The story of how I got HACE

It was the October 24th. Not even two weeks ago as I’m writing this. It feels like another lifetime. I was in Nepal to climb Himlung Himal 7126 m, and although I knew already beforehand that things rarely go as planned on expeditions, I was of course hoping that I would finally get to stand on the summit of my first 7000 m peak. The plan was to eventually climb Himlung, a remote 7000er in the Manaslu region of Nepal, together with my climbing partner and friend Lotta Hintsa, and the idea was to go from Base Camp to the summit and back in one push.

Already on the first day of our trek to Base Camp, on October 14th, Lotta fell on a metal bridge and badly injured her forehead. Due to the severity of the injury and the depth of the wound, Lotta had to be evacuated by helicopter to Kathmandu the next day and get her wound immediately taken care of by professionals. Already at this point I was in a pretty bad mental state as I had to come to terms with the whole situation. I had a decision to make for myself, to change my plans or to continue without Lotta. In the end I chose to continue my journey to Himlung without her, even if it was with a heavy heart. I was going to try climbing Himlung solo, and even though that had been my original plan before I asked Lotta to join me on this expedition, I was now considering this option with deep respect. Having very little experience with high altitude mountaineering, I didn't know if I would make it at all. But I was certainly going to try with the mindset to see everything that happens as an opportunity to learn many lessons about mountaineering – and about myself.

At the hospital in Chame, after Lotta’s accident.

Luckily I was not entirely alone on the expedition. I was accompanied by the members of the Altitude Academy – my friends Nico, Ella, Alice and Dani, who were planning to climb Himlung as one team. The plan was that we would acclimatize together and as they would head off for their summit push, I’d do mine starting in Base Camp.

I was acclimatizing pretty well up to Base Camp at 4900 m. We took it easy on our trek there and even had one rest day in the last village, Phugaun 4100 m, before heading to BC. At Base Camp I felt like my body was struggling a little bit more, but I didn’t think much of it since it’s very normal to feel a bit off when you arrive at 4900 m and spend several nights there. We rested a few days in BC before our first rotation to Camp 1 at 5500 m where we went up for lunch one day before going straight back down to BC. At this point I was feeling excellent (other than a minor headache while in C1), and I was happy that my body was acclimatizing so well. I felt ready for the next step, to go even higher, but also knew I had to be patient and take it slow in order to allow my body to adapt to the increasingly higher altitudes.

The team <3 Left to right: Ella, Alice, me, Nico, Dani.

Himlung Himal Base Camp, located at 4900 m.

Sunday October 22nd, 2023. We started our acclimatization rotation with the plan to sleep in the high camps. My strategy was a bit different from the others’ – if I felt well, I was planning to sleep one night in C1, one night in C2, and then one night in C3 (and possibly even going towards the summit on that day) before descending back to BC again. I knew this was an ambitious plan, and also that I really had to listen to my body and adapt my plan accordingly. Before arriving in C1 on this day, Dani and I took a dip in the glacier lake below camp (in retrospect our Sherpa Nima repeatedly told us that swimming in cold water had been a very, very bad idea). We then headed up to C1 to meet up with the others, set up camp and have lunch. I remember feeling really good, but I also knew that going up to C2 the next day would be a challenge – I was carrying everything I needed on the mountain myself. This meant that I had everything from my tent, sleeping bag, gas stove, food, climbing equipment and more in my one backpack, which probably weighed around 17 kg by the next day by the time it was time to head to C2. And that was even after I had taken out the things that I did not consider as absolutely necessary – such as my knee brace (I have a torn ACL in my left knee), a headband, one gas bottle and a few other small things.

Monday October 23rd, 2023. It had been so cold in the night and I had slept terribly. At 6 am I couldn’t take it anymore and sat up to melt snow on my gas stove – one bottle of hot water to put inside my sleeping bag and one cup of hot tea to drink. Hot water was one of the things I valued most on this expedition, as I spent almost every night (even in BC) freezing to the bones and praying that the hours would go by faster so that the sun would come up and bring some warmth. Every evening, from the moment the sun disappeared behind the mountain until it re-appeared again more than 12 hours later, was a real struggle for me. Beforehand I had not expected that the cold temperatures would be my biggest psychological struggle during the whole expedition. At least I now know that I definitely need a new, much warmer sleeping bag…

Camp 1.

The frost on my sleeping bag when I woke up that morning, and melting snow to get myself warmed up again.

