AULD BEN

 

A U L D   B E N

A DISTURBING TALE OF DELIBERATE SELF-MUTILATION by strzeka

 Jerold Hook, Jerry to his friends, arrived back from his local gym and dropped his carry-all on the floor. He was in a foul mood. He had argued with Darius about the trip they were planning for mid-January. They had talked about travelling up to Scotland with the intention of climbing to the top of Auld Ben in mid-winter. Darius had suddenly turned sour on the idea.

            – It’s too dangerous at that time of year.

            – You knew that from the outset. That’s why it’s a challenge. To beat the elements. That’s the whole point of the exercise. Are you saying you’re pulling out?

            – Jerry, let’s just do it at a less treacherous time of year. We could go in March.

            – And pick the spring flowers on our comfy stroll up the mountain in the sunshine. Honestly, Darius, I just don’t understand you.

He left exasperated. The raison d’être for the whole trip was at the front of his mind, as ever, and now Darius was jeopardising it. Jerry had wanted to climb the mountain at the worst time of year with the sole purpose of running into poor weather conditions and freezing temperatures. He needed someone with him, though. Mostly in order to have someone who could summon help in an emergency.

 

He poured himself a drink and sat down to calm himself. If Auld Ben turned out to be impossible because of Darius’ cowardice, he would have to start reconsidering his other options. Again. How many times had he gone over the same set-ups? And they always led to the same result. Condemnation. The railway method got only half the job done. Dry ice was too difficult to explain. The only viable way he had thought of to achieve four simultaneous amputations was severe frostbite so it looked like an accident. It would result in four stumps, probably uneven but it couldn’t be helped. His insurance would cover the expense of surgery and prosthetic limbs. His penis began to grow erect as he imagined himself sitting at home with a glass of whisky wearing two artificial legs and using two split hooks.  The situation was becoming intolerable. So many years of desire and frustration. He had been thwarted once before when one of his friend’s had suddenly refused to help him lose a hand ten years back although they had been talking about it for months. This time he would go through with it, with help or without it. Time was running out. He was already thirty-three and he wanted to be an quadruple amputee for the best years of his life, to enjoy the perfect mechanical function and aesthetic pleasure of prosthetic limbs while he was still a healthy young man. 

 

There was an old copy of Life magazine on the table. Darius had found a pile of them while clearing the garage of old junk. He read an article about a mountaineer who had been trapped on a mountainside by bad weather and suffered frostbite severe enough to cause four amputations. He took new inspiration and ran with it. He put his whisky down and leafed through the article. He knew the text by heart and had studied the photos endlessly. In Life’s photo-journalistic style, the story featured the victim progressing from the smiling ‘before’ to the grim hospitalisation with concerned relatives frowning at the bandaged stumps to his triumphant return to hiking with two prosthetic legs and two peg arms. The man seemed not to own artificial arms but Jerold intended to flash his own hooks at every available opportunity. He threw the magazine back onto the coffee table. Very well, Darius. Stay at home. He would climb Auld Ben alone.

 

Autumn cooled into winter. Colour drained from the landscape, replaced by grey. Jerry and his partner Ken French brightened their bar to make it more inviting and pushed promotions on more expensive seasonal drinks. Ken had long known about Jerry’s plan to take a couple of weeks holiday in January and supported him fully. After the Christmas madness, any break was as good as a holiday. Jerry had not mentioned Auld Ben in order to avoid negative persuasion. Jerold bought new mountaineering boots, a self-inflating tent, and several packets of strong painkillers, caffeine tablets along with the usual assortment of plasters, salves and vitamins any first aid bag might contain. He had enough beef jerky to survive on for a month.

 

Late December to the middle of February was a ten week long period when no-one living in the vicinity of the low granite mountains would even consider going near them. Cottagers would peer from their windows at the storms howling around the peaks and withdraw into the cosiness of their small but comfortable homes. Only a madman would go into the mountains. One such was on his way. Jerold made the trip by several railway connections and finally a single-decker bus delivered him in Invergillie near the base of Auld Ben. The one hostel in the village catered for a multitude of enthusiastic young climbers in the summer months and Jerold had persuaded the owner, Margaret McEnnis, to open her premises for him alone for a two week period in the middle of January. It was a little irregular but the lady had little else to do and agreed to open one of the dormitories and provide a cooked breakfast to her insistent guest for a few days. He had offered to pay treble the usual fee and that seemed a fairly attractive offer. She inspected and prepared the room and ordered in extra food for the young southerner. Her guest arrived at four o’clock on the third Sunday in January, weighed down with a heavy backpack but bearing a friendly smile. The diminutive Mrs McEnnis looked up at the strapping lad and shook his hand.

