For Thursday, August 31, 2000 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 754 words
Gino's ordeal
(part II of II)
As I was saying last week, my friend Gino and I were camping at Ten Lakes in Yosemite seven miles up-trail from the nearest road, 40 miles from the nearest cell-phone signal and an advice nurse, when, on our last night, he mysteriously swelled up like the Michelin Man. What caused it? Spider bites? Ant bites? Mysterious Yosemite lake fungus attacking an east coaster who hasn't developed the proper immunities? We didn't know. Would he live through the night? We didn't know.
The following morning I rose to check on him, fearing his sleeping bag may have become his body bag. When I looked, the bag was empty. I sat up and looked around.
Gino was standing at the edge of camp, hands in his pockets, staring at the lake.
"Gino, are you all right?"
"I couldn't sleep. It was too painful."
"Are you better, worse, or the same?"
"I don't know. I think my hands are swelling up."
"Oh, man, let's gulp some breakfast and get out of here."
"I'm not hungry."
Gino began packing while I fried up some hashbrowns. "Geez, oh, man," he said. "My hands are swelling, and so are my arms." I wolfed down a few bites of half-cooked potatoes, tossed the rest in the fire pit, and we packed our gear.
On the hike in, we clearly noticed the weight of the packs, the pain of the climb, and the length of the trail. On the hike out, the sense of urgency distracted us and we pushed on up over the 9,600-foot ridge and down the rocky switchbacks toward the road without thinking much about the effort. Gino's condition seemed to have stabilized for the time being.
Four miles along, halleluiah, we found a ranger hiking in. I stopped him, and said with relief and urgency in my voice, "What's wrong with my friend? Look at his legs. He's covered in welts."
The ranger, who was a young pup half our age, took a cursory look and said, "Hmm, it could be poison oak."
Poison oak! In my mind I did a backward somersault. Come on, pal, I thought. Where did you get your training? Ask Jeeves? And you call yourself a Yosemite ranger? We just came from 9,600 feet. Poison oak grows well below 5,000 feet.
Then he made a suggestion which was as well thought-out as his diagnosis. He said, "I suggest you drive to Yosemite Valley and stop at the clinic. They will help you." I danced a jig and spun a pirouette in my mind. Come on, pal. It's Saturday. It's summer. Traffic to Yosemite Valley is bumper-to-bumper, we couldn't park, and the clinic's probably full of sprained ankles. We could get to Kaiser Vallejo quicker.
Well, to make a long story its natural length, we made it to the truck and drove in bumper-to-bumper traffic out of the park. Gino was stabilizing, breathing normal, and wanted to go to a hospital in Sacramento where his cousin lives. That way, if he got a knock-out shot, he could crash nearby. We tried to reach Gino's cousin, Joe Capone, by cell phone -- no signal, no signal, no signal. Finally, out on Hwy 99, the phone worked, but Joe wasn't home. Gino lifted his shirt. "Holy cannoli!" The welts had spread up his chest and back and under his armpits.
We reached Sacramento bewildered at where to find a hospital. We decided to drive to Davis, a smaller town. I took the first exit and rushed into a gas station yelling, "Where's the nearest hospital!" The clerk asked another clerk who said, "Get back on I-80 West and take the next exit, Caravelle Street, and stay left."
The next exit said UC Davis campus. We took it, turned left again and again, made a U-turn only a 4x4 could handle in my mind, cussed six times, and headed back to the highway. There was no freakin' Caravelle Street.
Gino said, "Just go where you know. I'll be fine." So, we drove to Kaiser Vallejo, which refused his Blue Cross and billed us $70. The diagnosis, finally: he is allergic to penicillin; it just took nine days for the reaction to set in. This came as a surprise at age 45. They gave him Benedryl, over-the-counter.
Gino came back to my house and slept for two days, then we flew him to the airport. It wasn't exactly what the vacation itinerary had listed, but he can always say that he had a swell time in California.