I have to get something off my chest. I've been holding it in because I'm afraid of offending anyone with my narrow-mindedness. I try not to let my emotions come out around my daughter because I don't want her growing up filled with hate like me.
You see, I'm extremely prejudiced. There is a certain race of humankind...no....I can't even accept that they're human. They're a lesser species to the rest of us. My child shouldn't have to go to school with their children. She doesn't need to use the same bathrooms, drink out of the same water fountains. I don't want to see them move into my neighborhood. They should be shipped back to whatever country they came from.
I'm talking about dentists. Dentists and those minions they innocently call 'oral hygienists'.
They've got my daughter thinking the dentist's office is a magical place where you get toys and no one gets hurt. When we tell her she has a dental appointment, she can hardly wait to go. Everyone in Dr. Malone's office, from the receptionist to the dentists themselves, treat her like a princess. In the dentist chair (a torture device as far as I'm concerned) she gets to lie back with headphones and watch cartoons in a TV on the ceiling. The hygienist announces that she's just going to "tickle" Grace's teeth as she lightly cleans them with a soft toothbrush. She gently admonishes my daughter to brush and floss her teeth twice a day. Then Grace is sent on her way with two toys and a pat on the head from the dentist.
Grace' dentist's office complete with puppies, kittens, unicorns, ponies, butterflies, happy sun, and rainbows
Where is this coming from?? When I was her age, I hated going to the dentist. "Tickling" teeth??? Are you kidding me?!? Dentists only exist to make your mouth bleed. The whole oral hygiene industry is a vast conspiracy by the powerful toothpaste lobby. It's my firm belief that brushing more actually fills your teeth with plaque!!! I've found reliable sources online supporting this (I choose not to share them now, but they're out there). Why do the British have bad teeth? Because they brush ALL THE TIME!!! I should know. I'm an American, and if there're two things we're good at, it's our humility, wisdom, vast knowledge about other cultures and mathematical ability.
Destists caused me nothing but pain throughout my young life and lectured me the whole time about how I needed to take better care of my teeth. Normally, their lectures involved bringing out the gigantic model mouth so they could demonstrate how to floss. Each time, I would watch intently like this was my first flossing lesson.
"If you can brush and floss the giant mouth then surely you can handle your tiny mouth"
"Oh, so it goes between the teeth?? I've been doing it completely wrong!"
"How do you brush again? A circular pattern?"
"You avoid the gums, right? No??? Wow, Never have I learned so much at the dentist office!! I will go right home and brush and floss every 90 minutes until my next visit!!!"
But I didn't. A year later, I was back in that chair, getting my gums scraped off, listening to yet another lecture.
"Still not flossing, eh? Guess it's time for another remedial lesson!"
I bring all this up because I went to the dentist yesterday. I get free dental care from the Veterans Administration, so the chair I sit in for my cleaning looks more like this:
Here's what a military dentist office looks like. There's a drill and pliers in there somewhere.
It starts out innocently enough. The hygienist and I exchange pleasantries. She has me lie back while she gets out her tiny mirror to have a look around.
"Oh, you've been taking GREAT care of your teeth! Whatever you're doing, don't change a thing!!"
OK, I'm thinking, my brushing paid off, not to mention the fact that I don't even put food in my mouth. I'll be out of here in five minutes.
"Let me just take care of a couple places." Suddenly, she takes out the dreaded dental pick. You know what I'm talking about. These medieval things:
For thousands of years, dentists have used this weapon to terrorize humanity
The VA is old-school. There're no electric toothbrushes here; just picks and drills. If I'm in pain, they give me a shot of whiskey or I bite down on a strip of old leather to mask my screams.
Finally, the torture is complete. I get up from the chair and look down at a bib covered in blood.
"This went way better than my last appointment!"
Woozy from severe pain and loss of blood, all I can do is rinse some of the blood and gum tissue out of my mouth and stumble out of the office after promising to come back for another cleaning in 6 to 9 months.
