Kilimanjaro Ascent
In August 1999, I scaled the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro together with my new wife, Terri. Four short months later, I experienced the first symptoms of what would prove to be a mysterious and debilitating neurological illness, shattering the heady feeling of having reached the roof of Africa.
In Two Mountains, I weave together the stories of these two events. The saga of my Kilimanjaro feat presents a stark contrast between the life I took for granted and the helplessness of being quadriplegic.
I always led a physically active life, running road races, biking in the local countryside, and trekking in foreign countries. My new wife, Terri and I first met at a party for runners after a road race in Virginia. So strong was our shared joy in physical activity that we spent our honeymoon hiking through the hill towns of Tuscany, enjoying the good wine as well as the walking.
Descent to Quadriplegic
All that came to an abrupt halt. Soon after the Kilimanjaro excursion I felt a peculiar weakness in my legs while on a routine run in Rock Creek Park. It took several months before a neurologist could diagnose the problem: a rare form of neuropathy called chronic demylenating polyneuropathy (CIDP), in which the immune system attacks the peripheral nerves. That was the bad news. The good news was that, with treatment, I could expect a full recovery in a relatively short period.
But the promised recovery failed to materialize and I grew weaker. Colleagues were stunned as they saw me struggle to function. I progressed from using a straight cane to four-pronged cane to walker. By April 2000, I was admitted to George Washington Hospital, a quadriplegic.
This was not what Terri had signed up for when she had married me a year earlier. I worried how she could cope. The uncertainty weighed on us like a hiker’s pack filled with cement. I couldn’t survive this journey alone. In the arduous months that followed, Terri proved to be not only my most cherished companion but also my stoic and upbeat nurse and home health aide.
For a time I was confined to a wheelchair—I couldn’t shower, get out of bed, or brush my teeth on my own.
Michael with daughter, Jessica (left) and wife, Terri (right), at Jessica's college residence at Leslie University, Cambridge, MA, Fall 2000.
Ascent to Walk Again
A defining moment came about one year into my illness when, with assistance, I was able to climb and descend a short flight of stairs in the lobby of our condo building. I recall pausing on my way up the stairs within two steps of the landing, just long enough to rekindle memories of our nighttime ascent to the summit of Kilimanjaro up steep slopes packed with snow and ice. For the next two and a half years, through grueling therapy and disappointing setbacks, Terri and I tackled our second mountain together, ultimately reaching our most meaningful summit when I was finally able to walk again unaided.
In Two Mountains I tell my story with humor, earnest reflection, and honesty. Throughout the book, I muse on my upbringing in Manhattan’s upper west side with extended family—an assorted cast of chain-smoking, horse-playing, fashion-forward, scholastically gifted characters; my professional career as a high-stakes litigator; and the wrenching story of my failed marriage to an artist who suffered an agonizing death from brain cancer as our young daughter watched helplessly. These stories provide a lens into a past that helped shape me to meet the unpredictable challenges that lay ahead.
Two Mountains chronicles the experience of an ordinary man faced with extraordinary challenges who triumphs and comes to terms with a life different than the one he imagined for himself. It is a story intended to provide hope and inspiration for others facing challenge and adversity.
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Testimonials
“Michael is my father, to witness his decline was heart wrenching. I had lost my mother to cancer when I was eight years old... I couldn't fathom losing my dad too. I have learned to never give up and always stay strong. He did and so can I.”
— Jessica, Daughter
"I tried to imagine how I would react were I in [Michael's] position. I can't imagine remaining so positive, and retaining a sense of humor in those circumstances, but he did -- at least in the face he showed the world....[A]nything can happen to anyone at any time, and you never know what resources -- in terms of grit and determination -- a person has until he (or she) is tested."
—Judy, Cousin