Day 39: Saturday 21 December

It’s a drab, overcast morning. Leave ten minutes ahead of schedule after further binding repairs over breakfast. Feel truly awful this morning. Head all over the place and coughing like mad. The leads have been rejigged and I take over from Paul at 9.30 am. It’s a real struggle and I can sense the others are getting cold and are eager to go faster. Every step I can feel the pain in my rear end and shoulder. I stop at 10 am to take some painkillers and ask Pat to take over my lead. Nobody seems overly concerned but I’m fading fast. Arrive into first break ten minutes after the others. ‘You OK?’ asks Paul. ‘Want us to take some weight?’

‘I should be alright for the next session,’ I reply, trying to convince myself that an improvement is just around the corner. ‘The painkillers are kicking in now and I’m going to try walking a bit as the snow looks much firmer here.’

We all set off together but I’m soon lagging way behind and watch on helplessly as the others become ever shrinking black dots on the horizon. Feeling nauseous and really groggy. Why am I so weak? Listening to my classical compilation minidisk is not helping - every track sounds like a funeral march. The snow soon becomes softer and I am sinking in eight inches with each step. Should be on skis but don’t have the energy to dig them out of my sled. A Twin Otter on its way back from the Pole passes 100 feet overhead, flashing its lights to say hello. Don’t have the will to wave back.

By the time the others stop at 12.15 pm, I must be nearly a mile behind. My condition is deteriorating at an alarming rate. Seemingly nothing I can do about it. Feeling increasingly nauseous and short of breath. I must tell them about the piles. Not sure if I’m going to be able to reach them. If I can just join them before they pack up to go then everything is going to be OK. Surely they won’t set off without me? More exhausted than is good for me. I think back to my phone call this morning and how positive I was about our prospects for the final leg of the expedition. If only they could see me in my sorry state now.

300 yards to go. I’ve decided there is no way I can continue more than a yard beyond where they are. A thick layer of ice has built up around my hood and neck - probably due to my heavy breathing. Up ahead I can see that everyone is wrapped up in their down jackets and throwing a ball around to keep warm. Back at Patriot Hills, I scoffed at Pat’s decision to pack a tennis ball when weight was going to be so restricted but now his decision seems justified.

200 yards away and it now looks as though they are playing baseball with the tennis ball and a ski pole. All my rhythm has gone. Starting to go a bit gaga in the head. Want this all to end.

100 yards to go. I call out to them but my voice is lost on the breeze. Wave my arms frantically in the air to tell them I’m in trouble and they start walking towards me. They’ve been waiting nearly an hour. Staggering around like the village drunkard, I collapse to my knees. Almost there now. I pull myself up and carry on. Paul is the first to reach me and looks deeply worried. I stare back blankly, not taking in anything he says. Andrew takes my sled and after a handful more paces, I collapse on to Pat’s sled. I’m absolutely finished.