I'd like to say that this is the last time I'll ever step foot in the dentist's office. I'd like to say that they'll never take me in with their stories of cavities and gingivitis.
I'd like to say that, but I need to go brush my teeth.
Clogs are annoying. Depending on where I am and what my mood is, they can be SUPER annoying.
No, not these clogs.
Not these either (could've shared a really gross picture here)
I can't possibly claim to be the first to write about dealing with clogs
in the feeding tube. Eric O'Gorman has an excellent guide on his
tubefeeding blog YouStartWithATube.
He also has a section devoted to it in his book, Complete Tubefeeding. If you're confronted with a clog, I recommend you start there. I want to talk about the way my attitude shapes how I handle clogs.
Blendtec has been letting me down lately. I know, I can't believe I just wrote that either! Don't get me wrong, Blendtec's customer support has been superb. They've sent me a free blender and two free containers. I make Almond butter all the time in my Twister Jar. The Wildside Jar is perfect for large dinners when I eat out. It's been extremely convenient to tell restaurant chefs to just hit the 'Soups/Syrups/Fondues' button and let the blender do the rest. Up until a couple months ago, this has worked perfectly.
But lately, ever since my trip to Snowmass, Colorado, the blends haven't been smooth enough. This always happens when I'm away from home too. The latest incident was in North Carolina. My sister and her two little boys came to visit from Nürnberg, Germany, last month. We went to visit our grandparents over Memorial Day weekend and stayed in a cabin near their house.
Superman--the kid on the left--likes to randomly say "UNDERWEAR-SOCKS" or "BUTT-NUTS" What's up with that?
Three cousins with their grandparents. Hard to believe how different Grammy' & Grandpa's lives were at Grace's age.
Four generations. My big sis is on the far left and Aunt Susan is on the far right. Why's there an Asian kid in the photo??
My sister loves to cook and made some really delicious, elaborate meals during our stay. The last night, we grilled out at the cabin. I put a buffalo burger, salmon, butternut squash, and broccoli in my Blendtec for dinner. As usual, I hit the 'Soups/Syrups/Fondues' button. I've never had a problem with broccoli in my blend, especially cooked broccoli, but this time there were still chunks left over in the blender. I thought I could force them through the tube if I pushed hard enough, but no such luck. I had numerous clogs. Each time, I would refrain from pushing hard enough to cause a complete mess--I've learned my lesson there. I dumped out the syringe-full that I couldn't force through my tube, walked to the sink, and cleaned out my syringe. The offending chunk of broccoli was too large to get through the syringe and get stuck in my tube. This actually made it easier to clean out because I didn't have to deal with food caught in my tube. I put the pitcher back on the Blendtec, and ran it at a high speed for about half a minute. I thought everything was smooth enough, but when I sat back down and tried eating I quickly had more clogs.
I got so frustrated that I finally just gave up eating the dinner,
dumped out my blend, and had an Ensure that I brought on the trip. Only
problem is, I failed to close the side port on my feeding tube after I
cleaned it at the sink. So, when I poured the Ensure into my tube, I
dumped a large portion of it in my lap (see handy diagram below).
I frequently wet my pants.
Perfect.
Meanwhile, the rest of the family already finished eating, cleaned the kitchen, and they were singing and dancing next to the table. The whole time, while I was dealing with numerous clogs, I kept my mouth shut and avoided complaining. I'm more 'the quiet one' in the family. I normally don't contribute much in the way of conversation. Part of the reason for my silence is that I'm harder to understand and I get out of breath when I talk too much. Another reason is that we were always taught to 'be tougher' growing up. Complainers were looked down on. The very best people in our view could get knocked down, pick themselves up, and keep fighting without a word. My grandfather is the epitome of stoicism. He's a self-described "man of few words" who lived through the Great Depression and was awarded both the Silver and Bronze Stars during World War II. Another reason for my silence is I'm pretty non-confrontational. I don't like to make waves or cause a big scene if I'm having trouble eating. Anyway, that's more stuff to talk to a therapist about, but the problem with suffering in silence over clogs is that the frustration and embarrassment--not to mention the hunger--builds up inside you and can make dealing with the problem ten times worse.
