Bonds Disappointment

Ok, so first to set the stage: Nancy and I had planned to do the Bonds Traverse on Monday, October 12. This would be our second time, having first done it in 2006 as part of our goal to climb the NH 48. This time, if we were successful, we would bag Dejah's 44th NH 48. The previous Thursday I had stood in Nancy's kitchen while we talked about the weather and what day we should go - Saturday or Sunday. I had a busy day scheduled for Monday at work and when Nancy suggested considering Monday as a hiking day because it had the potential for the best weather I put my mind to it. Once I let myself see the day as an option I could feel the imperative of going to work sloughing off like a second skin. I looked at my schedule - I could move this there, move that over there and miss that meeting. It was not easy to make some of those moves - the meeting times were hard won and important to me and to others. But I also knew I really needed this day off and this special hiking experience for myself. Once I decided, I decided and owned that decision. I felt great.

When we called Johnsons Motel and Cottages in Twin Mountain they were booked solid. Bummer. They kindly referred us to the Shakespeare Inn and upon calling them booked a room and we were set! Oh man, I was excited! Excited too about spending a two days at home doing whatever I wanted to do - two whole days. Wow, what a treat!

The first hint that something wasn't quite right happened on Friday. While at work I started to feel that heavy head and strange throat that is the usual precursor to a cold. No, no, it couldn't be. I ignored it, but somewhere in my consciousness I kept tabs on it, hoping it would just go away. The idea of coming down with a cold two days before our Bonds Traverse was just not acceptable. I debated even telling Nancy but in the end emailed her that I was going to lay low on Friday night and most of Saturday, just in case. Saturday afternoon rolled around and I felt fine - phew - ducked a big one.

Saturday was a beautiful fall day, cool and breezy, a perfect day to put the vegetable gardens to bed for the winter. This was special for me, spending time at home, because for the past three years I have made choices that have kept me away from home most weekends as Nancy and I worked toward meeting our goal of climbing the 67 4,000 footers in New England. They were my choices, made openly and freely - I was doing what I wanted to do. I loved every minute of it. No regrets. But here I was with a found weekend - two whole days at home with no agenda but my own. That felt huge to me. So I spent three hours pulling dead bean plants, wilted tomato plants, broccoli that had gone by, harvesting the rest of the potatoes, and pulling a ton of weeds. It felt great to be home, to be outside, to be working.

I didn't want to overdo it so packed it in around 3:30 and cleaned up. I lay down on my bed to read for an hour - what incredible luxury! Then when I got up and put weight on my right knee I felt that special nauseating pain I have felt before when I have tweaked my knee. This time it was my right one - sharp pain on the outside of my knee, sharp enough that I had to limp to walk. I first thought I could walk it off, but as the night wore on the pain deepened and by 11 pm I found myself sitting at my computer writing to Nancy because I couldn't sleep, couldn't find a position in bed where my knee didn't hurt. I took some more Ibuprophen and waited for it to take the edge off.

It's hard to describe how badly I felt - huge disappointment, a little guilty for working in the garden although I never felt anything painful while I was working and was maybe blaming the activity in error - it could have been a fluke, a wrong move, some little piece of cartilage or meniscus that had shifted and was now being pinched. When I had fully tasted the many flavors of my disappointment, my next thought was how to tell Nancy. I knew she was psyched for this hike - so was I - I tried to imagine what I would feel like if the situation were reversed - I would have been disappointed, probably furiously angry at her if I gave my 10-year old full rein, and then I would have rescheduled my meetings and let my staff know I was coming in to work on Monday. But being the one who was injured or sick or unable to go was killing me. I couldn't believe it was happening and when I would try and walk I would remember very clearly - this was real. For a while I thought about waiting, not telling Nancy, and seeing if it would get better and be ok by Monday. That felt totally unfair to Nancy and to me - what if it didn't feel better and I tried to hike on it and my knee got trashed? What if we woke up at 3 am on Monday morning and I couldn't go? Unacceptable thoughts - but they were strong and tugging at me because I wanted to go so badly.

I suppose I could have chalked it up to the grace wave - that this was meant to be, that there was an opportunity for growth in this or a sparkling lesson I could learn that would in the end make me a more honest, compassionate human being, moving further and further away from my patterns of self-cruelty. Those thoughts were hard to entertain - they slipped in and out of my heart. I was so disappointed and as I sat at my computer I told Nancy what had happened and that I wouldn't be able to hike. Hitting the send button for that email felt like a splinter sliding into the soft flesh of my palm.

Sunday morning the knee was marginally better but I couldn't walk without limping so I finally gave up the hope of making this hike happen for me. I emailed and Nancy and said it was no go. I felt so sorry for myself that I hated being inside my skin - I hate feeling like a victim and there I was in tears because I had hurt my knee and couldn't hike. The tears were for more than just not hiking - the tears were echoes of the experience I had last January when I hurt my Achilles tendon and it took until May to finally heal. What if this was another one of those injuries? What if I needed surgery? I couldn't think about it, but I know I felt the fear in my heart.

Nancy's response was hard to read - she was angry and she knew her anger was unfair, but she felt she needed to express it. I was already on the edge of being furious with myself and instead of falling deeper into that pit I felt some anger toward her. How can you be angry about something that was an accident, an injury caused by a misstep? I wasn't out there trying to hurt myself while I was pulling weeds. I felt bad enough and it was good to kindle a little bit of anger - I felt less of a victim. Her email expressed her disappointment and her compassion for mine. I could barely let that in.

