Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [130]
“Look, Vladimir,” Dr. Keatinge said sternly, “her temperature is dropping. It could affect her heart. We’ve got to move her immediately. Can you walk, Lynne?”
I couldn’t flex or grip with my feet. I had no idea how I was going to walk barefoot across the rocks and ice sheet. But two Siberian women emerged from the crowd and presented me with a pair of sealskin slippers with brightly colored red and blue beads on the top of the slippers, and fur surrounding the rest of them. Vladimir explained that the Inuit people who lived on the Siberian mainland, in the Chukhoka’s Luorovetlian region, had made the slippers. They’d chewed the sealskin with their teeth to soften it, then hand-stitched the skin together. With the help of the two women, I slipped them on. They fit perfectly. How had they ever known my size?
Stumbling and sliding across the rocks toward the tent, I walked with my arms outstretched for balance. The distance to the tent was only two hundred yards, but it felt like half a mile. When we finally arrived at the tent, there was a cot with a heavy sleeping bag, extra blankets, and hot coffee. Standing at the tent entrance, holding a blanket for me, was a woman with dark reddish-brown hair.
Everything we had requested by telex was in the tent except for the “babushka,” the colorful shawl. My body was shaking like a blender turned up on high. My hands were lifeless clubs. I pulled the coiled wire out of the bottom of my swimsuit and extended it to Dr. Nyboer so he could plug it into the monitor to measure my core temperature. Vladimir entered the tent and explained that the woman with the reddish hair was a Russian doctor. She had been sent specially to take care of me. And she was beside herself. She could see how cold I was, and she was worried. Using hand gestures, she told me to take off my wet swimsuit before I climbed into the sleeping bag. It was one thing to be naked in front of her, but another to do so in front of the two men on my team. I pretended not to understand and tried to climb into the sleeping bag. She wouldn’t let me get away with it. Finally she got it, and waved Dr. Nyboer and Dr. Keatinge out.
Quickly the Russian doctor placed hot packs at key sites: under the back of my neck, in my armpits, and in my groin area. She felt my cheeks with her hot hands. I just wanted her to keep her hands on my face. They felt so good, and I couldn’t imagine how my face felt to her. She leaned on top of the sleeping bag, giving me the warmth of her body. It was so strange; I felt like her daughter, the way she was fussing over me. My breathing was very rapid as I shivered, laboring to generate heat.
Dr. Nyboer stepped back into the tent. “What was my time for the swim?” I asked. My teeth were chattering.
“Two hours and six minutes,” Dr. Nyboer said and he checked the monitor. “Her temperature is down to ninety-four, but I can see it’s beginning to climb back up.”
Dr. Keatinge was right there beside him and suddenly I felt like their patient. It was a weird change; I’d been the team leader for so long. Dr. Keatinge reached down, took one of my arms between his hands, and slid his hands down to my hand. The warmth of his hands felt so good, I didn’t want him to let go. “Her skin is still very cold. It’s probably about forty degrees.”
They set the cardiac defibrillator on the table. When the Russian doctor saw it, she bolted out of her chair and shook her head vigorously. She clearly thought they were going to use it, and she quickly moved between them and me. She gave them a look that said, You’d better not touch her.
Dr. Keatinge tried to explain that it was there just as a precaution. He asked Dr. Nyboer to check my heart.
Dr. Nyboer opened his black bag, threw the top of the sleeping bag back so my entire chest was exposed to the thirty-degree air, and put the icy stethoscope on my chest, which was suddenly covered with goose bumps.
“Sounds strong and even. You doing okay?” Dr. Nyboer asked.
I