Days 109-113: When Things Go Wrong

Day 109. July 30th: Graymoor to Clarence Fahrenstock State Park – 14 miles

Day 110. July 31st: State park to Morgan Stewart Shelter – 14 miles

The good weather continues through the last couple days of July, and New York has become one of my favorite states on the trail so far. Nonetheless, despite the innocuous elevation profile in AWOL, the surprisingly difficult terrain has reduced our daily mileage, adding some time pressure. Rob, Ash, and Greg are getting off trail in Great Barrington, Massachusetts to travel home for a friend’s wedding. Rob and Ash will return (sans Greg) after five or six days, but it is unlikely that Etienne and I will see them again after that, because Etienne has to go back to work in October, so we can’t exactly wait around for them to catch up again. But we do our best to ignore the upcoming goodbyes and enjoy New York’s scenic lakes, frequent roadside delis, and quirky shelters.

A startling sight at RPH Shelter near Stormville, NY

On July 31st, we sleep at Morgan Stewart Shelter. That evening, for the first time in hundreds of miles, we build a campfire and huddle around it, hoping the smoke will ward off the mosquitoes. I chat with a woman named Trish, who is section-hiking with her chocolate lab Toby. Toby is sweet and mellow, and he sleeps in an adorable dog sleeping bag in an adorable mini hammock that hangs below Trish’s. Did I mention that Toby is adorable?

That night I use the privy a few times before bed, because I notice that as soon as I relieve myself, I feel the impulse to go again just a few minutes later. Huh. Weird.

Day 111. August 1st: Morgan Stewart to NY 55 Trailhead – 3 miles

I wake up at 4am with stabbing pain in my abdomen. A visit to the privy offers no relief. I’m no stranger to debilitating cramps, and this pain is similar, but the timing is wrong. My first aid kit is hanging in a tree with my food, so I curl back up in my sleeping bag and hope to sleep until morning, when I’ll take some ibuprofen with breakfast and hopefully be fine.

But the pain intensifies over the next two hours. It’s now beyond all but the worst period cramps I’ve ever experienced, which is saying something, because my cramps sometimes literally cause me to faint. But this is different. Instead of ebbing and flowing like contractions, it is a sustained discomfort. I start to worry that I have appendicitis. By now, the pain has expanded from my lower abdomen to encompass my entire torso, front and back, from the bottom of rib cage down to my hips. At 6am, I text my mom, an RN. Thankfully, I have enough service that once she responds that she is awake, I can dial her number and the call connects.

She listens to my symptoms, instructs me to poke around in my appendix region, and rules out appendicitis. Instead, she has two theories: gall bladder issues, which would make sense with my fat-laden thru-hiker diet, or a kidney infection. She seems suspect the gall bladder is the more likely culprit but asks if I’ve had any symptoms of a UTI.

I’ve never had a UTI before, and I tell her that I haven’t had any burning sensation while peeing, which is the only symptom I’ve ever heard of associated with UTIs. But then I think back over the last few days. What if the weird urgency when I removed my pack to urinate was not Pavlovian conditioning, but a symptom? When I tell her about these small changes in my bathroom habits, she suddenly grows more serious.

“You need to get to a doctor,” she says. “If it was a UTI that has already reached your kidneys, this could be dangerous.”

For the first time, I’m afraid. Not for my own safety, but of the implications of damage to my kidneys. My dad has chronic kidney disease and will need a transplant in 2019, and I am the only person in our family who shares his blood type. He still insists he wants to wait on the list for a deceased donor, but that could take 5-7 years. My plan for after the trail is to talk him into the obvious solution of accepting one of mine. I can’t let anything happen to my kidneys.

Luckily, we’re only few miles from a road crossing, and there’s an Urgent Care in a town twenty minutes away. Once I explain the situation to my friends, Etienne agrees to come with me to the doctor. Ash, Rob, and Greg need to make miles. We pack up. I’m in intense pain, but mom has warned me not to take any NSAIDs, as these can disrupt kidney function even more. I lift my pack onto my shoulders, take a few steps, and stagger. Trying to buckle the hip belt is excruciating.

In moments, Etienne, Ash, Rob, and Greg have divvied up my belongings until I’m carrying an empty backpack, light enough to render the hip belt unnecessary. I was on the verge of tears from the pain, and now I almost cry from gratitude. Close together, we hike to the road and summon an Uber when we get there. My friends return my gear to my pack, and we hug and say goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see them again.

In the waiting room at the Urgent Care, I start to feel slightly better, to the point where I wonder if I’ve been overreacting. Then the nurse calls me back, takes lab samples, and I wait in an exam room for 45 minutes for the doctor to come in. I explain my hike, my symptoms, and my mom’s presumptive diagnosis.