I've found that overcoming clogs is so much better when I talk about it openly with the people around me and look at it from a humorous perspective. It also helps me immensely to be part of tubefeeding groups online and swap clog stories.
I recently asked a couple groups I follow on Facebook if anybody had any really good clog stories. I got some fantastic responses!
Shifra
shared this story: "Oh gosh, where haven't I spilled the feed!!!
When we did gravity feeds we spilled it everywhere. Now that we push the
feeds it's much better. I think the worst was in the car when I was
feeding my son and somehow it spurted out onto the ceiling and all over
me and him. That was a huge mess. :-( "
Megan writes, "My feeding tube got clogged with riboflavin (which turns cement-like if you don't mix it with enough water) and when I finally pushed hard enough to get it to unclog, it went, well, everywhere :)" Megan was kind enough to include pictures so we can fully share in her misery:
We call this "getting baptized"
Katelyn said, "I get so frustrated with clogs (lol) I literally have temper tantrums like a little kid. Yesterday I got clogged and we tried to flush with coke and it literally sprayed ALL OVER the bathroom. Like, full 360 spray covered the entire bathroom and my husband. He just looked at me and shook his head. Was a good time."
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, but Courtney told a very entertaining story to the group, "This is going to sound bad, but my friend told me nutmeg can get you high (I get rx med marijuana for seizures but didn't have another rx until the next visit) so I just dumped the nutmeg in without water and then I put water in the syringe. Basically did everything ass-backwards. Had to get my mom to help me unclog it. Worst lecture of my entire life. She used a turkey baster to get most of it out :o thick shit gets clogged easily, my suggestion would be use warm water to thin it down. I heard about carbonated drinks helping getting tubes unclogged but I hate that feeling."
Another story comes from Stephanie: "I had a carrot stuck in a cranny of my GJ connector for a month. Also, my dad found me fighting with my G tube standing over the toilet and asked me what I was doing...I told him my G tube was clogged. He asked me how I clogged it...I had eaten some pizza the night before and there was an undigested red pepper floating around in my tube the next morning! Luckily I got it out!"
Kelly sprayed a blend across the room and into her husband's guitar.
Rachel shared this incident: "My husband was feeding my son in the waiting room at an appointment while I registered him. I walk back over to them and my husband says, 'Can you take care of that,' while pointing at another child in a stroller near us. There was a spray of [blended diet (BD)] all over the back of the stroller. As an added bonus, the family was not native English speakers."
Rebecca is another caregiver to a tubie: "Our 21 year old son has "girly" posters on the ceiling in his room. I was trying to get his j-tube unclogged (formula) and sprayed a group of his beach beauties. Not quite the spray tan you hear of...."
Jen said, "Our first month of BD was at an [ICU]. The first day of the diet, I ended up spraying not just any ceiling but the hotel's popcorn ceiling. It wasn't an easy explanation to make about why a green substance was on the ceiling!"
Lindsey had a couple stories: "I was in target and the pump kept beeping...I finally took pump and bag out of the backpack to inspect. I squeezed the bag too hard and the top flew off from the pressure and covered me including face and hair, my child and the contents of my cart..."
"Or there's this one...just a good ol' syringe flying out of the port this time."
More immersive baptism
Jayne writes, "We were feeding our daughter in a cafe whilst eating lunch with our other 2 daughters. The blend had beetroot in it so it was very red. We hadn't connected the extension tube correctly and so 2 x 60mls of bright red food was pushed "onto" her stomach. She looked like she had just been shot and was bleeding!! Made for a very messy cleanup!"
