Woman on Top (30 page)

•  •  •

On summit day, six hours of steep climbing separated us from the top. For the first time on our trek, it felt like the mountain was going to deal its toughest hand. Few of us chatted while the group moved very deliberately up the steep path of rocks. The hours passed slowly. Drew and Husky had to be hours ahead of us and already heading down.

We entered the fourth zone, the arctic zone. Huge and gorgeous glaciers as tall as eighty feet high framed our view as we climbed to the top of this dormant volcano that Hemingway immortalized. The air felt biting cold on our bare faces.

Gazing down, we saw a vista of clouds way below covering our view of Africa all around. A stillness surrounded us as we approached the summit. And then we saw the iconic large brown rugged wooden sign, covered with stickers from previous climbers, at the top.

CONGRATULATIONS.
You are now at Uhuru Peak, Tanzania. Africa’s Highest Point. World’s Highest Free-Standing Mountain.

Our group hugged one another repeatedly and took endless pictures in front of the sign as proof that we had propelled ourselves up this giant mountain to the top. Typically, climbers spent ten to fifteen minutes at Uhuru since the altitude above 18,000 feet is considered extreme. We lingered, reluctant to leave, and already thirty minutes passed.

“How are you feeling?” Samuel asked.

“Great. I can’t believe it,” I said.

“Prove it. Do a push up.”

I got down on the ground and did a push up on the summit of Kilimanjaro. Showing off on top. Elation filled the freezing air.

“You’re really strutting your stuff,” Noah laughed.

“You bet.”

Samuel ushered us away from Uhuru.

“We still have a five or six hour descent ahead today to get back to 12,500 feet. Let’s get going.”

We ascended the mountain slowly approaching from the west, gaining altitude in careful increments. But now, we could go straight down as fast as our knees would carry us on the steep trail. Several times we saw stretchers lined up along the side of the trail.

Another guide going by stopped Samuel momentarily and they spoke briefly in Swahili. The changed look on Samuel’s typically placid face betrayed the news.

“Someone died up there earlier today,” Samuel relayed to us.

No one moved a muscle.

“Who was it?” Noah said.

“I’ll tell you when we get down to camp later. ”

After an endless five hours of the difficult trek down the mountain negotiating the scree, we arrived at our campsite completely depleted. Samuel pulled us aside.

“Remember I told you someone died up on the summit today?”

We all held our breath dreading the news.

“Drew died. He had cerebral edema. Husky was with him.”

The shock felt more biting than any frigid air we had experienced in the depth of our freezing nights.

“He collapsed, went into a coma and died quickly. There were other guides up there, they knew he was in critical condition, but there was no time to get him down to a lower altitude or do anything, ” Samuel said.

“Where’s Husky?” I asked.

“They took him down quickly, he was so upset,” Samuel said.

“You mean the guy actually has a heart?”

“This is what happens on the mountain.”

Samuel went off to his tent while I sat down on one of the rocks, trying to put my thoughts together.

So Kili was the metaphorical mountain of life. The euphoria of attaining the summit of Africa’s highest peak, and then death stealing someone away again, both on the same day.

My fellow climbers said that reaching the summit amounted to the hardest thing they’d ever done. Not for me. It felt like a piece of cake compared to living on a cancer ward with Jake. I had a choice about doing Kili. And I got to push myself physically further than I thought possible. But this time finding how much resilience I had was for a good reason.

Unlike so many of the books I’d read about Kili, my story didn’t include throwing up, severe headaches, disorientation and stomachaches. I got lucky that way. This time ascending Kili had been about being strong. We climbed a beautiful mountain in Africa and I’d loved every minute of it until Samuel spoke those words.

Picking up a small rock and putting it in my pocket, I knew that every time I looked at it, that rock would be a symbol to me of Kilimanjaro. The glory and the toll of climbing this mountain, our mountain of life.

•  •  •

We gathered at the base of the mountain the next day for the traditional celebratory lunch after our descent. Exhausted, filthy, and encumbered by sadness from Drew’s death, we knew something bigger than any of us erupted out of that dormant volcano.

Samuel gave each of us an official certificate, our diploma. We had reached Uhuru. It definitely said Uhuru. Proof of our success.

I had no idea if I’d ever attempt another mountain. Climbing Kilimanjaro felt extremely exhilarating but ridiculously exhausting and for the moment I vowed to never even go to a gym again. Our oxygen and sleep deprivation would take a while to recover from and I longed for my children, my bathtub and bed at home.

The flight home through Amsterdam lasted sixteen hours. We embraced each other, our newfound strength, and how different we were going home. Finally, we were forced to say goodbye at the airport in New York, but we lingered for a few moments longer. Our families, our homes beckoned but for one more moment we savored our trip together. Whomever I might have been a year before, that person didn’t climb Kilimanjaro. The woman who reached the summit emerged onto the cab line at JFK.

As the cab slowly made its way through the traffic of Queens, my thoughts returned to Janet’s words. I had accomplished exactly what I intended. But what had been revealed that lay dormant within me? In the midst of the traffic, horns and the dreary expressway, I thought of standing on the summit.

In the context of a greater universe filled with mountains and stars that endured for thousands of year, my life meant so little. The meaning of my life though was not to be found on that mountain, but within me. It is framed by choices to have the strength to keep going and to aim for the top.

