Frostbite
As a response to the "Have You Ever Been Really Scared" thread, I thought about the "Stupid Things I Have Done" (and lived to tell)thread
The truth of the matter was that there were plenty of weather alerts and warnings that day I decided to go X-Country skiing (and acquire frostbite), and so the only thing freaky about it was that I went, anyway.
My father and I had a standing agreement for our mountain vacations: I would not complain about his gambling marathons, and he would not interfere with my ski plans. An amicable arrangement that had successfully lasted well beyond the turbulent adolescent years. On this particular trip -- the early part of 1982 -- there had been a record amount of snowfall, and dad and I had the misfortune of choosing that block of time to rent the cabin and pursue our individual passions. After about three days of misery in the cabin (which part of the time had been passed by cutting up beef steaks into cubes and roasting them in the fireplace due to power outages) We decided that we had had enough: dad would drive us into town, and I would catch the shuttle to ski, and he would hunker down in the casino.
By the time I hit the trail, the wind had come roaring in, and the snow was starting to fall, but I figured that I could just follow the creek up and back, therefore, minimize any risk of getting lost. However, shortly into the trip, I tripped and fell towards the creek, ending up elbow deep in the water. I was lucky enough to avoid a winter swim, but my hands were now soaked beyond feeling. To make things worse, the snow was falling so heavy, I could no longer see my tracks or really tell where the creek and the trial ended/began. Before I had time to be properly scared, a couple of skiers came up the other direction, and after a quick chat, I found out that they were a couple of Swiss guys who knew the trail quite well. However,instead of heading back immediately, someone had the great idea of warming up by drinking brandy. Excellent idea: while my hands no longer were a problem (I couldn't feel them anymore) the rest of me felt toasty warm with each sip. After 30min to 3 hours (who knew?) we all clumsily made our way back to the trailhead (I being particularly slow now that I could not use my poles) where I was able to catch the next shuttle to town, and the others took off.
I had not really looked at my hands for well over an hour, so once I settled on the shuttle and changed jackets, I took a good look at them. They were a curious whitish color. I wrapped them in a pair of socks and decided to let my dad worry about what to do when we got back to the cabin (I had slight feeling, but not much). Unfortunately, after dad picked me up and we headed back to the cabin, he decided that plunging my hands into hot water was the quickest way to deal with the situation.....
WRONG.
When the feeling started to come back to the nerves, I nearly passed out, as I thought that someone was holding my hands in a vat of acid! I was "lucky" enough that I was not at risk of losing any body parts, but the skin was trashed much like a burn, and the nerve endings were fried. Over time, I lost layers of skin, and the temperature sensation in my fingers remained screwy (I still cannot tell if water is hot or cold, sometimes) but I kept all of my digits.....
It happened a long time ago, and I don't remember much of the medical visual details, but I DO remember the pain, and I remember it every year just about this time when trouble starts up for the season.