Finally, here's a non-clog-but-still-messy story. Sarah was, "sitting at a friend's house, on her nice black suede couch, daughter on lap, feed running. Suddenly I feel very wet, pick her up and I was soaked--along with her couch! I guess that's not a clog story, but it was so embarrassing, I had no idea what to do! There really wasn't any way for me to clean it other than trying to soak up what I could. She was so nice about it too, she had 2 little kids and said the couch wasn't new or anything and had spills and thrown up on it enough already it was no big deal. I couldn't help wishing I could clean it better though. Much more careful about where that connection is now...."
If you have one and you'd like to share it on the blog, then please respond in the comments. The most important thing, when dealing with a clog, is to have the right attitude. You're not alone! We've all been there! Laugh it off and share it on one of the tubefeeding forums so people who understand can laugh at you...er...I mean laugh with you...we're laughing with you...not at you.
According to the National Vietnam Veterans Foundation, four out of five people who claimed to have served in Vietnam didn't actually serve there.
A 2009 article in the New York Times says that in that year, the Associated Press found that the VA was, "paying disability benefits to 286 supposed prisoners of war from
the Persian Gulf war of 1991 and to 966 supposed prisoners of the
Vietnam War. But Defense Department records show that only 21 prisoners
of war returned from the gulf war, and that fewer than 600 are alive
from the Vietnam War."
Also, the Marine Corps Times found
40 erroneous profiles in 2009’s Marine Corps Association
Directory, including false claims of 16 Medals of Honor, 16 Navy Crosses
and 8 Silver Stars.
So, I go from these sobering statistics to making my own claims about military honors. Well, they're not really MY military honors. I was a mediocre-at-best intelligence officer in the Air Force. No, the military honors I'm referring to are my grandfather's. Last year, I posted an article he wrote about his experiences during World War II and his role in picking up the survivors of the PT-109. My grandfather later took part in JFK's Presidential campaign in 1960. Here he is sitting with then-Senator Kennedy at a campaign event in Michigan:
90% of kids aged 18-25 probably think my picture with Adam Sandler is cooler than this one. That's pretty sad.
Grandpa took part in a portion of Kennedy's whistle stop tour, where JFK made brief stops at small towns to give stump speeches. Grandpa recently told me that at most of those stops, a gentleman would always come up to the Senator after the speech saying, "Hey, Mr. Kennedy, I served with you in the Pacific! I was part of the crew that rescued you when your boat sank!" Kennedy would immediately look to my grandpa and say, "you know this guy?" to which he always replied, "Nope. I've never seen him before." In his article, grandpa says that, "during
the Presidential campaign in 1960 Kennedy made the remark to me, 'Lieb,
if I get all the votes from the people who claim to have been on your
boat that night of the pickup, I'll win easily.'"
Today, people still claim to have "rescued the President" back in 1943. Consider the case of the late Jack Gardo, from Greenville, South Carolina.
Mr. Gardo's hometown newspaper did a long article about him on the 50th anniversary of Kennedy's assassination last November. In the article, he claims to be, "the last surviving member of PT 157, the boat that rescued Kennedy." The article quotes Gardo's daughter saying that "on the anniversary of Kennedy’s death, he gets emotional about it."
Shortly after that article was published, Mr. Gardo passed away. HisObituary talks about his role in rescuing the future President. The Huffington Post picked up an Associated Press story about his death. As did the Charlotte Observer, Boston Globe, Boston Herald, NY Daily News, Portland Press Herald, and several smaller newspapers around the country. Local TV stations jumped on the story as well. So did Fox News and PBS News. The news even went worldwide. English language newspapers from Japan to Nigeria carried the news of Mr. Gardo's death.
A few days later, Mr. Bridge Carney--a gentleman who has interviewed my grandfather numerous times about his service--contacted the reporter who originally broke the story about Gardo's death and informed him that Jack Gardo did not even enlist in the US Navy until late August 1943 (a couple weeks after the PT-109 incident). Mr Gardo did serve with PTs in Kennedy's squadron and apparently did
serve some time on the PT-157. This is where he heard the stories of the
rescue and took them home as his own.
