Dear Steven;
Happy post Valentine’s Day! I’m sorry I have not written in awhile.
Dad and I “celebrated” Valentine’s Day in Copper Mountain, CO. Dad was out there skiing earlier in the week. Even though (as you and the world knows*) I do not ski, I could not stand the thought of not spending Valentine’s Day with your father and thought it would be so very romantic to meet him for the weekend.
Let me tell you a little about altitude sickness…
According to Wikipedia, also known as acute mountain sickness (AMS), altitude illness, hypobaropathy, "the altitude bends", or soroche—is a pathological effect of high altitude on humans, caused by acute exposure to low partial pressure of oxygen at high altitude. It commonly occurs above 2,400 m (8,000 ft). Frisco, where we stayed is 2,766 m (9,075 ft) above sea level. Although, it must have been at least 5,000 m everywhere that I stood according to how I felt.
It is caused by reduced amount of oxygen available and dehydration due to the higher rate of water vapor lost from the lungs at higher altitudes. People have different susceptibilities to altitude sickness; for some otherwise healthy people, acute altitude sickness can begin to appear at around 2000 meters (6,500 ft) above sea level.
- Lack of appetite, nausea, or vomiting
- Fatigue or weakness
- Dizziness or lightheadedness
- Insomnia
- Headaches
- Shortness of breath upon exertion
- Nosebleed
- Persistent rapid pulse
- Drowsiness
- Excessive flatulation
- General malaise
- Peripheral edema (swelling of hands, feet, and face)
I had 9 of the possible 12 symptoms. Acute mountain sickness can progress to high altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) or high altitude cerebral edema (HACE), which are potentially fatal… or it just makes you wish you were dead.
As I lay there on my deathbed in the quaint Hotel Frisco, I urged your father to go on without me. “Just pretend that I am not here. Let me die, knowing that I have had a good life with you.”
Gently, Dad kisses me, and I whisper to him, “Don’t kiss me, I may throw up.”
Dad spent the weekend serving me soup and toast that I did not eat, listening to me have repeated conversations with porcelain fixtures and allowing me to wallow in self-pity and lamentations worthy of Job himself.
This must be what “worse” in “For better or for worse” means because it surely couldn't get much worse than this.
One would think I should have learned by now, that I AM the “delicate hot-house orchid” that Dad calls me, and to stay within 100-m elevations. And that I should never visit Colorado again. *Remember http://dear-steven.blogspot.com/2010_03_01_archive.html.
This was not the Valentine’s weekend that I had planned. But I received more love and tender care in this one weekend than many receive in their lifetimes. And Valentine’s Day is all about love, is it not?
I love you, Steven. And I love your father. Very much.
Love,
Mom