“Well, she was right,” the doctor says. “Your urine sample was positive for an infection. Here, does this hurt?” She places a fist against my side and then smacks it lightly with the palm of her other hand. I gasp. It hurts like she’s stabbed me with a knife. She notes my reaction and frowns. “Definitely a kidney infection,” she confirms. “I’m writing you a prescription for an antibiotic. Fill it now and start it right away. You should start to feel better by tomorrow. If you don’t, or if you start throwing up or run a fever, go to the ER. That would mean you are septic, and that is a 911 emergency.”

I am relieved at the simple treatment plan but intimidated by the gravity of her warning. Not for the first time that day, I am thankful that this is happening here in New York, and not the middle of the Hundred Mile Wilderness in Maine.

Etienne carries my pack as we leave the office, fill the prescription at a pharmacy next door, then eat lunch in a McDonald’s while we figure out our next move. We end up taking another Uber to a nearby motel in Connecticut, and since it has started raining, Rob, Ash, and Greg hitchhike to meet us there from a road crossing 8 miles farther up the trail. We squeeze into a double room and enjoy another unexpected day together, but I spend most of the afternoon in the fetal position on the bed. My pain has now localized to my back-left side, and it radiates outward from there. Please start working, I beg the antibiotics. An urgent care bill is bad enough. An ER visit might be expensive enough to force me off the trail, even if the illness didn’t.

Around eight hours after my first dose of the antibiotic, the pain begins to recede. I am flooded with relief and exhaustion. Outside, the rain pours, and I finally relax. I fall asleep warm and dry, surrounded by my little tramily, amazed at how these people who I’ve known for just three months came together to take care of me today.*

Day 112. August 2nd: NY 55 to Tony’s Deli – 8 miles

The next morning, we hug each other goodbye once again and order different ride shares to our respective locations on the trail. Etienne and I take a Lyft back to the nameless gravel pulloff where we left for the Urgent Care yesterday. The reversal in my condition in just 24 hours is mind-blowing. My stomach is a little unsettled from the antibiotics, but yesterday’s agonizing pain is completely gone. We start walking, and I realize that despite the ordeal, we weren’t even forced to zero, since we did hike three miles yesterday by necessity.

Thankfully, the terrain is mild today. It drizzles throughout the morning, but stops when we reach the Dover Oak, the largest tree on the trail. I think back to the Keffer Oak in Virginia, and this tree is even more enormous, but it provokes the same magnetic impulse to be close to it, the same inexplicable reassurance. I approach the tree’s massive trunk and reach out a hand to touch it, and as I do this, Etienne takes my favorite picture from the whole trail.

After 8 miles, we reach the Appalachian Trail Railroad Station. We had hoped to get farther today, but I am tired, and it is about to storm. We turn down the road and hustle half a mile along the shoulder of the highway. We don’t beat the storm. It’s pouring when we reach Tony’s Deli, which offers camping to AT hikers for just $4. We browse the aisles of the store and eat a hot meal until the rain subsides, and then we pitch our tents alongside a half a dozen other hikers. It’s weird to be without Ash, Rob, and Greg, but otherwise, it feels like my sudden kidney infection never happened.

Day 113. August 3rd: Tony’s Deli to 10 Mile River – 11 miles

From Tony’s Deli, we hike eleven miles to Bulls Bridge Road, where we hitchhike into Kent, Connecticut. The trail will cross much closer to Kent a few miles farther on, but I need to pick up a prescription that I sent to the pharmacy here. Kent is a picturesque and expensive New England town, but it has a convenient hiker visitors center with coin-operated showers and large, clean restrooms. To our surprise, we once again run into Rob, Ash, and Greg, who are resupplying and showering in town before their final push to Great Barrington. We huddle in the visitors center with a dozen other thru-hikers, hoping the pouring rain will eventually pass, but eventually, our friends need to push on. We say goodbye yet again, and this time, we’re pretty sure it’s for good, unless Rob and Ash really hustle through New England after the wedding.

After unsuccessfully trying to hitchhike back to the trail, Etienne and I order an Uber and backtrack on the AT to a campsite at Ten Mile River. We’re in Connecticut. If all goes according to plan, we’ll reach Katahdin in less than two months. I’m not ready to think about that, so I embrace my exhaustion and go to sleep to the sound of rain on the tent fly.

*Update from 2020: The sudden kidney infection I experienced on the trail caused no lasting damage to my renal function. After nearly a year of tests, I donated my left kidney to my dad on 12/12/19. Three months later, we’re both doing great.