The reporter wrote a retraction
and it came out in the AP a few days later, but it received much less
coverage. I had to dig for it, but found it in San Jose' and Santa Cruz's local news. In other words, the internet is apparently full of lies. I naively believed you could trust everything you read on here.
The reporter actually visited Mr. Gardo's widow after he uncovered the truth. He showed the widow that her husband's claims of having been on the PT-157 on August 7, 1943 were obviously not possible. The widow cried.
I do have some satisfaction that Mr. Gardo's family knows the truth, but I also feel bad about it. You know what I mean? He's probably told the story of how he rescued the President countless times. His family would have felt a great deal of pride in the man's actions during the war--as much as I feel in my Grandfather. He most likely inspired family and friends to be better people, as Grandpa inspires me. But did his fabricated story help him with his business? Did he make more connections and earn more money because of the lie?
Ted Robinson is making money off the story. Ever heard of Ted Robinson? I hadn't either, but the NBC affiliate in Sacramento did a long article about him last November. He also claims to have rescued Kennedy--from the article, you'd think he did it single-handedly. The article makes several claims about Mr. Robinson, "the pauper who saved a president." Yet, many of the details about the circumstances leading up to the sinking of the PT 109 are completely wrong in the article, according to every official account, including my grandfather's. The details about the rescue are even more ridiculous. "The unit commander asked Robinson to go in and rescue [the PT-109 crew]," according to his interview. In fact, according to Naval Archives, Mr. Robinson did not serve on board the PT-157, or even in the South Pacific theater, during that rescue. He served on the PT-108, but not until late August, after the PT-109 incident and after my grandfather was reassigned to England.
Bridge Carney called up Mr. Robinson and concluded that, "he is a hard headed SOB." Robinson insisted that he was part of the rescue. Yet when questioned again, my grandfather and another survivor from the PT-157 (Welford West, he passed away earlier this year) did not remember him at all. So, Mr. Carney called Robinson back, told him he was not in the ship's logs and no one remembered him being there. He demanded to be put in contact with my grandfather. Grandpa spoke on the phone with him and told him he didn't remember him--my grandfather has an excellent memory. Robinson kept pressing grandpa until he finally said, "well, if you say you were there then so be it."
My grandfather's admission satisfied Robinson enough, and he continued marketing his book, Water in my Veins. The book details his Naval service and close relationship with the President. I gave the book a bad review on Amazon. I know it's a futile, petty gesture but it made me happier.
The thing is, both Gardo and Robinson likely had perfectly fine Navy careers. They didn't "rescue the future President" but they did their jobs. They were honorably discharged. They were part of America's greatest generation, serving in combat far from home. Why did they feel the need to embellish their part in the war? All it does is diminish the truth and take away from the men who were really there.
Here's the actual crew of the PT-157. Grandpa's in the middle, wearing shorts.
Here's a picture of grandpa and Welford West (seated) last year at a book signing. They're with my grandmother (far left) and Betty Lynn, who played the role of 'Thelma Lou' on The Andy Griffith Show. She lives in their rest home in North Carolina. She also took part in USO tours in the South Pacific during the war to boost morale.
When asked if they'd rather be pictured with Adam Sandler or Betty Lynn, 99% of seniors said, "Adam Who???"
And here's grammy and grandpa with Grace and my sister's two boys last month:
Inspiring future generations
So anyway, did I mention I went through basic training and freshman year with one of our NASA Astronaut candidates, T. Nick Hague?? I saved his life from a ravenous pack of wolves!!! True story. I'm writing a book about it.
Snippets overheard in the van on the way to the trailhead:
"I'm a runner! I do marathons; run about 21 miles a day; this is my first long hike though."
From another of my future trail mates: "Yeah, I run marathons. Run a lot of 10 milers. I've run a few duathlons, a few tri's."
"Really, if you're going to run a marathon and you don't care about time, the Marine Corps Marathon is the one to do. I had so much fun doing that marathon!"
Or, "This'll be much easier than a ruck march--that's for sure!"