A few hours later, after having warmed myself up a bit, I packed up my tent and the rest of my things and then we left Camp 1. It was around 9 am. The plan was to go to C2, 500 m higher at around 6000 m. In the beginning I was walking in the back, struggling with my heavy backpack and cursing myself for being so stubborn; why did I have to carry everything myself? It felt like I was carrying half the weight of my own body on my back. After a while my body had warmed up and I felt stronger. All of a sudden I found myself at the front of the pack, walking slightly ahead of the others. I knew I should probably slow down a little, going fast as this point was not doing me any good, but I couldn’t help it. The slope was steep and on one rock section I had to use the jumar to get up. At this point I was struggling a little physically, but not really more than I usually do and I didn’t think much of it. Looking back now, I realize that going from C1 to C2 shouldn’t have felt like a “workout” considering the altitude, and once again I am reminded of the fact that my special skill to push my body through pain and discomfort isn’t necessarily always a strength. The sun was gazing that day, too, and in combination with a white glacier reflecting the sun, it was getting pretty hot.

My big backpack and I, going from BC to C1.

We arrived at Camp 2 (6000 m) in the late afternoon, around 4 pm. By the time we got there I was already feeling exhausted, so exhausted that I actually started crying a little as I realized I couldn't just get in my tent and relax (like the others who luckily already had two tents set up for them) – I had to set up my tent first, then boil water and then prepare food. I was feeling overwhelmed by all these tasks and once again questioned my strategy of wanting to do everything by myself. It had seemed so much easier as I was talking about it before, yet now being in that situation felt very challenging. A little annoyed with myself perhaps, I stubbornly started setting up my tent without relaxing first or having anything to drink (big mistake). Meanwhile, the rest of the team had settled into their tents and already started boiling snow. Of course I didn’t ask for any help. Setting up my tent took what felt like forever and I was not feeling physically nor mentally fit to do it. In the end I did ask Norbu, our supporting sherpa at the time, to help me finish up so that I could just lay down in my tent and get some rest. I was so happy when I finally could, and although I was having a terrible headache and felt incredibly fatigued along with a lost appetite, I once again thought that it would go away with some rest. I struggled to eat and my stomach wasn’t very happy, but I made myself finish a whole freeze dried meal and drink some tea.

Sunset at Camp 2, 6000 m. Photo: Ella

The night was freezing cold, as expected. Everything in my tent that was not being stored in my sleeping bag froze, including my energy drink that I had accidentally left lying next to me. Ella & Alice had told me in the evening before that if it gets too cold I can come and sleep in their tent (sleeping more people together is, of course, warmer) but I did'n’t want to wake them up in the middle of the night. I finally dozed off and kind of slept-ish until early morning arrived.

Tuesday October 24th, 2023. I wake up early, I have to get some water boiling in order to warm myself and my frozen toes. I’ve started having diarrhoea and have to run to “the bathroom” (a dedicated spot on the glacier with a little snow wall for privacy) several times. I still have a headache and I’m feeling nauseous and a little unstable on my feet. I can’t stomach any food, but a few candies that I brought from Sweden go down. That’s at least something. Thinking of it now, at this point my symptoms had significantly worsened and were beyond reasonable. But I was unable to accept this fact, and as my team mates yelled from their tents that they were packing up to go for a two hour hike towards Camp 3 and asked if I wanted to join, I started packing my things to go with them. But I could barely think straight and packing my bag was a challenge. I was also getting more and more nauseous and I had to run to the bathroom one last time before we were planning to leave. I stumbled to the toilet spot, feeling as if I’d had a few too many glasses of wine (I had not had a drop of alcohol).

When it’s 9 am Ella and Nico tell me they’re ready to leave. I’m still sitting in my tent and wondering how I’ll be able to handle a two hour hike in my state, yet somehow I’m still thinking it might be possible. Then, all of a sudden I start vomiting. I yell at Nico to come over to my tent as I’m starting to get worried. When he comes over asking what’s wrong I’m crying in pain and I tell him I just vomited and I feel horrible. Luckily he immediately sees the severity of the situation and says: “Ok, change of plans, we’re going down. Pack your things and let’s go.”

Only I am entirely incapable of packing my things, I don’t know what to pack and the effort feels extreme. We change strategy – the others will pack my things for me, carry them down and I’ll start going down together with Norbu. I start walking but have to stop only after a few meters, I feel dizzy and I need to vomit again. I don’t know what’s happening anymore and it feels like my body has completely shut down. I begin to try to walk but have to stop again after a few seconds to vomit. This becomes my way of getting down, somehow: stumbling forward a few meters, then stopping because I feel so dizzy and need to vomit. I’ve lost pretty much all control of my muscles, my vision and my speech. I cannot explain it in a better way that that it felt like I'd just downed 10 liters of vodka. Though I was mentally “there” enough to understand what was happening to me and that something was terribly wrong.

Norbu is walking behind me, making sure I don’t fall over. When we reach a steep slope on the glacier I want to slide down on my bum because walking is so difficult, but he firmly tells me no, I could fall into a crevasse. After what feels like forever of walking, stumbling, sliding, stopping to sit down or lay down (all I wanted to do was sleep on the spot), we get to a point where I feel like I just cannot go on any longer. I lay down on the snow and tell Norbu: I can’t. I’m crying and I am actually worried that I will not be able to continue any further. I ask Norbu if he has brought any medication. More specifically I want Dexamethasone, which is the strong medication used when you’re experiencing symptoms of severe altitude illness. When you take Dexa, you know it’s serious – and you absolutely can’t continue further up on the mountain. Norbu searches through my backpack that he’s carrying for me and he doesn’t find it. I panic. That’s when I take out my satellite device and press the SOS button. It counts down from 20, and then the SOS message is sent. What good it will do for me I don’t know, but at least I’ve done what I could with the little means I have.

