Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [52]
Dave and some other people dragged me from the boat, loaded me onto a stretcher and then into an ambulance that he later said looked like a milk truck. As we sped to the hospital I faded in and out of consciousness. It was hot outside, but I was so cold, I was shaking hard.
Sirens blared as we raced through Cairo’s streets, and Dave held on to me so I wouldn’t flip over in the back of the ambulance. I pressed my fists into my stomach to block the cramping, clenched my jaw so I wouldn’t scream, and squeezed my eyes shut. Somehow I pushed my mind away, detached myself, found comfort in the gray space, the netherworld between consciousness and unconsciousness. I wanted to remain there—not think, not feel, not know anything.
“Is she allergic to any medication?” The doctor was speaking to Dave.
“No, nothing,” he said.
“When did she last eat?”
“Ten days ago.”
“Ten days?”
“She’s had dysentery for that time. She’s had some apple and some orange juice.”
“Is she taking medication for it?”
“Yes, but she only started yesterday.” Dave’s voice sounded small and scared. I was sorry to put him through this, sorry I had not finished, and sorry I failed. I wanted to tell him I would be okay, but I didn’t think I would ever be okay again. I couldn’t control my body or my emotions.
“We’re going to give her some muscle relaxers, some glucose and electrolytes, and see how she does with that. Then we will start her on some medication for the gastrointestinal infection,” the doctor said, adding something in Arabic for the emergency team.
Someone stuck a needle into my vein, and I slid blissfully away into the gray space. Time passed, I don’t know how much, but after a while I heard Rick Field talking to Dave: “The doctor gave her three injections for the abdominal cramps and a strong sedative. He’s replacing her fluids now. She’s lucky he used new needles. They usually have to reuse old ones.”
The doctor said, “She was dangerously dehydrated and her heart rate was over two hundred. She was hypothermic from her condition. The electric blanket is helping her get back to a normal temperature. She seems to be relaxing now, but we will keep her overnight for observation.” He patted me gently on the cheek.
“Thank you very much,” I said to him, and saw him smile. Then I turned to Dave and asked, “How far did I swim?”
“A little more than fifteen miles,” he said.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I hated not finishing.
The doctor leaned over the table, touched me on the cheek again, and wiped away the tears. “What did she say?”
Rick told him, and with utter exasperation the doctor said, “Doesn’t she realize she was in a life-threatening situation? Doesn’t she realize she went too far, way too far?” He shook his head with disbelief.
While we were in the hospital, Monir finished the Nile race. For the last five miles he held the Syrian swimmer off, and he won. The crowd carried him around the finish line on their shoulders. They were jubilant: the hometown favorite, the captain of the Egyptian team, had won. He was very happy, but when he discovered that I was in the hospital, he jumped into a cab, still in his wet swimsuit, to find me. But I had convinced the doctor to release me from the hospital and was back at the hotel resting.
I saw Monir the next evening at a celebration dinner. He was talking with his teammates, and when he saw me, he immediately excused himself. He said he was glad to see me and had been afraid that I wouldn’t come to the party. He invited me to have dinner with him at a table with a group of men who were in their late seventies and eighties. It seemed strange to me that Monir chose to sit with them rather than the younger swimmers, but it was his way of paying homage to the older men, because he had learned from them, and by winning the Nile race he had joined their ranks. Monir had asked me to join him there because he knew they would welcome me too, for my swims across the English Channel.
I discovered the other reason why Monir had selected this particular table: here, we could talk without being overheard, and