After the Adventure by Morgan Hite
“After the adventure I am expected to go home.
I arrive there, carefully carrying the thick, tattered web of bonds I had with my fellows, torn apart and divided up too hurriedly at the parting. All their ghosts are still with me, as they will be for days, and the lot of us barely fit through the door together. My family and friends look somehow wrong, as if they are being played by actors. I go to sit down, but old chairs do not feel the same with all my new parts, new muscles. I greet my old lover and silently wonder, alone, if this is the correct universe.
As I eat, I cannot help but compare the foods with what I ate there. As I cook, I cannot help but remember the equipment that I used there. Unconsciously I contrast the smell of night air here with that night air, the bed here with the places I slept there, and the person lying next to me with the person who lay next to me there. Night after night I wake up convinced that there are two or three people in bed with me. Waking in the dim hours of the morning I move freely back and forth between two worlds, unsure of where I really am.
I find myself thinking constantly of those I was with, but afraid of using the phone to contact them lest in this world they too should turn out to be played by actors. I know that they are thinking the same thing about me. I reread Tennyson’s Ulysses. That old fucker knew what he was talking about.
I remember: be kind to those who welcome you. They have been expecting my old self and are a little afraid that this is not the person who has arrived. Their world did not move in the short time that I have been gone forever. There was no rift in reality here; nothing occurred that did not already have a name. Their eyes do not see into the place from which I come. They will listen eagerly to my story, but then excuse themselves.
My time spent in the other place has resulted in a finely tuned competence that is still present, but goes unrevealed. My muscles are ready for the long days. My mind seeks the next step on the route. My voice stands by to speak truths and concerns. I efficiently note weather changes through the window and mentally inventory my gear, but my team is not there. Times of sunrise and sunset, temperature patterns, and amounts of food and fuel carefully remembered have become mere trivia. The name which, as Ulysses says, “I am become,” is not spoken in this place.
I weather the test of the cynics. They come out of the woodwork, some disguised as the people I once trusted most, like moths drawn to something invisible I now radiate. They eagerly share with me the adventures they once had; but they are not so interested in hearing my tale as in extinguishing my light, which drives them mad. I observe them carefully. They have rationalizations. They suggest I place my experiences in context. They say jolly but subtly seductive things such as, “Welcome back to the real world!” They do not accept dissent on my part. They use concepts such as “financial stability” and “settled down” as keys to try to open my doors. They act like they have a right to this access. But I have changed the locks ahead of time. I remember: never give up what has happened to you.
As hollow and lonely as my soul is, ultimately I have a choice to make. I have two options to ease the pain. The first is to actively forget. It was just an adventure. It wasn’t relevant. I may retire happily, as a cynic. There was no point in that new name.
The second is that bundle I carried in the door, the thick, tattered web of bonds with my fellows. It is not to be discarded it in a corner; it is to be used. Whenever the aloneness comes now, I write. Whenever I feel the insanity, I pick up a pen and put it down on paper for one of the others. I do not write to some person I am supposed to write. I just write the person I long to write. I write all day and all night, whenever the pain comes.
In doing this I begin to retrieve the story. I begin, in the days after the adventure, to cement the two worlds together. I enrich this place with the distilled essence of that place, drop by drop. The passage of time can work for me or against me: I must not drop the ball, and I must keep my name, so painstakingly discovered.
Listen! I know that something similar will happen to you someday, for in our wide world there are many goings home. We must hold on to our dreamings, all of us, now that we have earned the right to dream.”
My Adventure – October 4
My adventure with First Descents started on Sunday, October 4th as I rode with my boyfriend and his mom to the Sanford Airport in Orlando, from our apartment in Jacksonville. Two hours or so later I stepped through the airport doors, checked my bag with Allegiant and made my way through TSA. No shoes were removed, “I could have worn my boots I thought,” nothing had to be taken out of bags, right through we went. I found my gate, filled my water bottle at the water fountain, sat down. “I could really use some sugar” I thought. I had plenty of time until my flight began boarding so I found a store and milled for too long around the sugary candies, trying to find something inexpensive, with no gelatin, that wouldn’t be messy for the flight. “My elimination diet does not allow for candy…this is different.” Once at checkout I saw overpriced chapstick and realized I hadn’t packed any, so I bought a stick of Blistex too. It ended up being very appreciated (by me) later in the trip.