            – Welcome to Invergillie. Ye’ll be alone but ye’re welcome all the same. I’ll show ye to yer room. Have ye eaten?

            – Yes, I have, thank you.

            – A know ye’ve paid only for yer breakfast but if ye’d like a sandwich, ye have only ta ask. No need to be hungry whaile ye’re staying here.

            – Thanks. You’re very kind.

Jerold unloaded his backpack and looked around the room. There were four bunk beds. One of the lower ones had been made up for him with a thick blue duvet. The room was warm and the window reflected the interior of the room. There were no curtains but the sun would not rise until nine the next morning. Mrs McEnnis excused herself and returned to her own adjacent quarters. Jerold sat on the edge of the bed and checked the strength of the phone signal. Four bars. There might be more higher up. He lay back on the bed and looked at the weather forecasts for north-west Scotland for the next three days. It would be fine and cold but with the pressure dropping on Wednesday evening. Wednesday would be the time to set out. With any luck, he would be high enough to be alone if a storm struck the area. Otherwise he could retreat and no-one would be any the wiser. He needed a good storm in freezing temperatures.

 

For the next couple of days, he explored the local area. Four miles in this direction, three miles in the other. Mrs McEnnis took pity on the lad and provided a good hot meal each evening at six o’clock. The closest town was seventeen miles away and she could hardly expect her guest to travel so far for a meal. Jerold was scouting for a convenient route to Auld Ben which was accessible by road. He had found three possible routes to the mountain and studied his maps after supper. On Wedneday morning, he packed everything he might need to keep himself alive through a blizzard and set off. Mrs McEnnis warned him of the weather forecast.

            – Don’t worry. I’ll be away for a couple of days but I have to do this hike now. But if I’m not back by Sunday morning, send out a search party, haha! I’m sure it won’t come to that. I’ll see you again very soon, Mrs McEnnis.

            – As long as ye know what ye’re doing.

            – Please don’t worry. I have experience of these mountains.

 

Jerold chose the route up Auld Ben which was most easily accessible for a rescue team. He walked up the foothills with no problem, ensuring that he was out of sight of the village. It began to get dark before four o’clock and he found a level area where he could pitch his tent. The weather app promised more of the same for the next day with a forty percent chance of rain. Jerold erected his shelter, made a small meal for himself and retreated into his sleeping bag for the rest of the evening. By morning, the temperature had dropped below zero. The sky had cleared and Jerold continued his trek up the mountain. After three hours, he stopped and rechecked the weather app. A low pressure front would move in from late afternoon and snow was predicted. That sounded more like what he needed. He continued upwards until the light failed and he made camp under an overhanging ledge.

 

Jerold made a hot drink and prepared a meal from his travel rations. His tent was sheltered a little from the wind and he did not realise the full intensity of the snowstorm. The low pressure area which had been forecast was actually the start of a wide trough of Arctic air being syphoned southwards by an anomaly in the jet stream. It would bring freezing temperatures far below the average and maintain them. Jerold was unsure whether to start the process that evening or wait until daylight. He decided to take advantage of the wind which would accelerate freezing. He swallowed four different painkillers and washed them down with the last gulp of tea. He took off his gloves and boots and put on a balaclava and wrapped a scarf around his face. He moved outside the tent and sat leaning against a boulder. He took his socks off too. His hands were already numb from cold. He checked that his phone was in his inner pocket. Now the tedium would begin. In the darkness and severe chill, there was little to think about except the inevitable damage he was causing to his flesh and the resulting amputations which he had wanted for twenty years.

