Acute Mountain Sickness

24 half-inch spikes attached to the bottoms of my boots bite the ice under my feet. I can barely feel the ice axe in one numb heavily gloved hand, while the trekking pole in the other hand and my 5 layers are my only weapons against the wind. I’m standing on an almost-perfect 30-degree angle of tightly packed snow. Below me are 17,200 feet of boulders, rock, ice, snow, sand and clouds. In the east, the sun is rising, causing the clouds below me and the snow that surrounds me to glow a sublime white. In front of me stands the glaciated summit of the dormant volcano, Pico De Orizaba in Mexico -- less than 1,300 feet above me. The third highest point in North America, looks so close. We’re not going to make it.

My friend has just come down with a case of Acute Mountain Sickness, or AMS.He stops climbing and begins chipping away at the hard snow at his feet using his ice axe. Then he sits down in the seat he’s created. With his ice axe and trekking pole, he stabilizes himself in that position while I hurriedly climb up a couple hundred feet to catch up with my other climbing mates; KG and CJ who are far more experienced ice climbers than I am.

When we get back to my sick friend, we assess the situation. He says that he feels dizzy and I can tell that he is disoriented. His lack of stable footing indicates that he is somewhat light-headed and he says he’s starting to get a headache. He needs to descend immediately.

While it may not look that serious on the surface, AMS bears some heavy risks. If one who acquires AMS and does not descend to a lower altitude, it may escalate to Pulmonary Edema, where fluid collects in the lungs, or Cerebral Edema -- swelling of the brain. Both of these, if untreated, will result in death. Someone with AMS also runs a risk of falling down due to disorientation and dizziness – and it’s a long way down. If my friend slipped at this stage, he would slide about 1,200 feet on ice-like snow to a hard and rocky grave at the foot of the glacier.

So we turn around, tie ourselves to our friend with a rope, “just in case,” and slowly begin to make our way down.

As we descend, I can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. At 17,200 feet, this is the highest altitude I have ever reached and we are so close to the peak but some things are more important than reaching the top. They tell me, “There’s a reason it’s called ‘climbing’ and not ‘summiting.’” And the mountain isn’t going anywhere.