Take Me Higher by Pamela Clare
Chapter 18
Megs sat beside Mitch,holding his hand, wishing she could do more to help him through what had to be one of the most difficult days in his life. “She did say that she’s seen people recover completely. It’s going to take time, but if anyone can do it, you can. I believe in you, Mitch.”
Dr. Linda White, the neurologist who’d evaluated him this morning, had diagnosed Mitch with non-fluent aphasia, which meant he could understand language, but couldn’t put words together to speak. He’d also been diagnosed with deficits in short-term memory, balance, and, to a lesser degree, his fine and gross motor skills. She had referred him to a speech-language pathologist to help him learn how to speak again, a physical therapy team, and an occupational therapist.
It had been a lot for Mitch to take in all at once.
He sat, silent, his expression unreadable, his fingers twined tightly with hers.
Megs knew that it could have been worse. He could have lost his ability to comprehend language at all. He could’ve lost his ability to make sounds, smile, and even swallow. He could have lost all of his fine motor skills. He could have lost his ability to take a single step. He could have died. But she didn’t think that hearing this would make the journey ahead easier for him.
“I’m excited to see those communication apps that Dr. White recommended. They’ll make it easier for you to share what’s on your mind. Rain is picking up a tablet for you to use. Do you remember Rain?”
He tried to say her name, a furious expression on his face when he managed only to make a Wr sound.
Megs could see that her Susie Buttercup routine—all this positivity—wasn’t helping him. “I cannot say how sorry I am you’re in this shitty situation, Mitch. I’d do anything to change it for you, but I can’t. It breaks my heart to see you suffering like this. It was bad fucking luck that the rock fell when it did, and now you’ve got a long struggle ahead of you, one that you didn’t choose. I hate that this is how it is for you now, and I know you hate it, too.”
The two of them had never faced anything like this.
Then again…
“Do you remember when we climbed K2? We got pinned down by some of the worst wind and cold we’ve ever encountered near The Bottleneck. We still had about ten hours of climbing to reach the summit. I was chilled to the bone, exhausted. I was coughing and was worried about high-altitude pulmonary edema. Dean had lost feeling in his toes. I thought we were going to be a statistic—part of the twenty-five percent of climbers who die up there.”
Megs couldn’t do the physical misery justice, not with words. She’d have to resort to interpretive dance or primal screams. Climbing K2 had been the most brutal experience of her life. But she’d gotten through it—thanks to Mitch.
“You got me through it, remember? You told me that this mountain was a climb like any other climb. You said we would succeed one step at a time like we always did. No matter how painful it got, we would focus, keep our minds sharp, reach the summit— and go home alive.”
She shifted so that Mitch could see her face and took both of his hands in hers. “Mitch, love, you have been in the Death Zone. When we arrived here at the hospital, the doctor told me you had only a forty-percent chance of surviving. Only forty percent. That’s worse than the odds on K2 or Annapurna.”
She let that sink in. “You pulled through, and now you need to finish this climb. It’s not going to be easy, but you need to do what we did then—focus, keep your mind sharp, and take it one step at a time. I’ll be right here.”
She saw despair in his eyes—despair, fear, anger.
Then his gaze softened, and he nodded.
A knock at the door.
“Come.”
Kurt stepped in, held his hand out for Mitch. “Hey, Mitch. I’m Kurt Calder, Dean Calder’s son. I heard you got evicted from ICU. I came to introduce myself and see how you’re doing.”
Mitch gaped at him as if staring at a dead man.
“He’s Dean’s son—Kurt. He’s a chaplain here at the hospital. He came to visit you several times in the ICU.”
Mitch’s gaze moved from Megs to Kurt, and he smiled. It was clear he understood—though he probably wouldn’t remember.
Megs brought Kurt up to date on Mitch’s prognosis and told Mitch that she’d read Kurt parts of his journal that had involved Dean. “I told him you wouldn’t mind.”
Kurt thanked Mitch. “I got to see a side of my father I’d never seen. I’d be interested in anything you feel like sharing. I know my sister would, too.”
“Do you have time for me to read another entry now? Mitch, would that be okay with you?”
“I would love that.” Kurt pulled over a chair.
Mitch nodded.
Megs reached for the journal, looked for an entry featuring Dean. “Oh, hey, here’s the day we summited Mt. Everest.”
Megs began to read.
May 11, 1978
Camp 4, South Col
Mt. Everest
Mitch checkedhis crampons to make sure they were tight, their headlamps bobbing in the starlit darkness of Camp 4. Dean stood beside him, ready to move on. Megs was still inside the tent, taking extra care with her feet, which had become painfully cold on yesterday’s ascent from Camp 3.
A few minutes later, she joined them. “Let’s move.”
Mitch insisted on checking her crampons first.
