The nurse, on the other hand, seemed concerned. “I want to schedule some tests and see what may be causing you not to speak.” She left the room and made some notes on a chart as she walked towards the Nurse’s desk.
Passing each other near the desk, another nurse came in and announced to us that she was going to give Althea a bath. I imagined this to be an involved and personal process, so I decided to go to lunch since it was almost noon anyway.
Feeling fantastic about Althea’s current condition, I phoned many friends and told them of her progress. They were all surprised with her speedy recovery. I asked them to keep the affirmation of our bench alive in their prayers. “The vision is working!” I exclaimed.
I took a longer lunch today walking outdoors in the sunshine and listening to the mocking birds in the trees. The mild winds blew through my stubbly hair and reminded me of how close the two of us are. Althea often compared our union to that of eagles since they too mate for life. She felt our union was similar in many ways to theirs. Breathing the salty air in deeply, I stretched my arms over my head, bent over and touched my toes, and went back to her room.
Returning at about one o’clock, I found Althea snoozing once again. But there was something a little different this time about her head resting on the pillow. I looked at the monitors—they were fine. I looked at her blanket—it was clean and wrapped smoothly around her legs and chest. I scanned her arms and hands and they too had the I.V. and blood gas leads still as they should be. And then I saw it. The bandage on her head was gone! Missing completely! There was no sign of it behind her head or on the bed. Where did it go? What happened to it?
I searched around the room, on the table, in the sink, and then I scanned the floor. As I was looking under the bed, a respiratory technician walked in the door. “Hello! Have you lost something?” he said with a curious look on his face. I presume under all of that short, black, curly hair he was thinking, Why was I on my hands and knees?
“Oh, hello there,” I said nervously. “Althea has done something with her skull wrap. When I returned from lunch, it was gone.”
His brown eyes bulged from their sockets. Soon his short, thin frame joined mine in search for the missing bandage—and then I found it. Flung into the far corner of the room, behind a small rolling table was the bandage lying in tact on the floor in a perfectly round circle. When Althea was trying to remove her chest leads and trachea tube, I should have realized then the bandage on her head would be next. She had undoubtedly gotten tired of it, yanked it off, and tossed it across the room. It probably pinched her head and she decided it was too uncomfortable. Regardless, she is a woman of her own mind and her own convictions. She took charge and did what she wanted, when she wanted to.
The respiratory therapist panicked. He was concerned about what the doctor would say to him if he found her with her bandage off. As fate would have it, it was already too late to try to redress her head. With his head down reading Althea’s chart, Doctor DeWeese strolled casually in through the door.
The respiratory therapist greeted the doctor as his eyes peered up from the clip board, “Hello doctor. Althea has been…busy. We just discovered that she removed her bandage and tossed it across the room.”
Doctor DeWeese, unphased by this little escapade, looked carefully at Althea’s head observing its condition. There was a neat zigzag zipper of black stitches on the left side of her head. Just above her ear, a four-inch oval portion of her skull was removed and replaced during the operation.
Doctor DeWeese then said, “There’s no sign of infection, little swelling, and her color is good. She appears to be doing OK, so leave it off.”
“So what’s her prognosis?” I asked.
“She is healing remarkably well, much faster than normal. This is good and I expect her to continue. I knew the trachea would help her recover faster. Remember, I told you this?”
“Yes, I recall you saying just that. I must admit I was hopeful, but not convinced, it would have this big of an impact on the speed of her healing.”
“I have seen this time and time again. I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how she is doing. For now, she is doing very well.” With those words, Doctor DeWeese left.
The rest of the afternoon went by quickly as I continued to entertain her by more reading, more exercising, and more massaging. The range of motion in these exercises is now much less since she is awake. Althea winces in pain as I stretch her left arm above her head. When she was unconscious, she allowed me to move this arm freely in all directions wrapping her forearm over the top of her head. But now, raising this same arm caused her great pain as her hand approached her ear. It is just as important now to continue with these stretches as it was before. I talked to her through each move. Each time I raised her arm I said, “Here we go. Let’s stretch this one all the way…just to here.” When I felt her tendons tighten, I stretched her just a little more saying, “Just a little more. There. That’s it.” I watched her face carefully to assure I was not over doing any one of them, and I followed with a slightly less vigorous stretch.
While stretching her out, I remembered both of her eyes opened to greet me this morning and then closed as I approached her. So both of her eyes can open, I thought to myself. The worries I had about the temporary paralysis of her left side also floated away through the window and over the tree tops. This may take time—maybe a long time—for her to return to complete health, but she will get better. I focused on seeing her health and her progress, completely disregarding her present challenges and shortcomings. I wanted to focus on what she could do rather than what she could not. I wanted to stay positive and see her smiling on the bench with those hawks flying overhead. I finished the stretches and then completely massaged her body.
Lois came by. As she approached, Althea opened both of her eyes again and then closed her left eye as before once they started talking. Althea was very glad to see her. She remembers who Lois is, I thought. Her memory is returning.