Norbu and I have no other option but to keep going down. If I stay here, things will only get worse. Somehow, I have no idea how, I manage to gather the strength and willpower to keep going even if I can’t control the muscles in my body anymore. And when we get to the rappelling section, I even manage to rappel down on my own – even if I slam into the rocks a few times and have to stop once because I have to vomit violently. The last couple of meters to C1 feel like the longest. I have to stop pretty much every three-four steps to sit or lie down. I doze off several times, whereupon Norbu tells me I absolutely cannot fall asleep. Another time I actually take a fall on a steep slope, my body tumbling down on rock and snow a few meters, but when I manage to stop myself and get up, my mind is completely indifferent to the situation. I am so tired and feeling so sick that it feels like it wouldn’t matter much if I’d keep falling.

It’s not a long way from C2 to C1, but in this moment it feels like the longest ultra I have ever ran. Norbu doesn’t speak much English, but his repeating words “go down, better” become my mantra to keep going.

Once we arrive at C1, I crash in Ella’s and Alice’s tent that they had previously left there. I don’t know how long I sleep in their tent on the cold floor, maybe an hour, while Norbu cooks and serves me garlic soup which is supposed to help against altitude sickness. I manage to drink one cup of the soup and then Nico arrives at camp, Ella and Alice still slightly behind. Nico has decided to join forces with Norbu to get me down to Base Camp. Meanwhile, I find out afterwards, my boyfriend Jost has received my SOS and is already organizing the rescue including a helicopter evacuation to Kathmandu.

When I get up and out of the tent to start going down to BC my symptoms have worsened (as if they couldn’t get any worse) and I’m struggling to even stand on my own two feet. Nico and Norbu decide to try to piggy-back carry me, but the snow is slippery and the terrain is at times pretty steep. Somehow we advance, even if we’re probably going very slow.

Somewhere above advanced BC we meet another Sherpa, Nima, who has run up to meet up us with a bottle of oxygen. He gives me some of his Coke and then gives me the oxygen mask. We sit for a few minutes, and when I get up I feel slightly better. I am able to walk with one arm around Nima’s shoulder.

By the time we get to the glacier moraine, the last 1.6 km to BC and a tricky section requiring tricky navigation through huge boulders, I start to feel worse again. The vomiting intervals increase and I can no longer walk. Somewhere in this never-ending field of boulders I sit down, put my head on my knees to stop the world around me from spinning, and that’s when I say to Nico with tears in my eyes: Nico, I don’t want to die yet. I’ve never known what it feels like to die, but in that moment as my body was shutting down, I asked myself if this is what it’s like.

Nima then proceeds to carry me on his back and at some point three more Nepali men meet up with us to help get me to BC. One of them brings a table sheet to wrap me in and make the carrying easier. When we finally arrive at BC (4900 m) after what felt like an endless descent, I lay down on a mattress in the dining tent, exhausted but at the same time grateful that we’d made it this far. Nima feeds me a few sips of coke and some Pringles, and with every breath of good oxygen I start to feel better. I’m still feeling pretty out of it but I also know that having made it to a lower altitude, the greatest danger has passed. We’ve made it down. I am alive.

The next morning at around 10 am, we finally hear the sounds of the helicopter approaching. It’s time to go to the hospital in Kathmandu to get proper treatment. With a heavy heart, I say goodbye to the rest of the team and then get in the back of the helicopter. Once I’m sitting in there and I see the others still standing outside, waving goodbye with tears in their eyes, is when it finally hits me. It’s over. This is not how I planned my expedition to end, and I can’t keep my own tears from coming as we wave to each other and the helicopter takes off. In the far distance, I see the route to Himlung, I see the summit that I never reached, the shared moments of joy, the challenges, the struggles, the intriguing conversations, our moments together in the dining tent. I see my excitement, my fear, my deep respect for this mountain.

But most of all I see the love of the other human beings that were there with me. Each and every one who supported me, who helped me down and who took care of me when I was incapable of taking care of myself. For your love and support, I will be forever grateful.

At the hospital in Kathmandu, an MRI confirms that what I had experienced back at Himlung was HACE, High Altitude Cerebral Edema.

I’m back in Sweden with my family now. I didn’t get to the summit of my first 7000er this time, but luckily the mountains aren’t going anywhere. I’ll be back, maybe, stronger and wiser next time. Thanks to everyone who has thought of me and sent me messages. I am doing better each day. ❤️