Betsy and I look at each other. All I can think is, they've done so many triathlons, they just call them 'tri's' now?!? If I EVER did a triathlon, I would slowly sound it out to everyone--family, friends, perfect strangers, doesn't matter. I would name drop it into every conversation. "Sir, it looks like your house is on fire! If I were you, I'd run to the fire station as fast as I ran that TRI-ATH-A-LON 10 years ago!! Did I mention I did a TRI-ATH-A-LON??"
And all Betsy can think is, will there be ladies' bathrooms every few miles on this hike? Do you think their toilet paper will be 2-ply? I've grown quite fond of 3-ply. Can I regress back to just 2-ply??
Clearly, we were prepared for the challenge.
Guilty admission: I didn't hike 60 miles in 24 hours. Did I ever think I could do it? Yeah, secretly, I hoped I'd go all the way. But that was a pipe dream. It became readily apparent during the first 10-mile stretch. No, actually it was pretty obvious during that van ride to the trail.
Let me back up a bit. As I explained in a previous post, another Academy grad I met (Jeff) invited me to take part in a hike to raise money for Team Racing 4 Veterans and Crossfit Walter Reed.
Jeff and me. Jeff's a badass. Me...not so much.
This was not the type of meandering, stop-every-20-minutes-to-get-a-picture hikes I was used to. The '60-Mile Challenge' is to trek 60 miles in 24 hours. This is non-stop hiking. Noon to noon. My Aunt still didn't quite get it the morning we left her house for the trailhead.
"Did you bring sleeping bags?" she queried.
"No, Aunt Susan," Betsy gently responded, "we won't be sleeping."
Her mouth dropped open; her face utterly perplexed. "What will you be doing tonight?"
"We'll be walking," I said, "from 12 o'clock today to 12 o'clock tomorrow. 60 miles. Walking."
Yep, even then I thought I'd be doing the whole thing.
From my Aunt's home in Arlington, Virginia, Betsy and I drove to Frederick, Maryland, and met up with the rest of the group taking part in the challenge. From there, we loaded our packs into a 15 passenger van and rode to the trailhead, outside Winchester, Virginia.
Who packed the most stuff into the van? That would be Betsy and I. We brought three overflowing backpacks, my suction bag, and my hard suitcase with my blender in it. Don't laugh. Yes, I brought my large blender out to the woods. We were supposed to get an awesome, catered lunch at the end of the hike, and I was told I might have access to an outlet. So, it's not as stupid as it sounds. But it still looked like we were packing for a week-long stay in a cabin while everyone else had small Camelback's. It was a perfect day to start the hike. Clouds still hanging on; nice and cool; not the heat and humidity I've got here in the Tennessee Valley. We drove up a long dirt road to get to the trail, which is always nice because it meant I would start off going downhill. Betsy fed me a Real Food Blend before I started, we took some pictures, I dumped out the 3 liters of Jagermeister I had in my pack ("But you said to bring 'fluids'!! How was I to know you meant water???"), and we were on our way.
"That's the good stuff!"
Constantly had to rely on others to pour my food and water
The team. I think they already suspected they'd have to carry me the whole way.
Swallowed by the mist
That first leg was 10 miles of hell for me. This video gives a small picture of what it was like:
At about the 2 minute mark, you can see the rocks I had to contend with on several sections and the pace of my progress. The ground was wet too--the rocks slick. Several rivulets of water ran across our path. My feet were soaked from the beginning. Blisters formed early and annoyed me the rest of the way. My left ankle constantly rolled whenever I stepped on it wrong. Without other members of the team--notably Jeff's neighbor, Jim, and a formidable retired Army infantryman named Jody--I wouldn't have reached the end of that ten mile stretch as quickly as I did. I literally held Jim' or Jody's hand as they guided me over the rocky parts.
Camelbacks are so convenient, aren't they? The other hikers never needed to stop or fumble in their packs for a water bottle. They could just drink through a straw to stay hydrated. Another nice convenience is that a couple large boxes of Clif bars were donated for the hike, so the team could really eat and drink as they walked. It was a bit more complicated for me.