“Did I tie my shoes right, Daddy?” She put on the mask that would warm air before she breathed it.
Mitch did the same. “Yes. Good girl.”
Megs hadn’t said anything, but Mitch knew she must be feeling the pressure. If they were successful today, she would be the first American woman to summit Mt. Everest—and the first woman to summit without guides or supplemental oxygen.
The three of them had chosen to tackle the mountain without oxygen, believing that climbing with oxygen could make a person overly confident. Without the artificial boost, they would know exactly how well their bodies were handling the altitude—and would have to be honest about their ability to climb. As for guides, how could they say they had climbed any mountain if someone carried their gear and went ahead of them to make the path safer and more accessible?
It was probably all ego and bullshit, but it sounded good to the reporters.
It was 9 PM. when they started their summit attempt, the sky full of stars. Their goal was to be off the summit well before 2 p.m. tomorrow so they would be back at Camp 4 by late afternoon, well before any sudden storm could move in.
They were in Everest’s Death Zone now—above 26,000 feet—so none of them had the energy or breath to spare for conversation as they started up the steep Triangular Face toward an area called The Balcony. Mitch and Dean had talked it over privately. They had agreed that Megs should lead and set the pace. She was tougher than either of them, but she also had a shorter stride and smaller lung capacity.
Still, she set a brisk pace through the bitter cold, the three of them finding a rhythm, syncing their steps to their breathing.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
They took each step with care, each of them carrying an ice ax in case they needed to stop a fall. One slip, and they could easily plummet to their deaths.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
And so it went for hour after hour.
When they reached The Balcony, they stopped to hydrate and get some calories before tackling the Southeast Ridge Slabs—a steep section along a stone ridge with fixed ropes. A slip in either direction would be fatal.
Megs munched granola. “Four hours. Not bad.”
Mitch drank. “Not bad at all.”
But Dean stood there looking over at Lhotse. “Look at this view.”
The snow was such a contrast to the darkness that the shapes of neighboring peaks were easy to make out.
When they felt rested, they started up the Slabs, clipping carabiners to the fixed rope and taking each step carefully. Much of the snow had blown away here, leaving sections of rock with scant coverage and making their crampons slip. It was a bit like walking on a beach—at more than 27,000 feet altitude.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
This section was more challenging than Mitch had imagined, in part because of the limited snow coverage, but also because they were gaining altitude with every stride, the lack of oxygen a strain on mind and body. His quads, glutes, and hamstrings burned, his heart thudding in his chest. The cold gnawed at his fingers, toes, and the small amount of exposed skin on his face.
Step, inhale. Step, exhale.
They couldn’t see the true summit from here, just the South Summit, which was far below their ultimate goal. Still, Mitch kept looking up, the part of him that wasn’t occupied with the physical struggle in awe of the mountain. The Sherpa name for Mt. Everest was Chomolungma—Mother of the World.
It was a fitting name.
But right now, Mama was kicking their asses.
“It’s like I always say.” Dean trudged along behind Mitch, as out of breath as Mitch and Megs. “Stick with the pain… and the pain will stick with you.”
Megs burst into laughter, the sound still magical to Mitch after four years together. “Don’t you dare make me laugh!”
They took another break on the South Summit, catching their breath as well as they could, giving their muscles some calories and electrolytes, taking in a view that few people would ever see.
Mitch checked his watch, saw that it was just after 4:30 in the morning. “That was three hours. We’re making good time. How are your feet?”
Megs looked up at him, her mask concealing her expression. “What feet?”
Shit.
They decided Dean should lead them from there to the summit. Climbing Everest had been his dream. He set out at a moderate pace, and they quickly reached the bottom of the infamous Hillary Step, where the climb became vertical and technical.
Dean clipped into the fixed rope and, using a stem stance, made his way over the section of exposed rock, Megs following, Mitch taking up the rear.
That’s when it hit him.
They were doing it. They were going to summit Mt. Everest.
But the hard work wasn’t over. For the next forty-five minutes, they slogged over a steep, snow-covered ridge, fatigue setting in, the air desperately thin as they neared 29,000 feet in elevation.
Step, inhale, exhale. Step, inhale, exhale.
Mitch’s mind began to grow dull, strange dream-like thoughts drifting through his head. He had to work hard to focus on each step as they moved upward.
Step, inhale, exhale. Step, inhale, exhale.
And then they were there—at the top of the world.
They took off their masks and gaped at the unbelievable sight around them.
The summit itself was small compared to the rest of the mountain. Buddhist prayer flags, faded from the sun, fluttered in the breeze. To the east, the sun had begun to rise, making the snow glisten pink.
