Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?

 

Really dear Readers, how often do you want to hear that question in 24 hours?

Turns out life above 7,000’ (and attempting to hike in the 8-10,000’ range) does not work so well when you are taking blood thinners; it is a double-down on a lack of oxygen to your brain.  As Dr. Z told me, “Take it easy, you are trying to run a Ferrari on low-octane fuel.” 

Last summer, when I was unaware of my condition and trying to enjoy my No Expectations Tour, I had a difficult time wanting to hike, and that is not like me.  But every cell in my body just didn’t want to move, whether at altitude or not.  Now I know it was because my brain was trying to function on 30% of its blood flow and my body was trying to protect itself.  When I returned home, odd things were happening to me; experiences I was afraid were the onset of early dementia.  Like leaving the stove burners on, being unable to analyze financial data, play the piano, or tripping over a small rise in the concrete.

So now I know what to look for; you see, until my artery has attached itself to the pipeline stents, blood is still able to move around the stents and into the aneurysms.   A little is ok, too much causes me not to think straight and to witness the odd things happening again.  (In time, the artery will form a seal with the stents and no more blood will flow into the aneurysm causing the aneurysm to shrivel up and die.  At which point I can move off the blood thinners causing me to drink gin until I shrivel up and die.)  So, three nights ago, when I went to bed without washing my face or applying my delightful Yon-Ka cremes, and woke the next morning with a slight headache, I knew it was time to spend the day at lower elevations.  Kit without Yon-Ka is a very odd occurrence; I clearly needed more oxygen.

That morning I packed up the Noses and, leaving Beagle behind for the day, drove down to the Owen’s River Valley and just spent the day moseying from here to there checking things out.  As is usual in life, letting experiences come to me paid off immensely.

The Noses and I enjoyed lunch by Owen’s River (pictured above) watching the fly-fishermen.  There was not a sound in the air, the river, often without exposed rocks, soundlessly flowed through the valley; the fishermen intent on their peaceful task.  I knelt down to take the picture above, dropping Opus’ leash for a second when Splash!  Opus jumped into the water, chasing a bird.  He waded over to an island, climbed up and continued hunting.  I mouthed, “I’m so sorry” to the fisherman nearby who returned a good-natured shrug.  I whispered “Opus!”, “Come Bug!”  But, of course, nothing was getting him off the island until he was darn ready.

I sat on the grassy edge as the quiet fell around us again until Opus splashed his way back across. 

On the drive out from the valley I came across a community pool, closed at the moment, but open at odd hours for lap swimming.  The water looked clean and inviting, I made note of the hours.

Within a few miles of the lunch spot is Convict Lake and since I didn’t have to worry about parking Beagle, I decided to drive up and check it out.  It is a gorgeous lake with a lovely three-mile path around the shore.  Unfortunately, it was too hot to leave River in the car so we couldn’t walk it but I did notice the Trailer/RV Day Use Parking Area and decided, when I bring Beagle south, to stop in for a few hours and enjoy the lake hike.

I felt better down a few thousand feet but I had two nights left in Lee Vining so we drove back up to Beagle.

This being unable to spend my entire day hiking has actually been good for me; good for my healing brain and good for me to slow down, to focus on the moment, recognizing experiences that have surrounded me in this area for many years but that I have not noticed because I was so intent on hiking to That Lake.

Like the beautiful flowering sage brush.  A scraggly bush, scratchy and fierce, but blooms with the sweetest light pink flowers; the valleys are filled with it, the blossoms slowly blowing off in the wind.

And the deli at the Mobil station on Highway 120.  A famous spot that Alan and I stopped at a decade ago but were unimpressed.  I decided, since I had time yesterday, to give it another try.  The counter-person suggested the buffalo meatloaf.  Oh my, yes, that is totally worth it!  They served it with mashed potatoes, grilled broccoli and some au jus; I saved most of the meatloaf for a sandwich, carefully storing it in the back of Wurzig underneath my backpack, hopefully away from prying Noses.

Back at Beagle, it was laundry time so I set about getting that going as I headed to the campground shower.  It was shave day (have you been wondering when I was going to talk about shaving my legs again?) and this is much easier accomplished in a regular size shower.  While in there, it dawned on me that I left the Noses, together with the meatloaf, in Wurzig.  I began imagining them fighting to the death over something for which I would kill them both.  I rushed through my shower, cutting my legs multiple times.

And back to the blood thinners:  I bleed like no one’s business.  The tiniest scrape takes days and days to heal.  I hopped out of the shower with three bleeding cuts and no time to stop and apply paper to them—I had to save my meatloaf!  I dressed quickly, smearing blood as I pulled up my shorts, and hurried across the campground.

“Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?”, asked a fellow camper, noticing the trails of blood running down my legs; two on one side, one on the other.

“Yes, yes I do.”

The Noses were sound asleep, my meatloaf safe.

This morning, my last morning at Mono Vista, I took the Noses on our normal morning walk through the sage brush, across the road and over to the Mono Lake Visitor’s Center.  I enjoy sitting on their benches overlooking the lake in the early morning, alone.  But I was not alone this morning:  I was greeted by a fellow walker.

              “Good morning”, he said.

              “And good morning to you”, I replied.

              “Excuse me, but do you know your nose is bleeding?”

Sure enough!  I thought it was just runny as I seem to be allergic to the aforementioned gorgeous pink blossoms, but wiping it with a Kleenex I realized he was right.  A slow, constant trickle as I walked back to Beagle and prepared her for drive day.  Between my nose and my legs, I looked like a human sieve.

As planned, I stopped off at Convict Lake on my way south, this time with Beagle, parking in the Trailer Day Use Area.  It was cool enough to leave River in the car as Opus and I walked the lake loop trail and marveled at the snow-speckled mountains and crystal-clear blue water.  (None of my pictures do justice to this lake.)  What a beautiful (and easy) hike.   As I walked, I thought how lovely it would be to have this be my morning walk so, back at Beagle, I drove through the campground and found a spot. 

I walked over to pay for the night and filling out the registration form for the camp host I heard,

              “Excuse me, do you know your finger is bleeding?”

Sure enough, I must have cut my hand while unhitching Beagle, blood was dripping down my finger.  Again, as Dr. Z has said, “You have one hell of a high pain threshold.”  I never felt a thing.

It is almost 7:00 PM, I have just returned from swimming laps at the community pool, the Noses and I are tucked into Beagle, the wind is fierce and likely blowing in a rain storm.  There is absolutely no cell service here, I started to play some downloaded music but realized I would rather stare at the mountains and listen to the wind.

-K