Climbing Trail
The Andes tragedy Part 1
Ever heard of the Andes tragedy? Survival on a snow mountain for 72 days.
At one point, the survivor was forced to eat the flesh of his dead friends.
Some are curious, check out the story!!!
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Where is the boundary between life and death?
Through the screen of an ultrasound machine, I studied the heartbeat of a baby about to be born. I spent my time watching those little hands and feet being monitored. Somehow but I feel a kind of communication even though it's just through the screen. I'm so excited that a life will soon be coming between us—all depending on this little heart's ability to survive.
For a moment I stared at the ultrasound screen, the next moment I seemed to stare into the window of the blurry plane, looking at the horizon to see if my friends would come back alive while trying to climb a snow mountain to get help. After surviving a plane crash that crashed in the Andes mountains on December 22, 1972, after being declared missing for two months, I always questioned myself various questions. One of the questions that often arises: what should I do when all the chances of survival are almost zero?
I turned to a pregnant woman, who was lying in a stroller on the second floor of the Italiano hospital in Montevideo, Uruguay. What is the best way to tell her that a developing child in her womb is growing with an abnormality in her heart? Until a few years ago, a newborn child with a heart disorder like this, will not live long. His brief presence in the world leaves only the trauma of an abandoned family. But this young mother is lucky, the medical world has experienced a lot of development in recent years. And this mother, Azucena, has little hope. But there will be a long and arduous journey for this mother and child, as well as for her husband and two other children. A dangerous and uncharted journey, like the one I took in the Andes.
My friends and I were lucky enough to finally get out of the mountains and reach the green valley of Los Maitenes. It was there that I tried to lead them towards their own green valley, though I knew that not all of them would survive the journey.
It was also my role as a doctor. I found myself tossed between life and death when I saw this baby, named by her mother, Maria del Rosario. He lives a quiet life now, connected to his mother's placenta in the womb, but what about it? Do I have to do a long marathon operation until he has a chance to live? And is that equivalent to the risk as well as the cost? I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the many similarities to my story.
When we finally left the fuselage to travel across the peaks and ravines into that valley in Chile, we came across a vast no man's land. When thinking about it again, it felt impossible to survive in such extreme weather, minus thirty degrees Celsius, without any equipment and a body that had lost almost seventy pounds. Everyone says it is impossible to travel more than fifty miles from east to west across the Andes, because our frail bodies were not designed for the harsh terrain of the Andes.
We could have stayed inside the fuselage, safe, until it was time for us to run out of food, and the only food source left was the lifeless bodies of our friends. Just as a baby gets food from its mother, we get through it thanks to our friends.
Should we shut up or should we go? Stay cowering or advancing? The only equipment we had was a sleeping bag made from the remains of an aircraft heating system, which we sewed with copper wire.
This child, which is still a fetus, still connected to its food source, can survive longer, just like we did in the fuselage. But one day, as with us, the cord will be cut if he wants to continue to live, and start a race with time. I'm the last person to decide to finally get out, and that's why the images come so often, intensely and hauntingly.
When should we cut the cable? When do we have to convince ourselves to finally cross that heavy mountain terrain? I knew that a hasty decision to cross the mountains would carry a great risk, just like the premature delivery of a child with this congenital heart defect. There are a lot of considerations before I have to decide. Too many factors, but I realized we were running out of time. Nando Parrado understands my doubts because he feels the same way. The difference is he did not say it for the sake of keeping the spirit of the other friends who almost gave up.
Every time someone dies, a small part of me dies. Until the time came when Gustavo Zerbino reported, one of the strongest among us, Numa Turcatti died. That was the moment I decided I had to move. That is the time to leave the wreck of the fuselage that ‘comfort’ this, to be born into a world with a heart defect. One of my friends, Arturo Nogueirra, who broke both legs when the plane crashed and died in the end, told me, “you are so lucky Roberto, you walk for all of us.”
I was only nineteen years old, in my second year of medical school, a rugby player, my lover Lauri Surraco, when our plane crashed in the Andes mountains October 13, 1972. The seventy days on the mountain were truly a lightning test of disaster, its treatment as well as its means of survival. It's like a brutal laboratory, where we're the experimenter. In that snow hell, I gained a new perspective, if it can be healed it means it can be saved.