Later in the day she mentioned hiking anyway. At first it was like an electric shock and then I thought what a great thing for her to do, get out there on her own and hike, take charge and not let this get in the way of doing what she wanted to do. But I still felt very sad and disappointed. I have a thing about being left behind. I despise it. I get injured or fall ill and I can't do something and it makes me absolutely crazy. I hate myself, I hate the world, and I hate everyone in it. I feel like everyone is moving on and I will never catch up. I know that's a trauma pattern of mine - I see it - I just couldn't make the choice to change it. I could barely see the choice anyway - it would flit in and out in an instant - mostly I sat in the sludge of being left behind and that sucked.

I didn't sit passively though - I reached out to my family for support and connected with my mom, my sister Susan, and my brother Patrick. That felt great - they all understood my disappointment and my fear that this could potentially be a long term injury. They know how important hiking is for me. I haven't turned to my family for comfort in a long time - and they were right there for me.

By the end of the day I was tired of ignoring how badly I felt about Nancy hiking without me. In March of 2008 I did a winter hike with a friend while Nancy was visiting her daughter in Florida. We climbed Passaconaway - a 4,000 footer that didn't count for any of my lists, but it was a wonderful experience in that it gave me a chance to hike with someone else and to know and feel the closeness of my friendship with Nancy on an even deeper level. When I finally wrote to Nancy that evening, I realized she had said nothing to me about her plans - where she was climbing, how she felt about it, nothing. I asked if she'd at least tell me where she was going and she replied that she was going to climb Garfield, maybe Galehead too if she felt strong.

Wow, so here's my hiking buddy and best friend going to go climb a 4,000 footer that actually counts towards Dejah's list and she's going without me. She's going without me and she's not sharing anything about how she feels about her first major solo hike. I felt shut out, cut off, and angry. I have invested a lot of time and love in hiking with Nancy with the goal of getting the 48 for Dejah - it is my goal too - and now of all the mountains that we have climbed that counted towards our goal of the 48 or the 67 or the 100 Highest or the 48 for Dejah there would be at least one that I didn't experience as well. I thought, Grow up, Pat - it's a mountain, not a big deal. You're not going to die. But it was a big deal. And as soon as she hit that summit our hiking world would be changed forever. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but if you have followed our journey you know how these three years have changed my life. Even though it feels like a small thing as I write about it now it felt huge in the moment. Bitter disappointment with a dash of anger and the end of a cycle made for a made for a lousy brew.

I thought about her on Monday, wondering where she was, not knowing what time she was going to leave, whether she'd eat at the Tilt'n Diner, how she was feeling - knowing nothing beyond her intent to climb Garfield and maybe Galehead too. My knee had improved so dramatically that I had to forcibly push the thought of maybe I could have hiked today out of my mind. My work day dragged on with pristine blue skies and crisp temperatures. It was agony to sit through meetings where it was hard to engage. And then evening came and I wondered where she was - was she ok, had she accomplished her goal, how did she feel. One of her rituals when she reaches the parking lot after a hike is calling her husband, Don - Hi, we're down, we're safe, and we're headed home. I hoped to be the recipient of that call this time, but the phone was silent and I went to bed not having heard from her.

Tuesday morning I was greeted by an email that she had written the night before - I'm home - I climbed Galehead and Garfield - I'm tired. I'm glad your knee is better. I let myself fall into the black pit of anger, self-recrimination, and self pity. I could see it happening and was helpless to stop the slide down. One friend stood by me all day while I struggled to pull myself out of the muck - and the gift she gave me by saying that she understood, that she got what I was talking about, and that she cared about me was a blessing and I received it as best I could.

That evening I met with Nancy and we talked. I told her all the crap I had been feeling, the anger and disappointment and the huge sadness of not being with her on a climb that counted. She hadn't realized how I would feel - she thought that talking about it, sharing her plans and feelings with me, would be harder for me. I understand that, but it was oh so not true in this situation. I felt like she had closed the door in my face, and there was no key. Talking helped a lot - it reopened the door. I told her how I felt without judging myself for being a whiner or a cry baby or a martyr.

And having Nancy tell me that she didn't know how her choice might have affected me was a healing balm. The split I felt between us came together again and a different perspective of the whole experience came over me. I hadn't realized how important hiking has become for me, how much time and energy and heart I have put into hiking, meeting our goals, staying fit, and how important the friendship is that has grown and deepened between us as a result of sharing all this. Take something like that away and yes you are bound the feel the exquisite knowing of its importance, an importance I sometimes took for granted or as part of my routine life. But it's not routine - it's big - it has changed me, healed me, and I like the me I am when I hike. Hurting my knee on the eve of a really important hiking adventure blew me out of the water. Telling someone how important hiking has been and continues to be for me and how important my friendship with Nancy is settled everything back into place. I stopped feeling like a tyrannical 10-year old and eased back into my 54-year old self with a sigh of relief.

I am so proud of Nancy. It would have been a difficult decision for me to hike had she injured herself. I probably would have folded and gone to work. And Nancy didn't fold - what a wonderful exhibit of behavior that empowers instead of demeans or disrespects. Of course she should hike. Of course she should climb two mountains. Of course she and Dejah should bag #41 and #42. And of course there's more...