Dear Diary,
I really wanted to go hunting all throughout the week, but I felt a little wrapped up in family matters and being the camp cook. By Thursday, all of the birthday parties and family gatherings were over, and I was ready to let the other hunters order a pizza for supper if need be. Besides, I thought perhaps the guys weren’t spotting any game simply because their good luck charm (yours truly) was not with them.
Ahem …
I woke up feeling a bit worn out and the arthritis in my neck was in a pretty good flare. Like a good patient, I ignored it. I figured I had three days left to be a mighty hunter – and nothin’ was going to stop me!
When we reached our hunting destination, Shaun sent Pastor and Andrew one way, and Shaun and I went the other, with a plan to meet back at the truck by 1:00. We trekked for a little over an hour to the top of a small ridge. I was rather impressed with how well I was doing physically. I carried my own rifle and backpack almost the whole way. I was warm and cozy, even though it was chilly with snow on the ground. I wasn’t tired. Sure, my neck hurt from carrying all my gear, but I could ignore that for a while longer.
Shaun perched me on a flat rock, and said he might as well take a little hike around to try and scare some game up to me.
A little over an hour later, he was still gone, and I began to feel a little chilly … probably because I had been sitting too long. I was also hungry, so while I waited for him to return, I poked some grub down my beak, knowing I’d need the energy for the hike back to the truck.
I had just put my lunch away when he walked up behind me. I stood, and realized I felt even cooler now. So I said, “I think we better get moving. I’m feeling kinda cold.”
Less than two minutes later …
My chin began to quiver.
My shoulders began to shake.
My teeth began to clang together.
I began to feel a little weak in the knees.
We began making our way through a kaleidoscope of bland colors. I was disoriented. Everywhere I looked there were brown trees, white snow, dead sage brush, and gloomy, gray skies. They all seemed to spin, spin, spin, and I couldn’t focus on any of them.
Shaun stopped to catch a breath, and I followed suit.
I felt numb, like the feeling I get before I pass out. My heart was skipping every third or fourth beat. I said, “I’m really cold. And I’m feeling really sick, like I’m gonna lose my lunch. I have no idea whether I can make it up the mountain or not.”
“Well … I could start a fire, but it would probably take too long with the snow and all. I think we better keep you moving so your blood gets flowing again,” he said.
But I didn’t want to move. Holding his hand, I could tell he was as warmer than toast. I nearly asked if I could unbutton his coat, crawl in, and call Pastor and Andrew to come help carry me back. But I suppose I was too prideful for that, so instead I talked to myself. I said …
Self, just put one leg in front of the other!
Don’t look at the kaleidoscope! Just look at your feet.
Ignore the nausea and funky heart beat.
Absent from the body, present with the Lord!
My symptoms continued.
I concentrated on my squeaky booots.
Absent from the body, present with the Lord!
I began to feel worse.
I had to go potty!
I’m sure stopping to go potty in the woods doesn’t help symptoms of hypothermia, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!
So … I went potty. When I stood up, Shaun began unbuckling my backpack.
I thought, Yay! He’s going to start a fire!!
“What are you doing?” I asked, to hopefully confirm my suspicion.
“I’m taking this backpack from you.”
I was still so disoriented. And he sounded so authoritative, I just did what he told me to. I understood some things he was saying to me and not others. I tried buckling parts that didn’t buckle in an attempt to help him strap the backpack on. But somehow, it ended up buckled. I know he carried my rifle too, but I don’t remember giving it to him.
Just put one foot in front of the other ….
Why do these boots squeak?
Watch. Now that we’re making loud tromping sounds, we’ll probably see an elk and I’ll be in too much of a stupor to shoot it.
My chest hurts.
I wonder how much longer.
Just look at your boots!
We stopped several times to catch our breath. I felt like apologizing to Shaun before the adventure was even over. We both know I get cold easily. But silly me thought that long underwear, a wool turtleneck sweater, hoodie, light jacket, down coat, hat, cold weather hunting pants, two pairs of warm socks, and four instant hand and feet warmers would do the tough job of keeping me mildly balmy.
I decided to save my breath and apologize in the form of good wifely works once we were back at camp.
I felt a little warmth return to my hands, and I finally felt stupid stupor lessen.
“I think the truck is comin’ up,” he said.
“I’m starting to feel a little better now.”
A few minutes later, the truck did indeed appear, along with the road that led home.
I leaned against it, heaving and still wanting to apologize, but already thinking the whole ordeal was half funny.
Maybe I’d feel it was fully funny later … when my body temp was back to 98.6 degrees.
For the time being, I just felt sorry for the stress I put on someone else. And wimpy.
So, so wimpy.
We got back to camp, and the sun came out. It was warmer because of it, so I sat in the sunshine for a few minutes, then took a warm shower. The water burned, so I turned it down. I eventually tolerated warm water, then hot water. It felt like heaven.
Needless to say, the rest of the day consisted of lying around doing absolutely nothing. I bundled up in a warm blanket on a recliner, and fell in and out of sleep all evening as we watched the best game of the World Series (game 6). That night, I slept over eight hours straight, without moving a muscle. The next day, I took an hour and a half nap. That evening, we visited Shaun’s cousin, where I promptly fell asleep on their couch, in the middle of good conversation.
Like I said … wimpy.
Shaun says that perhaps I need a disabled hunting license for next year, so I can hunt from the warm truck.
To that, I say, “I’m not even 40 years old yet. That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”
But I also say, “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”
It’s not easy bein’ wimpy at such a young age. It’s somewhat funny, and even adventurous at times. But it’s never easy.
So for now, shooting an elk remains an item on my bucket list.
After reading this, are there any bets on just how long I have to complete that bucket list? 
