Hypos at Height:
Dealing with the physical and mental affects of Diabetes in the Alps
When we finally made it to the col, the wind hit me like an unexpected slap in my drained and demoralised face. I was beaten by this mountain; and all of those heroic stories of survival in conditions worse than this seemed completely laughable to me at this point. I remember thinking that, like a cat stuck up a tree, I had climbed too far up and would never get back to the world from which I had begun this trip by trying to escape. I had been beaten by my Diabetes and everything I had been told, about it not holding me back was, to me at this point, a complete lie. I almost felt like wanting to die up there, until I stopped my mind’s flow and began to yell at myself for allowing it to think that much.
It was at this point that Mhairi, my then girlfriend and one of the two climbing partners I was on the mountain with, had to help me put on my insulating smock jacket. I had been trying to put it on, but failing before it even got over my head after the warm sheltered climb in the gully below had opened out into a howling, wild col where the wind seemed to catch and swirl. This, more than anywhere else I had ever had one, was not a good place to have a hypo (Hypoglycaemia is caused by a lack of blood sugar).
This was day 20 of a 26 day climbing adventure in the Alpine regions of Arolla and Chamonix on a shoestring budget in June 2007, with Mhairi Martin, Andrew Gardner and, for a short while, Emma Wiik. These were friends and climbing partners from Dundee University Rucksack Club, and were also all soon to be my house mates, so luckily they all knew at least a little bit about my Diabetes, especially Mhairi. But what was happening here in a little col on the impressive Aiguille d’Argentiere had a big affect on me and was a lot more serious than other ‘serious’ hypos I had suffered since I was diagnosed with type 1 Diabetes Mellitus (insulin dependent) at the ripe old age of 10 months old. In a way, it may even affect me for the rest of my life as this was the first tangible event that made me question whether diabetes was actually more of a disability than I had ever allowed myself to believe. Until now I had always seen it as just a slight drawback.
The way up to the col had been just as bad, an awe-inspiring face of snow covered rock that stretched up at an angle of about 50 degrees for almost 200 metres where I had begun the hypo, almost risking the lives of those climbing below as well as Mhairi’s, Andrew’s and my own in the process… After a life of trying to avoid these events and analysing each and every hypo, I was left wondering what the hell I’d done so wrong to end up in this state… The climbing itself wasn’t even that hard!
My worries about my Diabetes on the trip has lead, both before and after the event, to some interesting conversations and e-mails with Doctors, Nurses and other experts such as Will Cross, a Diabetic Mountaineer who has summated Everest. However, it turned out that, for all these people know their stuff, no-one really had a clue about what I should expect, or even do to avoid mishaps. This didn’t worry me too much as I’ve never really followed an exact model in terms of what I’ve been told at the clinic compared to what actually happens in reality, but it did prove just how little research has been done into Diabetic reactions in extreme environments, or even just in sport altogether – something I know that organisations like www.runsweet.com [1] are attempting to put right.
This disappointing lack of information also brought to mind a thought that I have almost always held, especially during the difficult period at around the age of 11-16 when it becomes really important to stay healthy as a Diabetic. That is that Diabetic youngsters have a severe lack of role models or heroes to look up to. OK, so we can have other heroes, but ones that have to inject insulin and eat in order to avoid more than just tiring at the end of a hard sporting activity would have really helped when I was growing up. This made it difficult to be psyched about going out and trying new sports. When I first broached the subject of mountaineering with my Doctors all I got was minimal encouragement and many raised eyebrows… A bit off-putting to say the least!
Almost from the start of the trip, the Alps had dealt me a hard experience of steep faced learning curves and crevasses full of doubt. Even after the lack of positive information, I still felt like I knew what to expect and could handle it, but after an overnight acclimatisation bivouac at a Shepherd’s hut at Plans de Bertol (c.2665m) near Arolla in Switzerland I had to really consider what I thought I knew.
We had begun the trip by planning some quick and easy warm up climbs and mountain summits before moving to Chamonix and climbing some of the classic peaks, hoping to finish with Mont Blanc. After finding that one night at a reasonably low altitude followed by a gentle walk created a scary hypo, I wasn’t so sure any of this would be at all possible. This particular hypo began when Andrew and Emma, who had been in Arolla for a while before Mhairi and I arrived, asked if we wanted to come on a two-day trip to the Dix hut below Mont Blanc de Cheilon. We said we’d think about it and within minutes I was in tears (not a usual thing) and was utterly convinced that they were trying to kill me. Needless to say, we declined the offer.
This was the first of what seemed like many strange hypos with little, or no reason for happening except the altitude. The worst ones were at bivouacs where early starts were common and often involved Mhairi having to force-feed me until I was aware enough to force-feed myself. All this before any climbing could even begin. But for all these things were bad, I also knew that it was an ideal time to experiment and to try and find a way to stop these things happening.
Over the time leading up to our Aiguille d’Argentiere climb, and indeed after it too, we did a lot of climbing and mountaineering which will stand in my memory as some of the best climbing days of my life. Probably even more so because of the feeling that I got, when standing on the summit of La Cassorte (3301m) and especially when standing at the summit of Pigne d’Arolla (3796m) or at the top of the magnificent Aiguillette d’Argentiere, of having beaten my Diabetic demons. That sense of achievement was the same as the one which drives most people to climb mountains, the feeling that for one insignificant moment, you feel like you conquered not only the route, but yourself and your own mental and physical barriers too.
Back in the col, it must have only been 2 or 3 minutes of being sat, but in that time, and following on from the hypo in the gully in which I had thankfully received assistance from a much fitter British climber carrying ‘Go-Gel’, my entire view on Alpine mountaineering, climbing, walking and any other outdoor sport had changed – I had gone from being aware that they were dangerous to knowing and realising that they were dangerous. But the funny thing was that the most dangerous part of this whole event was the potential that I might give up climbing altogether.
After scuttling up to the summit of Aiguille d’Argentiere (3907m) we faced a down-climb of the steep gully on melting snow. The down-climb, which I had feared whilst sitting on a cornice at the summit, seemed to cement the idea that the danger was in giving up rather than in the climbing itself. It was here that we witnessed three local climbers become entangled in their rope and slide, crampons, axes and all, into a heap in the avalanche debris at the bottom of the 200m slope. It was a scary thing to watch, but when we found that they were OK, it gave me satisfaction that it isn’t just Diabetes that creates dangers, in fact it probably makes me more aware of the other dangers that can trip you up unexpectedly. Once at the bottom, the realisation of such a life-changing experience was just beginning to dawn on me, but the satisfaction of successfully climbing such a beautiful mountain was immediate.
The things I learnt about my Diabetes control in the Alps had a lot to do with mountains, altitude and extreme environments, there is no escaping that. But, perhaps more importantly, I realised that in whatever I do as a Diabetic, the most important thing is to get out there, try something different and make mistakes. If this is done, then I can go back and adapt or change aspects of my control to achieve something better. It’s quite handy that whilst doing this, I can also have a lot of fun finding out where my limits are. The wonderful thing about this, of course, is that this is no different to what we should all be doing as climbers – stretching ourselves and finding our limits whilst doing everything within our power to minimize the risks, whilst not letting the fear of them take control of the situation.