I thought of what Sir Edmund Hillary, the first man to reach the summit of Mount Everest, said “It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves”. Now I knew what mountain in life I wanted to climb and where the top lie. The shallow world of a Len, once at the heights of Wall Street, felt meaningless on that mountain. Uhuru is the word for freedom in Swahili. And I finally felt free. Knowing what I experienced training, what it took to get to the top, and what I did with it, would define me from then on. I had reached Uhuru. On top, at last.

SPRING 1999

EPILOGUE

June

I
knew that my heart had opened up again when I noticed this guy at work one day. I felt it jump whenever I saw him. Not a minor skip like when you get a refund check from your health insurer and now you can buy something else you might or might not need, but a real one. Any cardiologist could easily have documented it if they had bothered hooking me up to an EKG at work.

He looked tall, about six foot two with an athletic build and short salt and pepper hair. A handsome man but that wasn’t the point. His broad smile and large warm green eyes reminded me of better times. After watching him for about a month, I longed for him in the way they purportedly describe in romance novels, although I had never bothered reading one.

There were times when I intentionally avoided him. The chemistry he stirred up scared me. Was he thinking of me? Once, I saw him down the hall in a glass-walled conference room as I spoke to my boss in the hallway. Leaning against the wall, he kept staring at me, intentionally staring. He wanted me to know it. This went on for at least fifteen minutes. I didn’t listen to a word my overbearing boss said.

The next day I walked into the large, crowded cafeteria at work and dropped my tray on one of the numerous, long, faux-walnut laminated tables. I hadn’t noticed him but he walked over from the doorway nearby and straddled the yellow plastic chair next to me. He glanced at me sideways and then straightened out to face me on his chair. And so we began.

“Hi,” he said.

I gave him a sort of half smile.

“I’m Alex. You’re Kate?”

This time I nodded, another half smile.

“I started here about six months ago,” he said.

“What area are you in?”

“I’m working on the clinical side. My team is responsible for evaluating programs that are designed to improve patient outcomes. My PhD is in Epidemiology,” he said.

“It’s so good to hear you haven’t crossed over to ‘the dark side’ and you’re actually trying to help patients. Too many people in healthcare are in it for the money.”

“I’ve already encountered some folks here making decisions based on cost rather than what’s in the best interest of the patient. My department doesn’t generate any revenue so it’s going to be an interesting battle,” Alex said.

“Welcome to my world. Where were you before this?”

“I used to work at the CDC. I ran a similar program evaluating cancer prevention programs. We developed a prototype for a national reporting system for breast and cervical cancer based on funded state and local health department reporting. The CDC, when it gives money to state and local health departments, supports activities for better screening, especially for underserved population.”

“My husband died of cancer,” I said.

Alex closed his eyes for just a moment and shook his head.

“What kind?”

“Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He leaned closer.

“Listen, I can’t talk for long. I have a meeting in ten minutes. I know this is fast but would you have dinner with me?” Alex asked.

“Dinner would be lovely.”

“Friday? 7:30? How about Gramercy Tavern? One of my favorite restaurants. In the front room we won’t need reservations like the dining room. See you then?”

“See you then.”

Work became an obstacle as I waited for the week to end. It wasn’t until I walked into Gramercy Tavern on Friday evening and saw Alex anticipating my arrival did my body relax. He looked striking in his black jacket, black slacks and tan cotton button down shirt. I wore a tight navy blue knit dress and three inch heels. He seemed to like what he saw.

After we were seated at a table, Alex put our menus to the side, clearly indicating to the waiter that we’d be there for a while, needed lots of time to talk and don’t bother asking us what we’d like until we’ve made it known we were ready.

“I did what I could to learn who this pretty woman was who I couldn’t take my eyes off of. When people at work talk about you the words they use the most are genuine, passionate, compassionate, fun,” Alex said.

“You can fool some of the people….But seriously, I don’t know much about you. Please tell me.”

“I’m divorced, for four years now, and have three great kids. Olivia is twenty-two, Scott is twenty and Sophia is sixteen. The divorce proceeded quickly and amicably so little damage remains in its wake. We met in high school and married too young, right out of college, and eventually grew apart. And now we both want the best for the kids so we’ve agreed to put their interests first.”

“Then you’re a lucky man.”

“I think I’m a lucky man since I’m sitting here with you,” he said with his large green eyes penetrating mine.

He looked at me with a confidence, but not the arrogance I had come to dread from certain men.

“Have you been dating?” I asked.

“I have. But we’re both here hoping for the right one, aren’t we?”

I sat there wondering if maybe this man could navigate his way into my heart.

“I hear we have a lot in common. We grew up near each other. I spent my childhood in Gramercy Park. And I hear you climbed Kilimanjaro and reached the summit last fall. I did too, about three years ago,” he said.

Various men in the past year had not reacted well to my climb. And there was one who actually told me at dinner not to mention it again, that he did not exercise that hard and would never push himself like that. He thought that my climb was very off-putting to men and felt it emasculating.

“Other than having my kids, Kili was definitely the most extraordinary experience of my life. It felt magical. When I stood on the summit, it gave me a sense of the planet and where I belong on it. It certainly puts your life in perspective. How’d you decide to do it?” I asked.

“I’ve been climbing for years. I actually did Kili with Olivia, my daughter who was nineteen at the time. What an experience to watch her make it at that age.”

Alex looked very relaxed. Whatever may be the mystery of why two people fall for each other, his face spoke to me as much as the words coming from his mouth.

“Interested in doing another mountain?” he asked.

“Maybe. I could handle the daytime but the freezing nights alone in the tent seemed endless.”