I originally thought I'd be able to stop on the trail to eat meals along the way. This proved to be impossible. Maybe if we weren't in a hurry I could have stopped for a meal, but it would have been extremely difficult to have someone feed me one of my salmon meals then clean my plunger and syringe. It was already sucking up too much time stopping so someone could pour water down my tube. Maybe I need to bring my old portable Kangaroo pump, hook up a bag of water and just have it slowly pump water in my tube throughout the hike? That's an interesting idea, now that I think about it. The portable pump was kind of touchy when I used it in 2009, but just pumping water may not be as much of a problem.
Anyway, it really sucks being at the back of a group of hikers who are in a hurry. They told me constantly they weren't in a hurry and I needed to go at my own pace, but I felt like I was ruining the whole thing. They would all hike on at their speed, then stop every now and then to wait for me--and whoever was helping me--to catch up. They could rest waiting for me, but as soon as I'd caught up, we needed to get moving again. So, I had to keep trudging on until my next water stop.
Bottom line is, I didn't finish that section quickly enough. We were supposed to reach the end in four hours to give us time to get through the whole 60 mile trek. That meant walking at about 2.5 to 3 miles per hour, to allow for breaks to eat, drink and prep for the next section. Before the hike, Betsy and I went out and tried to time my pace to see if I could tolerate that speed. I walked on a paved trail and 3 miles per hour was tolerable, but near the limit of what I can do for an extended period of time. It's not that I don't have the stamina for a hike like that. My paralyzed left leg just doesn't get signals from the brain quickly enough to keep up with the right leg and avoid stumbling. That was on a paved trail. Over the 10-mile stretch of rocks, I was slowed to a crawl. If I'd been doing it on my own, it would've taken me all day to navigate those obstacles. With the aid of Jim, Jody, and others I got through it in 6 hours, but I had to take a break.
Jody said he was doing this hike for all the brothers from his unit who didn't make it home from Iraq. He brought his 14 year-old son to make the journey with him. I could tell how proud he was of his son and how determined he was to finish the challenge. Jody's arms were thicker than my legs. I was pretty sure he could've run the whole 60 miles without expending too much effort. Yet, he patiently held my hand and let me lean on him through the slick parts.
Jody guiding me through leaves. I'm the tiny one on the right.
Then, disaster. Toward the end of the first section, on a relatively smooth portion of the trail, Jody slipped on a vine and tore his MCL. The challenge was over for him. He could barely stand on his leg without agonizing pain, but he refused to give up his pack as he dragged himself the rest of the way to link up with the support crew. Just prior to the end was a river with no bridge. It had to be crossed on foot, which required taking off our shoes and wading through the shallow rapids. For me, it meant once again leaning on Jim as I slowly navigated the cool waters in my socks. For Jody, our strongest team member, it meant being carried.
Jody's not the guy doing the carrying for once
I finished that first stretch thinking I'd clearly bitten off more than I could chew with this hike. Still 50 miles to go, much of it in the dark, and I'd been licked by large rocks in my path.
Done with the first leg. Feet are soaked; ankle starting to swell; break time.
This is a big reason why Betsy came with me on this hike. She knew I'd need help with my meals and my medicine. She was also ready to step in for me when I had to sit out for a stretch.
"So far, this hiking thing is a cake-walk!"
So, I crawled into the van and we drove to the next checkpoint while Betsy struggled to keep up with the team. I'd already put them behind schedule with my meandering pace on the first leg. The second stretch was all on country roads, so they set off at a near-trot on the cement. Even completely rested, Betsy struggled to keep up with them. The two of us were woefully unprepared for this challenge.