Adrenaline and elation pushed the dullness from Mitch’s mind. He had never imagined when he was a kid that he would climb Mt. Everest one day. But here he was, with the woman he loved and his best friend, watching the sunrise on the top of the world’s highest mountain.
Megs turned in a slow, careful circle. “My God, would you look at that?”
Dean glanced around, tears spilling down his cheeks. “We did it.”
Megs drew the two of them into a group hug, their down suits, gloves, and packs making it awkward. Her voice strained, whether from the lack of oxygen or because she was on the brink of tears, he couldn’t say. “There’s no one I’d rather share this moment with than the two of you.”
“Yeah.” Mitch couldn’t agree more.
Dean cleared his throat. “I don’t know where I’d be without you two.”
They stayed on the summit for an hour, taking photos of the three of them together and the landscape below, drinking in the scenery that they knew they would likely never see again. Then they started the dangerous descent back to Camp 4.
Megs closed the journal,a bittersweet ache in her chest.
God, she missed Dean.
Kurt blinked away the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Thank you for sharing that, Mitch, and thanks for reading for us, Megs. I’m so grateful that it’s all written down. All I’ve heard about that climb is what my father told my mother. This gave me a much better idea of what it meant to him.”
Megs understood that. “I think Everest mattered more to him than any of the other eight-thousand-meter peaks, even more than K2, which was a much tougher climb.”
Kurt nodded. “My mother told me that he climbed to exorcise demons from the war. She said it was on Everest where he finally broke free. He believed that if Everest hadn’t destroyed him, nothing would.”
Mitch looked like he wanted to say something, grief in his eyes. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Megs rested her hand on Mitch’s thigh, tried to be his voice. “Regardless of the anguish he suffered as a result of the war, your father was a strong man and brave. Nothing broke him. We loved your father, Kurt. He was our best friend.”
Kurt nodded, smiled. “Your friendship meant the world to him.”
Megs remembered the mayhem that had ensued when they’d returned from Nepal. “Reporters were waiting for us when our plane landed in Los Angeles. Remember that, Mitch? Everyone wanted to do a story on the first American woman to summit Everest. One reporter asked you and Dean why you had decided to climb with a woman.”
Mitch rolled his eyes.
“How did you answer that?” Kurt asked Mitch.
Megs answered. “Mitch said something like, ‘This woman is one of the best climbers in the world. We’re lucky she let us climb with her.’ Your father said, ‘We needed someone who would know when to stop and ask for directions.’”
Kurt grinned, making eye contact with Mitch. “Good answers.”
“Then someone asked if we felt we were too good to climb in the US, given how much time we spent abroad. I told them we didn’t feel that way at all. We were just doing our best to avoid disco.”
Kurt laughed at this. “And who can blame you?”
“The three of us already had a variety of sponsorships—gear, energy bars, clothing. We were making good money climbing right at the time when the sport exploded. Companies started signing us to do ads—and not just us. The dirtbags had been doing some pretty amazing climbing in Yosemite. By the end of the Seventies, most of us had landed lucrative advertising contracts.”
She smiled as she remembered. “Your father did commercials for running shoes, though he’d never been a runner. Baker, who’d gotten into free soloing, did ads for shaving cream. Cook did a series of ads for Chevy pickups. President Carter pardoned draft dodgers, so Gridwall was off the hook. He stumped for some electric razor. Accardo had a contract for some goofy breakfast drink. Mitch did commercials for watches.”
“How about you?” Kurt asked.
“Mostly deodorant and feminine hygiene products. ‘Do you ever worry about body odor or feeling fresh while climbing Mt. Everest? No? Neither did I.’” Megs couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.
Kurt laughed, too, but Mitch looked tired now.
Kurt must have noticed because he glanced at his watch and stood. “Thanks for the visit. Can I come see you again, Mitch? Would that be okay?”
Mitch nodded, held out a hand.
Kurt grasped it, placed his other hand on top of it, and said a brief prayer. “I’m so glad to see you back with us. Please call if you need anything.”
Megs stood, gave Kurt a hug. “Thanks for stopping by. Come again soon.”
Kurt closed the door behind him.
“He really does look like his father, doesn’t he?”
Mitch looked perplexed, and Megs realized he might not remember that Kurt had just been in the room—or know who Kurt was. He tried to speak, making only unintelligible sounds, his anger with himself heartbreaking to witness.
Megs took his hand once more. “Please don’t be hard on yourself. I can’t imagine how frustrating this is, but your inability to speak isn’t a moral or intellectual failing. You almost died, and you’re doing the best you can. It won’t be like this forever. It will get better. But you should rest now.”
She left his side long enough to close the blinds and retrieve her phone, which she set to play their favorite classical music playlist, the one they often listened to at night before bedtime. Then she sat beside him once again and held his hand while he drifted into an uneasy sleep.