Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [82]
I know it seems dramatic, but it was like Mooch wanting to be smacked across the face to take his mind off his butt rash. When the hurt becomes too much to bear, sometimes the best way to work past it is with more pain. My feet screamed in agony, but they were just feet. By comparing them to realities that were far more serious, I was able to suck it up, stand up, and walk.
The rest of the day was wretched. My feet were killing me, and I have never been so depressed about the social injustices in the world. For five hours, I did nothing but focus on suffering.
When I arrived at an empty campsite that evening, I cleaned my feet and laid down in my tent to try and end the day as quickly as possible. However, as soon as I went horizontal, the pain that had been concentrated in my feet started to spread. It leaked into my legs and then filled my stomach with nausea, it permeated through my arms with stinging pricks, and then it seized my head in a throbbing migraine.
It hurt to open and shut my eyelids. I was entirely alone, and I was afraid something terrible was happening to me. I thought about trying to describe the overwhelming pain in my journal, in case someone came along later and found me unconscious, but the thought of moving to collect my pen and pad seemed torturous, so instead I remained rigid.
The pain never went away before I fell asleep. I just remember thinking I was experiencing a medical emergency, and then waking up the next morning and feeling fine.
My body had become totally unpredictable. After being seized with unbearable pain at the campsite, the next day I completed thirty miles with little discomfort.
Then the following day, I once again wanted to gnaw my ankles off.
It was a planned resupply day, and my goal soon became very clear: hike twenty-three miles to Port Clinton and seek immediate medical attention.
In general, I had a severe aversion to going to the doctor. However, at this point, the soles of my feet were infected, bleeding, and they reeked of sour putrescence. I was determined to find a doctor or emergency room before the day was over. I worried that if I didn’t, my ailing feet would force me to end my hike, and that thought was even more unbearable than the shredding sensation in my soles.
The path to Port Clinton was lined with rocks and every step felt like I was walking barefoot over hot coals. If I had been able to come up with any other means of effectively moving down the trail besides walking, I would have done it.
When I arrived at an overlook above Port Clinton, I honestly wondered what would happen if I just rolled my body down the remaining descent. Then, turning away, I gritted my teeth and descended, one flinch after another, into the valley.
The base of the mountain marked the start of the town—and also the end of the town. With one quick glance, I lost all hope of finding a doctor’s office or urgent care center. Like Duncannon, Port Clinton looked deserted. I didn’t see a traffic light, I didn’t see any businesses, and I didn’t see anyone walking down the sidewalk or driving down the street. It was an abandoned mountain town with litter-strewn railroad tracks running beside it. Port Clinton and Duncannon both seemed like they had once been thriving places of industry and trade, but as time passed, these places had been neglected and eventually left behind.
In despair, I plodded down the empty drag looking for a sign of life. When I passed a closed door with an old FIRE STATION sign on it, I thought my prayers had been answered. Surely someone here would have the knowledge and first aid supplies to assist me.
The door was locked, so I knocked loudly.
The hinges creaked, and through a small crack in the door the sound of loud eighties rock music escaped. I peered in the vertical opening and saw what looked like a small sports bar in the background.
Then the door opened more, and a tan, gaunt, dark-haired man stepped into the entrance. Before he could say anything to me, a gruff voice from the bar yelled, “It’s a girl! Let ’er in!”
The man looked