Betsy and the others finished their leg much faster than I would've liked. My ankle was really starting to hurt and the blisters were also yelling for my attention, but the third leg was also on country roads, so I decided to tough it out. Betsy insisted on joining me for that portion of the hike too, after I got another Salmon Oats & Squash Real Food Blend:
She can feed me with her eyes closed now
Betsy and I started the third stretch at the back of the pack and that didn't change at all. It's so frustrating to see others walking at my top speed with very little effort. It didn't help that it was a "heavy drooling" day. I now have "heavy drool" and "light drool" days. Sometimes, my mouth stays relatively dry all day and I hardly ever need to use my hand towel to wipe my mouth. Other days, my mouth constantly salivates like a leaky faucet. I brought extra towels because I can never predict how much my salivary glands will be operating. However, with the number of times I fell on the wet rocks and mud and the sheer volume of my drooling--which is only exacerbated when I exert myself--it didn't take long for my towels to be saturated with dirt and spittle. This also made it even harder for me to talk, so I wasn't much of a conversationalist with the rest of the team.
We arrived at the third checkpoint right as it was growing completely dark (saw a really lovely sunset, by the way). Betsy wanted to try a nighttime leg, but I insisted she stay with me so she could help me crush my meds and eat another meal. I got used to asking others to pour water down my tube when I needed it, but asking them to help me with capsules and teaching the finer points of working the plunger were more than I was comfortable with.
After eating, I stretched out in the back of the van, tried not to think about how much my comrades might be suffering, and did this:
I'm also trying not to think about all the ticks people are finding in the van
I slept right through the fourth checkpoint. The next stretch was supposed to be the longest, at 12 miles, so Betsy opted not to hike on that one. This turned out to be an excellent idea because the team got lost on that fifth leg. They were rushing, trying to make up for lost time, and they took a wrong turn around 2 or 3 in the morning. They ended up going about three miles extra backtracking to find the right path.
Up until that fifth stretch, Jeff was holding up just fine. He was worried about overheating and having his MS 'flare up' causing his back to spasm and legs to stop working. He made it much farther, and much more quickly, than I ever could. However on that long portion of the hike, in the middle of the night, his body got too hot climbing up a large hill and he could no longer maintain the pace. The team was determined to stick together, so they slowly made their way to the fifth checkpoint as Jeff struggled to reach the van. They finally arrived as dawn broke, hours behind schedule. The team was demoralized and completely exhausted. More than one member was ready to throw in the towel, so it was decided to stop the hike completely, before a more serious injury occurred. The total distance hiked by Jeff and the others was around 43 miles.
I thought about complaining to the group about how sore my neck was and the horrible sleeping conditions I was subjected to the night before, but I wisely kept my mouth shut.
Everyone piled back in the van and we drove to what should have been the end of our hike, a park in West Virginia. The owner of a chocolate store in Frederick, MD, called The Perfect Truffle is a friend of some of our team and was kind enough to meet us at the end of the hike and cook lunch for everyone. In addition to being a chocolate confectioner, he is a hell of a chef and made some awesome breakfast burritos that the team gobbled up like it was the last food on earth.
If his chocolate is half as good as his breakfast that day, it must be amazing
We thought about pulling out my blender and putting the great looking food in it, but the park had no water source, so there was no way for me to clean the pitcher or my syringe afterward. I had a blend I brought from home in the team's cooler so I decided to save myself the hassle and just eat that.
"If only this was a breakfast burrito...or even a chocolate truffle"
So, the hike was over. In all, we raised more than $12,000 for Team Racing 4 Veterans and Crossfit Walter Reed to date (still time to donate!! I'm not quite at my goal!!!). I met a lot of awesome, awe-inspiring people. I know it was a tad hellish going through it, but as Jeff told me before the hike,
"it's the uncertainty that we embrace that keeps us alive." So this was Jeff' and I's way of telling radiation and MS to go suck it while we raised money for other veterans to get inspired to do the same.
Next year, I've been told that they'll be on a different, less rocky trail. Also, Mike Durant, the surviving helicopter pilot depicted in the movie Black Hawk Down is interested in joining us, so I'm pretty sure I'll be doing it all again.