Group 5 was called and I waited in line to make it onto the flight. “An aisle seat, good.” “Why didn’t I pee before now?”
My flight landed at 1:44 pm. It was quick and I monitored the transportation group text that was now being actively texted. Five of us landed at about the same time. “I’m wearing leggings, a University of North Florida sweatshirt and Timberlands. My flight just landed and I’m heading to baggage claim,” I texted.
I waited and waited for my bag to appear at baggage claim 2. A woman walked my direction and I wondered if it was who had just texted. Once directly in front of me she spoke one word, “Jenny?” I responded, also in short, “Rosy?” And we hugged. Maybe there was a connection already being formed.
We found our driver and 3 other participants within the next 10 or so minutes. Once everyone had their bags we were off to find the van that we would ride in to the lodge, our home for the week ahead.
Discovering First Descents
“First Descents provides life-changing outdoor adventures for young adults impacted by cancer and other serious health conditions. Programs are open to any young adult diagnosed with cancer or MS between the age of (15-39), and currently between the age of (18-45).”
I met Kathleen the first day of my master’s program in 2022. We would eventually bond over so much more, but the first commonality we found was that the accommodations we’d applied for, that our doctors had written us letters for, had still not been approved by Student Accessibility Services as the single employee in charge of the matter was out with Covid. So, not thinking to discuss a work around with our professors, we did our best to make it through our first semester.
Kathleen was dealing with the cognitive and other side effects that come in life after having had cancer and cancer treatment. I won’t discuss her health in full here. I was dealing with Multiple Sclerosis. The cognitive difficulties we both experienced made our new master’s undertaking that much more difficult.
I learned that Kathleen had once been on an adventure with First Descents. She told me it was amazing and life changing. The final year of our 3 year, part time master’s program, she learned that they had opened the program for people with Multiple Sclerosis as well, “you have to apply” she said, and so I did. I got on the wait list that year, or maybe I wasn’t approved, I can’t quite remember.
This year I applied again. I had the choice of rock climbing, kayaking or white water rafting. I felt like the rock climbing would be the most empowering, for me personally that is. I filled out the forms, I sent the emails, I got my doctor to fill out a form, and this year, I was invited to join.
Ten other people from 32 to 44 years old, were also invited to join. Those 10 people as well as 2 leaders, 2 general volunteers, 2 chefs, 1 photographer, 1 medic, and 3 rock climbing experts became my family for this adventure.
The lodge, meals, activities, all funded by donations.
October 5 & 6
The climbing started day 1. Breakfast at 8 am, butts in seats at 9, at Horseshoe Canyon Ranch at 10.
Here we met Yellow, Tarzan and Snakebite, our rock climbing experts for the week. Yellow and Tarzan fitted us for equipment. We wrote our “names” on pieces of tape to claim our helmets. Snakebite gave us an orientation. We played a names with motions game to try to help everyone remember our new names.
Oh yeah, we each got nicknames. Its a First Descents thing started by the original multiple Brads who founded the nonprofit, it also helps a lot in remembering names, the nicknames that is. I still don’t remember some peoples real names – Postal, Rut Roh, Dirty, Chamomile, Bubbles, Echo, Hot Rod, Renn, Stripper, Sparkles, Crow, Dodger, Colors, Puck, Double Shot, Kee Lime, That Girl, Valence, Angel. I’ll let you guess mine (the pictures here will give you a hint).
This all sounds well and good but I was very hard on my self the first couple of days. I climbed two routes each day, that’s not including the hike up to the rock walls.
Day 1 my legs felt like jello. A feeling I’d never experienced. It scared me how unsteady I was walking.