 

Three hours later, the pain began to be intolerable. He needed more painkillers. He could barely move his fingers. He succeeded in removing his supply from his inside pocket and swallowed two tablets. He should have brought some uppers. He was feeling very tired and was in a dreamlike state. The wind beat a rhythm and waves of pain flowed from his hands to his feet and back again. Perhaps it was only the pain which was keeping him awake. Trying to put it out of his mind, and imagining two smart new prosthetic arms, he closed his eyes against the cold and dozed. The storm continued sucking Jerold’s body heat. His brain alerted his metabolic system to conserve heat. Blood ceased flowing to his fingers and toes, and then to his hands and feet. They began to discolour, turning bluish purple as the blood supply stopped. Jerold jerked awake. How long had he slept? He could no longer feel his hands or feet but his wrists and ankles were throbbing with pain. He tried to lift his arms to look more closely at his hands in the meagre light from his lantern by the tent. It was no use. It required too much effort. His dying hands lay motionless in his lap.

 

Air temperatures fell rapidly during the night from fourteen degrees below freezing to twenty-four. Jerold’s hands and feet were unsalvageable by four in the morning. He drifted in and out of consciousness until he awoke to a gloomy dawn. He looked at his hands. They were blackened, dead appendages. He thought he might alert a rescue service. He could barely move his elbows. His black claws would never succeed in extracting his phone.

 

Mrs McEnnis had been worried about Jerold’s absence since the previous evening. She had thought about letting the local police know that one of her guests was on the mountain but decided against it. The lad had seemed to know what he was doing and appeared well prepared when he left. He would have sheltered overnight and would surely make his way back down in the daylight. She would keep an eye out for him and call the authorities if there was still no sign of him by eleven.

 

Jerold was hungry and thirsty. He would have loved to brew some tea and hold the mug to warm his hands. He tried to shift his position but his knees were immobile. He could not move his legs at all. His face hurt. He probably needed some more painkillers but he could not imagine how he would be able to reach them. The temperature rose four degrees to minus twenty and the deadly chill moved further up his limbs, hidden under his clothing. His forearms were beyond saving. His legs still had a little circulation around his knees. It would cease shortly. He bowed his head against the wind and tried to stay awake while thinking of nothing. It seemed easier. His limbs had stopped hurting. In fact, they began to feel warm. He wished he was able to take his jacket off.

 

Mrs McEnnis finished her tiffin and looked at the clock. She went to the window and peered out at the continuing blizzard. Still no sign of the young man. She called the local police station and expressed her worry. The sergeant, a keen mountaineer himself, understood her concern and thanked her. He promised to arrange a search party. Two hours later, a party of five volunteers arrived at the station. A constable drove them to Mrs McEnnis’s hostel. She explained her fears again and indicated the direction Jerold had taken.

 

They reasoned that Jerold may have realised that an easy path to begin with would be to his advantage. They all knew several routes up Auld Ben. The group leader, Joseph Pool, scanned the terrain at regular intervals with a heat-sensitive camera. As the sunlight faded, they arrived on the ledge and saw Jerold hunched over, his extremities naked and blackened with frostbite. There was no possibility of a helicopter rescue. He would have to be taken down in a sling. The two tallest men prepared their harnesses and the comatose figure was manhandled into the canvas seat. The descent was much quicker, made easy by the gentle slope. Ten minutes before they arrived back at the hostel, one called for an ambulance. The man’s life could still be saved – he showed signs of consciousness – but he would certainly lose his limbs. To what degree, it was impossible to say.

 

Jerold was the winter’s first frostbite victim. The medical team had seen similar injuries many times before and treated them with calm efficiency. Jerold was placed in a coma while a surgeon explored the extent of dead tissue in his limbs. Three days after his arrival, his arms were amputated leaving four inch stumps below his shoulders. The following day, his legs were removed, resulting in six inch long stumps below his pelvis. The incisions were left exposed for inspection for twenty-four hours before being tightly bandaged. Jerold’s lips, nose and ears had suffered frostbite but fortunately, the dermis was able to repair itself. His face would always be sensitive to cold, however. Jerold was monitored round the clock for the first week and then transferred to a normal ward, where his coma was maintained for a further seventeen days. When  he woke, his stumps would be well on the way to healing. A psychologist was invited from Edinburgh University hospital to be present when Jerold was roused from coma. It would be traumatic waking up to his maimed body.

 

 

A medical team administered the awakening process. Jerold was helped to a half-sitting position so he could converse better with his doctor and the guest from Edinburgh.