Althea mouthed many words and I loosened the oxygen mask around her neck…it was too tight. Now literally dangling from her neck and just touching her skin, she was much more comfortable than a moment before. Of course this would be uncomfortable. After all, she is a highly tactile person.
Before I knew it, it was once again time to go. I stopped reading to her and saw she was sleeping peacefully. I leaned over, held her hand, and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek telling her, “Well Althea, today was a good day. I saw you express yourself and exercise your right to choose. I observed you did not want to use extraordinary measures to maintain your life and will always respect that. I wondered if I did the right thing in choosing the ambulance over the helicopter1 to get you here to the hospital and I now realize this is what you wanted. Staying calm and not getting emotional about things keeps my head clear so I can make good choices. I believe you would not be here if the choices I made were not correct. I will continue to focus on your recovery and value each moment of improvement. I’m going home now to get some rest. I love you, Althea.”
With that I kissed her hand, laid it gently next to her sleeping body, and left for our home in Brooksville. As I drove along, the events of today rushed through my mind. She is getting better. I thought to myself and I said a long tear-filled prayer of thanksgiving to the Creator.
As I pulled into the driveway, the house was dark and silent. I staggered through the front door and into our bedroom. Collapsing into the bed, I pulled the covers over my weary eyes and smelled the familiar smell of our sheets. The feel of the covers helped me fall quickly asleep with more of the day’s fond memories rattling around in my mind. What a day!
Chapter 12 — March 1, 2008 — Day 10
* * *
Perched on a mountain side at an elevation of ninety eight hundred feet sat our humble Colorado home. Living this high is literally like living on another planet. Our steep north-facing slope regularly received three hundred sixty inches of snowfall each winter and more than enoug
h rain. This much moisture kept our water well full and the forest fires at bay. The air at such an elevation is crisp and clean, feeling like a whisper against your skin. Exerting yourself brings heavy breaths from your lungs in a matter of minutes. With forty percent less oxygen than at sea level, high altitude living is an adventure in itself.
We spent as much if not more time in the wild than in the house. The short summers brought wild flowers, humming birds, and spectacular thunder storms. Winters typically began in late October and the last snows usually fell in mid April. With the long winters came many opportunities to embrace winter sports. Supplementing our summer backpacking with cross country skiing and winter camping was the next logical step.
In 1976, we started cross country (Nordic) skiing with the same passion and vigor we did backpacking. Althea was a natural at gliding and I mastered climbing uphill. Althea, being an avid photographer, carried her custom camera backpack everywhere we skied. This well-padded backpack was specifically designed to safely carry expensive lenses, filters, accessories, and film. The camera body fit snugly into the very bottom and the whole outfit, lenses and all, weighed in at just over twenty five pounds. Althea took some amazing pictures on our long, back-country trips capturing avalanche chutes, snow squalls, and frozen lakes all composed with wondrous clarity and detail. Her steady hands and keen eye were like fine tuned instruments working in harmony with each other.
As our skiing expertise improved along with our back-country skills and abilities, we stretched our limits and began winter camping. Hauling a four-season tent, food, extreme weather sleeping bags, and thick ground pads into the wilderness allowed us access way back into the wild. Huddled in our high loft mummy bags safe from the blustery winds and severe cold, over-night camping gave us a full day to explore and enjoy remote areas.
A good friend worked at an outdoor shop and told us he was guiding an above-timber mountaineering ski trip, an advanced type of skiing using special gear designed to carry more weight through deep snow without falling through. Not wanting to miss a unique experience, we joined a group of adventurers and headed off one Saturday morning to the top of Loveland Pass.
Packing for such an adventure proved to be tedious since we planned to build a snow cave large enough for us all. The list our guide provided added to our regular supplies with shovels, a variety of clothes, and even more extreme weather gear than usual. Packing this load proved tricky not only in getting the proper balance, but also in learning how to walk much less ski with it. After arranging Althea’s pack with close to forty five pounds of gear (her camera backpack would not make it this trip), she found it a new experience in balancing this kind of load. In her first attempt at walking around, she lost her balance and fell backwards under its weight. Further practice allowed her to regain her footing and understand how to compensate for its unwieldy form. Imitating ski strides and turn techniques gave us enough confidence to tackle the deep virgin snows and rugged terrain with reasonable confidence.
Leaving Conifer long before dawn, we met our companions at a popular restaurant at the Evergreen exit off I-70. Once everyone arrived, we caravanned together up to the top of the Continental Divide. We drove up the east side of Loveland Pass on U.S. Highway 6 on a bright, sunny, and mostly calm day.
It was absolutely perfect! Even amidst fresh snow, temperatures in the sunlight were almost balmy given this usually cool time of year. We found the lower parking area—a simple flat space carved into a ten-foot high billowing snowdrift—and transferred our gear to an old school bus. This bus took us to the east-side of the summit where we unloaded our gear with gawking tourists looking on. Our guide went first towing a large sled full of supplies behind him. Six other strangers in our party joined him, each with large packs of their own. Althea and I took our time taking in the scenery and the sunlight knowing that soon this all would change.