Day 2, we stretched before climbing. Makes sense, but in the process my left hand and arm started to go numb. I climbed a harder route first, Kee Lime voluntold me to, and I felt maybe trying a harder one would be good as I wasn’t sure how long my arm would last me. It went well, or mostly so, but I’ve never has my whole left arm numb and tingly. Again I was worried what this meant fo the long run with MS.
October 7 & 8
Day 3 I knew I needed a mental reset. I wasn’t going to end the week hating my body. We climbed for half a day then went to swim in a creek.
That morning I “saved” my roommate Sparkles from a not-so-scary spider. I grabbed the long legged friend off her passenger side window and held it in my fist while I waited for the van to slow and stop. I got out and tried to relocated the not-so-little guy into the grass but he (her?) walked across my chest and into my hair instead. I grabbed him again, from my hair, and finally got him to scurry away into the grass.
Later, as Double Shot was climbing, he placed his hand on a ledge and underneath was a snake. Snakebit climbed up to grab the snake and identify it. It was nonvenomous, but he brought it down to the ground. I went over and asked if I could touch it. I ended up holding it instead and said I would take it away from our area. The snake was very angry, so I carried it in one hand as I walked deliberately, with my untied boots, down to a grassy area.
The water was cold at the creek and I wasn’t sure about fully submerging. I waded to a rock and sat on it, watching those I now knew in the water, and playing with my waterproof camera. Crow, who I noted in my journal on night one “bff?” yelled my name and asked why I wasn’t getting in. “It’s too cold, I’m jus a baby.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. My roommate, Sparkles was successfully avoiding the water however.
I carefully moved off my rock and made my way to the next. To get from that one to the next I would have to swim. “I guess it’s time.” And swim I did, making my way to the next large rock, then the next and the shore across the way. “What are you doing?” Crow asked. “I made it to the other side!” “Your hair still isn’t wet.” “Well, it’s too cold, give me a minute.”
I made my way over to the others by large rock and then a full swim, handing my camera to Crow as I neared because my brain still doesn’t fully believe that its as waterproof as it is.
Rut Roh then gathered us up. He asked that we find 2 rocks, 1 that we like and would want to keep and another that we don’t quite care for. After wandering and looking at rocks for a minute or so I ran into Hot Rod. “It’s hard to find a rock I don’t like.” “It’s just supposed to be one that doesn’t suit you.” “They all suit me, Hot Rod.” “That sounds like something an evil villain would say.”
We gathered again, 2 rocks in hand, and a bag of sharpies was passed around. Rut Roh asked that we all find our own spots away from each other and think of all the negative thoughts we have about ourselves. Write these thoughts on the rock that doesn’t suit you.
I sat by the water, my feet overlapping the shoreline, and I wrote “doubt,” “low self worth,” “your body still serves you.”
Your body still serves you. I needed to know that. I needed to believe that.
As I sat and considered, my name was called by Sparkles. “There’s a water moccasin!”
With that I got up and went to stand with her, thanking her for saving me.
Soon we regathered and it was time to throw our negative rocks into the water, and keep our positive rocks with us to remind us of our value.
Day 4 I climbed 3 routes, 1 more than I had any other day. I did well. I was bruised, I was bleeding, but I did it.
That night I shared at campfire my wins, how the spider and snake, and climbing on water based rocks had gotten me back in tough with my curiosity of childhood, and that no matter the limitations my innumerable amount of white matter lesions on my brain and neck provided me, I still have a body that serves me.
Homebound – October 9
The final morning we gathered out envelopes where others had written us love notes, our bracelets and keychains we had made, our smelly clothes stuffed into our overfilled bags, and we had our final chef prepared meal together. We had to be out of the lodge by 10:00 am, but left per fight schedule. Hugs good bye across the board and messages galore in our now Whatsapp group chat entitled “Sexy Tremors.” My flight wasn’t until 5:45 pm, Dodger wasn’t flying out until the next day, and Echo, Renn and Puck had late flights as well.
Hot Rod dropped us off at the airport and Dodger picked up her rental car. She then drove Puck and me to the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville Arkansas. We ate lunch on the premises and began our tour, with Echo and Renn joining us soon after.
