my unzipped sleeping bag as a cover. Outside, the winds were intermittently blowing what seemed like 50 mph or more with fairly heaving snow. I felt the tug of diarrhea coming on. I could wish it away until a break in the weather or I could put my boots on and head out to the “bathroom”; a 4-5 foot hole in the snow a few feet outside of my tent. I chose the former, which, in retrospect, was not the best choice.
As I tried to hold back the force that was churning below, I realized it would not be controlled any longer. I quickly put my boots on as Tomi and Quique urged me on, and I literally propelled myself through the tent door that was not meant for a person who is 6’1”/205.
I hit the snow, stood up, looked at the makeshift bathroom and began trying to unzip the rear flap zipper that is supposed to make maneuvers like this easer. And then, boom, it hit all at once. My pants and downsuit were filled liquid poop that I was feeling all over my backside and legs. I went back into the tent and told them what happened, but my smell entered before me and told them everything they needed to know. Suddenly our tent smelled like a sewer plant. Fortunately, we were all on supplemental oxygen, which masked the now “natural” smell in the tent.
I did my best using an extra shirt to clean myself up. That shirt is somewhere in the snow on Camp 3.
Our plan was to go to sleep early and wake up at 3:00 am to prepare to leave for Camp 4 at 5:00 am. My mind was spinning. I knew that being sick and losing all that fluid – much less climbing for seven hours and likely having to go to the bathroom again in situations where you can’t unclip from the fixed lines – was problematic at best. But I started thinking about four people (or groups of people).
I thought about Ellie. I wanted to make her proud, but I also knew she wanted me to be smart. Where was the balance, from her perspective in this situation? Next, I thought of Randy Burkhart, my 45 year best friend from Corpus. During the playoffs our junior year, Randy caught a pass over the middle and was knocked out by a linebacker. He got up, went to the opposing team’s huddle and was quickly escorted to the sidelines. There were no concussion protocols at that time, and was one of the best players (if not the best) on the team and he was back in the game a play or two later. That’s toughness. I wanted to be tough in this situation. I also thought about Taylor Sommerville and his wife, Caroline. I was a pacer for Taylor at the Leadville 100. During my time with him, he missed the final time cutoff and appeared to me to be very ill and possibly have pneumonia. As he sat there with one of our friends, Matt Haaga, who had a pretty significant lower leg injury, Caroline and her brother Cole, the leader of DiversiFit, which is an amazing fitness community in Tennessee, told Taylor he needed to finish the race. At first, I was little shocked, but Taylor got up and finished the race. I was truly inspired by Caroline and Cole, but mostly by Taylor, who had guts to get up and finish despite being truly spent. Finally, I thought of Caroline and Cole’s brother, Carter Giovannetti, who sent me a piece called “Don’t Quit” several times over the course of time I was in Nepal. I wanted to honor Ellie, Randy, Taylor, Caroline, Cole, and Carter by not quitting.
But I was sick and I knew it. And I knew that in the death zone, which I was heading into if I moved on to Camp 4, death by dehydration was certainly a real possibility, depending on how sick I was, which I really couldn’t ascertain. For six hours I sat and ran all of these people, their perspectives through my head. And of course I prayed for guidance.
By 2:00 am, I had decided I would tell Tomi, my guide, that I was done. When he woke up and I told him my decision, he encouraged me to at least try. I thought about Carter and Taylor. Could I try? I tried to contact Ellie, who was now in Kathmandu, on Tomi’s InReach, but she was asleep. I decided I could honor myself, Taylor, and Carter by trying.
We headed out at 5 am. The route was packed and very steep and relentless. After two hours on the very steep upper part of the Lhotse Face, I had to go the bathroom again. Tomi told me I couldn’t unclip from the rope and would have to take of business right there on the climbing route. So, with 100 of my new friends on the climbing route, I went to the bathroom. At least this time, I was able to pull down the rear flap on my downsuit and do things properly. By this time, the dehydration had taken it’s toll and I told Tomi I needed to turn back.
Hours later as I sit in Kathmandu showered and preparing to enjoy a nice dinner, I think I did the right thing by trying to reach Camp 4 and turning back, but the main thing I learned is that there is nothing more important than relationships and community in this life. Thank you all for love, support, and encouragement. Your thoughts guided me through the tough times.
A couple of final thoughts. I’m so grateful for my guide, Tomi Ceppi. Tomi is the most skilled guide I have ever worked with. Besides technical skills, Tomi spent many weeks trying to teach to be more organized. Like most things in my life, that’s a work in progress, which will continue.