The tracks from the others clearly pointed the way up the hill. We both staggered and fell a lot trying to get our legs underneath us laughing at each other as we did. It was comical as to how many times we fell until we figured it out. Finally finding the balance points, we headed up the trail but well behind the others.
Our adventure began at about fourteen thousand feet. We followed the tracks west to the crest of the hill and skied downhill for a while from there. At a steep rise, we launched into the Herringbone step placing our skis in a “V” with its point downhill, alternately lifting one ski over the other. Althea climbed uphill easier than I did, but I lagged behind since my pack was at least fifteen pounds heavier than hers (that’s my story and I’m sticking with it).
At the top of the rise, we coasted northwest on a long clear run across a rocky snow field to a nearby boulder field. The metal edges of the skis easily sliced into the crusty wind-blown snow that packed between the protruding boulders. Now about a half mile from the bus, we skied through the middle of the boulder field and then north to a ridge with a prominent wind-carved cornice. Following the foot of the cornice around the cliff, we finally met the others at the bottom of a huge billowy drift that loomed twenty feet over our heads. We stopped there for the day quite close to the top of the mountain’s ridge and nearly worn out from the strenuous ninety minute trek.
The crystal white valley fell away from us to the east and then climbed abruptly to join the opposite rocky crag. It was a winter wonderland with the tree line over a thousand feet below us and virgin snow everywhere. The north view was breathtaking with the snow-capped Rockies falling away in all directions. Mountain climbers call peaks higher than fourteen thousand feet in elevation fourteeners. There are fifty eight fourteeners in the continental United States, fifty three of which are in Colorado. We were on the Continental Divide very near the summit of one of them and planning to spend the night. As the shadows grew longer in the valley, time was running short and we scrambled to build a shelter.
The wilderness is an awe inspiring and sobering place. After brief instructions from our guide, our team of adventurists quickly got down to business and started burrowing into the foot of the cornice. First tunneling horizontally, then upwards about four feet to make a shelf, and finally horizontally again left and right, an hour’s worth of effort gave us a large cavern in which to stay. Each shovel full of snow had to be hauled out away from the door. An assembly line of people looking like a team of gophers in a row pushed snow from in front and through their legs. Snow flew through the legs of the last person in the opening and Althea and I moved it into place on the wall.
Eventually this stream of snow ceased and our snow cave was finished. Climbing inside, the glow from a single candle easily illuminated a ledge about seven feet wide and twenty feet long. This white wonder was our five-star hotel, at least for tonight.
The ceiling smoothly arched overhead and, where it met floor, a small trench retained the melting snow from our breaths and body heat. Soon this ceiling would freeze solid from this combination of moisture and heat providing us with a strong, safe shelter in which to sleep. Althea moved to the far left end of the cave and carved out a long shelf just above her head. This is where she planned to put her gloves and hat making them easily accessible through the night.
Our guide was so impressed by this spot he wanted to claim it as his own. Althea said to him sternly, “No! This is where I sleep.” Even a man of his massive stature submissively cowered under the thundering voice of this territorial woman.
The temperature inside the cave warmed as we unpacked our gear. After leveling out the surface, our thick foam pads kept the freezing ground from robbing us of our body heat. Our twelve inch loft down-filled sleeping bags were more than adequate for spending the night here. After all, it should stay around forty degrees inside regardless of how cold it got outside.
Settling in for the night was only the beginning of this adventure. It took hours to complete the snow cave and we learned how to build an igloo also in the event a cornice was nowhere to be found. We worked hard today in the thin air, our bodi
es ached, and we all looked forward to a good night’s sleep. Our guide cooked spaghetti hauling in pans, pasta, sauce, meat, and of course wine in his sled. The smell of propane struggling to burn at over thirteen thousand feet wafted through the cave but eventually the noodles were done and our bellies full. Sitting around in a circle telling stories, laughing, and being with a group of serious, like minded mountaineers was an experience we would never forget.
When it was time to turn in, we were already half asleep and our guide saying something about walking away from the wall when going to the bathroom during the night. Sounds slipped away as our frozen faces and stiff muscles welcomed the warmth of the awaiting bags.
Inside the Snow Cave
About three A.M., Althea had to go to the bathroom. Being farthest from the door, she woke me up to let me know she was going outside and I decided to join her. Together we slipped down off of the ledge, crawled on our hands and knees through the low tunnel, and stood up outside near the wall. It was still and absolutely clear. Millions of stars shown overhead in the darkest sky I had ever seen. The very cold air reminded us that we needed to be quick about this to retain as much body heat during our outdoor escapade. As I zipped down my ski pants, then my jeans, then my long underwear, finally reaching the destination, I held as much of myself as possible shielding it from the intense cold.
Althea: A Story of Love Page 18
