Day 9 Dingbouche to Laboje - Sense of Humour lost

With the negative thoughts occupying my mind, I didn't manage to get to sleep until well after midnight, so waking up just after 5am again to my usual alarm of 'panic, you've only got a matter of seconds before you soil yourself' really annoyed the hell out of me.

The morning was spent traversing a fairly flat piece of land. Making it easier was the fact that Breck's advice had been heeded and extra porters had been hired to carry some packs. This meant that we were now sharing 1 pack between 2, generally in half hour shifts. Walking with no pack at all was captain Haydn, who had managed to rise himself from his sickbed, unplug the IV, eat about 4 bowls of custard and get himself ready to walk. He later confessed that the previous day was one of the low-points of his life, lying helpless in bed as the entire trip flashed before his eyes. On the way Joe and Chris Martin started talking about a fantasy rugby team from within Tenzing. Wes, taking it a little seriously, was pretty unhappy with his position and had a couple of quiet words with Hillsy about what position he'd like to play in this non-existent team. I was placed at hooker. I protested that rugby hookers are generally massive and even still, they get pretty mashed up. The silence from the boys made me realise that this was probably the point.

The lunch break was a fantastic refresher. Noodle soup providing the best food of the trip, and with cheap chocolate and cold drinks for sale, none of us were particularly interested in the afternoon's climb. I was briefly in a good mood until, halfway through a conversation with Kirt, I felt my stomach all of a sudden detach from the rest of my body. Getting pretty sick of the same routine immediately after eating, I starting losing my sense of humour as I lathered myself in hand-sanitiser. A further 2 bush-poo's in the space of the next hour confirmed my mental state. I was in a terrible mood. Thankfully I was faring a little better than Simmo, who had been advised to stay back at our lunch stop (Dukla) to ward off the onset of Altitude Sickness.

The walk was punctuated by a stop at the Everest graveyard. Around an hours walk from Dukla stands several memorials to people who have lost their lives on Everest, including Scott Fischer who died in the 1996 disaster, and whom I was reading about in 'Into Thin Air' during the trek. Further down the track, I asked which was the big jagged mountain dominating the skyline. 'Pumori' was the response. Pumori, sounds familiar... and then it hit me. Pumori is the massive peak right in front of Gorakshep that I'd spent alot of time navigating on Google Earth. This got me excited, the venue was near, the match was near, 12 months of preparation were about to eventuate.

Energised by this, and with my sense of perception thrown out by the apparent closeness of the 7000m peak, I thought I could've walked the entire way to Gorakshep that day. But by the time we got to Laboje, I was ready to sit down. The constant diarrhoea had robbed me of any energy reserves, and despite drinking 8 litres of water throughout the day, I was feeling dehydrated. All this combined with tiredness made me very irritable, and the fact we were staying in, without a doubt, probably the worst settlement on the face of the earth made it a helluva lot worse.

Alot has been written about the hellishness of Laboje and it's lack of facilities. I don't think there is anything to add to any of that apart from 'I agree wholeheartedly'. The place is a godforsaken dump. We were advised the day before to double up on our water sterilisers and also our sanitation routines, particularly with washing our hands. The water again smelt of petrol and I took one look at the pillow before rendering it unusable for the evening. At one point, I tried to sit down and learn the increasinlgy popular and raucous 'dice game' that was catching like wildfire. Essentially it's a dice version of poker, with alot of bluffing and trumping. Trying my hardest to concentrate, the seemingly non-sensical rules actually made me feel a bit dizzy. Essentially being a numbers game, I thought I could cope, until the next lot of rules were wound out to me with their equally non-sensical names.... the moment Butler stated 'well here is where somebody could say Braxton to you, but then if you respond with a double calamari twist...' - 'I'll stop you right there mate, this is just way too much' - I had no energy and I think the boys sensed that I had nothing left in the tank, with Joe going as far as being briefly concerned that Altitude Sickness was setting in.

After 5 particularly horrible experience's using the toilet that evening, I practically begged the medics for the next step as Imodium just wasn't cutting it. I was put on a course of antibiotics, and after one final foray with the toilet, headed off to bed.