We made it through maybe half of the museum and then it was time to scurry back to the airport. We ran into Dirty once there, a happy unexpected reunion, then off to my layover in Atlanta via Delta I flew. As soon as I landed I learned my next flight was delayed by an hour. That gave me more time to get to my gate at least, and buy some Combos for dinner…It was a long wait though. Especially after I’d been going to bed between 7:30 and 9 pm each night the previous week. Finally I boarded my next flight around 10 pm. And then in the air we were told we couldn’t land, this was a Florida hurricane weekend after all. Once on the ground, baggage claimed from baggage claim, I got to James’ truck around 1:00 am or so on the 10th. At least I still had people cheering me on from the Whatsapp group, and at least this flight was Jacksonville based, so rather than 2+ hours, the trip home from the airport was 40 minutes or so instead.
Home
I self injected my MS medication once home that night/morning. Whether it was the fatigue I always get from the medication, or the fatigue from 4 rock climbing days and using every muscle in my body, many of which I swear I’ve never used before, it took me a week to recover. I thought my muscle soreness was gone until lI reached up to put shampoo in my hair one morning.
There was laundry to do, work to return to, and the usual responsibilities waiting for me. My body was exhausted, but my mind was still somewhere in Arkansas.
I missed the people. The conversations, the laughter, the ridiculous nicknames, the shared meals. I missed having somewhere to be at 9 am with a group of people who were quickly becoming familiar. I missed knowing that whatever the day brought, we would be experiencing it together.
Something else about this experience was particularly meaningful to me. This was my first time really getting to know other people living with Multiple Sclerosis.
I’ve lived with MS for 5 years now, but until this trip, I hadn’t had the opportunity to spend time with others who understood what that meant from their own experiences.
There were little comments we’d make about our bodies, the strange things they do, the symptoms we experience, or the limitations we have to consider. Things that would ordinarily require an explanation, sometimes a lengthy one, were simply understood. We didn’t need to provide the backstory, explain what MS is, or justify why something that might seem insignificant to another person could be concerning to us.
Our experiences weren’t identical, of course. MS affects everyone differently. But there was a shared understanding that I hadn’t experienced before, and I hadn’t realized how nice it would be to have that. I could make an offhand comment about something my body was doing and simply continue the conversation. No explanation necessary.
And that was something special.
Our WhatsApp group has helped. There are photos, messages, and reminders that everyone else is still out there, returned to their own lives and presumably trying to make sense of the experience too.
I’ve thought quite a bit about the rock I threw into the creek that Wednesday.
“Doubt.” “Low self worth.” “Your body still serves you.”
The first two are things I’ve struggled with for a long time. The third was something I needed to remind myself of, something I had nearly forgotten during those first two days of climbing.
I didn’t leave Arkansas with a different body. I still have MS, and the numbness, fatigue, and physical limitations that concerned me during the trip haven’t magically disappeared. I don’t know what challenges I’ll face with my health in the future.
But I climbed. I swam in a cold creek, rescued a spider from a car and a snake from a climbing route, and made friends with people I hadn’t known existed a week earlier.
I was reminded of the curious little girl who loved exploring outside, picking up insects and animals, and seeing what she could discover. She’s still here too, apparently.
I’ve been thinking about Morgan Hite’s After the Adventure since returning home. Postal read it to us on our final night together. The poem describes something I hadn’t quite known how to articulate: the strange experience of returning to a life that has continued without you, while feeling that you’ve been somewhere entirely different.
The people I met are scattered across the country again. Our week together is over. I can’t simply walk into the common room and find them, or climb into the van knowing we’re all headed off somewhere together. But I have their messages, their photographs, their little handwritten notes, and memories I suspect I’ll be revisiting for a long time.
And I suppose writing this is one way of doing what Hite describes: finding a way to bring those two worlds together.
I don’t think I fully understood what Kathleen meant when she told me First Descents was life changing. I’m not sure I can adequately explain it to someone who wasn’t there either.
I do know that I’m glad I listened when she told me to apply.
And I’m glad that, despite all my doubts about what my body could manage, I went.
My #TsDailyOctShare Posts So Far.
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