            – Welcome back, Jerome. You have been in a coma for two and a half weeks. We were able to save your life. Your body temperature was only twenty-five degrees when you arrived. Another couple of hours and it would have been too late. Unfortunately, it was necessary to remove a large amount of frostbitten tissue and you have lost much of your arms and legs. However, you have made a good recovery so far and your injuries are healing well. You have well-proportioned residual limbs eminently suitable for prosthetic limbs…

 

Jerold bent his elbows to check how long his forearm stumps were but nothing happened. He looked down at his arms in confusion and saw his short biceps stumps. He had not expected anything like this. His intention had not been to disable himself so thoroughly. His legs! Please let there be below-knee stumps. He lifted his leg and stretched his leg out straight. The only thing he saw was half his thigh. And the other leg was just as short. This was a disaster. Instead of scooting around on artificial feet, he would be a lurching invalid able to walk only a hundred yards with difficulty. Well, his project had worked. He had four stumps. He held his arm stumps up and appraised them. They were a pretty good length. He tried to sense them but felt only a full pair of arms with their ten digits. He ought to be able to work a pair of hooks with them just as he had wanted. And his muscular half thighs would work a pair of stubbies just fine. He realised his half empty glass was in fact half full. He would strike quite an impression with four prosthetic limbs.

            – … and there is no reason you will not be able to eventually return to a productive life.

            – When can I get artificial limbs?

            – Your residual limbs need to heal for a couple of weeks before that process can begin. You will be transferred to a more appropriate facility before then. Unfortunately we simply do not have the resources here. I would say that you will have your first pair of artificial arms in six weeks and artificial legs in eight to ten weeks. Now, if you will excuse me, I am expected elsewhere but Dr David Lamb will answer further questions. It’s good to have you back with us. Dr Lamb?

            – Thank you, doctor. If your have any questions, Jerold, please feel free to ask anything. We’re here to help.

            – Where am I? I mean, what town are we in?

            – This is Inverness. I can tell from your accent that you’re a long way from home. When you recover a little more, we’ll transfer you to a hospital closer to home. You are fortunate enough to live near one of the best centres for prosthetics in the world, Roehampton. You’ll have the best service and products available on the health service right there, close to home.

            – What will happen to me if my companion rejects me and leaves? How will I manage, legless with a pair of hooks?

            – In that unlikely event – and it is very unusual for a partner to desert a new amputee – a flat will be found for you in assisted accommodation. You will have your own private space but have access to assistance should you need it. You may have to move to a new town, though. But don’t worry about that yet. Does your partner know where you are? Would you like me to contact them?

            – I forgot all about that.

            – Well, we’ve only just woken you up, Jerold. Your phone needs recharging but I will call them a little later. He will already know that you have been rescued and are in good care if he has contacted the police. They will have that information.

            – But he won’t know about my limblessness?

            – No, medical information is never shared. You can talk to him yourself later this afternoon. Did you have a charger with you?

            – There should be one in my rucksack, wherever that is.

            – Ah, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But we should manage it without too much of a problem. Is there anything else you’d like to ask about? Your injuries, for example?

            – Not really. I can see what I have left. I know the challenges I’ll face with prosthetic limbs.

            – Really? How do you know such things? It’s hardly common knowledge.

Jerold thought quickly. His mental fug was lifting but he had already said too much.

            – One of my partner’s friends is an amputee. We have had many conversations about his recovery and his new limbs.

            – That would explain it, then. Useful knowledge for you now, I have no doubt. You seem to be au fait with the situation so I will leave you in peace but I will be available today and tomorrow if you wish to discuss your future. It was nice to meet you, Jerold.

            – Thank you, doctor. Good bye.

 

Six months later: Ken accepted his transformed boyfriend with astonishment and excitement. He had always had a predilection for kink and regarded the torso sharing his bed as the height of eroticism. They divided their duties so that Ken tended to the bar while Jerold did all the research and travelling and was responsible for acquisitions. Jerold found using prosthetic legs much easier to control than he had expected, possibly due to his previous muscularity and fitness. His hooks, with their limited range, encouraged others to assist him. There was little he could not manage. By the beginning of winter, their bar was doing better than before Jerold’s misfortune and its future looked promising.

 

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