In the hospital where I worked, many of my colleagues criticized me behind or even openly in front of me, that I pretended to dominate, impetuous, impulsive, breaking the rules and performing inappropriate behavior a criticism that my friends also threw on the mountain at that time. But, as well as the patients here, they don't care about the hospital rules, they come, take treatment and go home. Refuse to comply with hospital njlimet rules. My way is the way of the mountain. Hard, trying tough, stubborn. For me there's only one thing that matters, fighting to stay alive.
When I close my eyes, often my thoughts penetrate space and time, and find myself back in that hell valley. The day our plane crashed in the Andes Mountains. Until then, my friends and I lived in a predictable world, then suddenly tears welled up as the disaster unfolded and we were left adrift in an eternal limbo where time did not begin and did not end.
It was October 13, 1972 at 3:29. As I looked out the window of the plane, I was surprised to see the snowy peaks of the Andes mountain range appear very close to the wings of our aircraft, the Fairchild FH-227D. Our rugby team, from the Stella Maris Christian Brothers school, has hired a turboprop aircraft with a capacity of forty-five passengers from the Uruguayan air force, to transport the players, alumni, and other players, families and fans of rugby matches in Chile.
Suddenly I felt the plane shaking violently and then falling into turbulence, rising again and then falling again. It appears the pilot was trying to lift the nose of the plane. A moment later the sound of a loud snorting, the sound of metal crumbling and then an explosion appeared. We were drifting violently like we were in the middle of a storm. I felt dizzy, clutching tightly against the plane seat, while the plane continued to slide down faster and faster between the sides of the cliff.
I was gripped by the realization that our plane crashed into the cliffs of the Andes mountains, and I was about to die. If I survived, there would be no help in this remote place. While around me steel, machinery, limbs wrapped around each other and crushed. I continued to hold tight until unconsciously my grip tore through the fabric and foam of the airplane seat. Realizing, I lowered my head, preparing for the final collision that would probably kill me instantly.
What does it feel like to die? Am I going to run out of air? Is the world going dark? How much pain can I endure? Am I going to see my organs being torn apart? Will I be conscious until death finally picks me up? When will I finally lose consciousness?
Suddenly the plane stopped suddenly. My chair—which I tied there—as taken roughly and just thrown into the chair in front of me. A chain reaction that does not end until a row of crumpled seats pound the cockpit.
But I'm still breathing.
I started to think that this was death. At the time, I couldn't believe I was alive. What I haven't realized is that death comes to us in small doses, little by little.
I fainted which felt like a second. When I woke up, I couldn't understand what was really going on. My eyes were spinning, my head was dizzy and I felt excruciating pain, only I was unable to feel which part of my body was hurting. Next my ears heard moans of pain also smelling the stinging steam of jet fuel. Behind me, I saw that the body of the plane had split in two. I could hardly believe my vision, but it was true that the fuselage was half-living, the tail part was missing. It is likely that the tail of the plane fell between the mountains that surrounded us.
Flaco Vasquez, who was sitting across from me, looked at me and asked for help. He looked very pale, confused and shocked. A noisy voice rang out behind me, someone was trying to break away from the chair and the metal was twisted, it was Gustavo Zerbino. He looked at me with a look as if saying: you are alive too! Without saying a word, we ask ourselves: now what? Where do we start? But Carlitos Paez , another friend, who also still seemed shocked, finally managed to speak,”Canessa is a disaster, isn't it?”
I looked around me, then realized Flaco Vasquez's leg was badly injured, we had to stop the bleeding immediately. My instincts are moving. It was not without a doubt at all, it was just that I realized they would not have much time left if not helped immediately.
When I started moving, I found something—or rather someone; Alvaro Mangino, lying under his chair, was trapped by a twisted iron. Gustavo lifted the chair and I dragged Alvaro out. His right leg was pinned under the metal, when I managed to free him, I could see his leg was broken. I told Alvaro to concentrate on thinking about anything. Just as he nodded, I quickly broke his leg to escape the metal clasp. Tears flowed through Alvaro's cheeks, but he didn't grumble too much. Then I wrapped his legs in the torn shirt Gustavo gave me. While that's all I can do for her.
We continued our search among the wreckage of the plane. The next person I found was Enrique Platero. He pointed out a piece of metal that pierced his stomach, as if it were someone else's stomach. How deep, we don't know. Gustavo told him to turn around and quickly plucked the metal from his stomach, a piece of red meat appearing to be pulled out. I put the piece of meat back in the wound, then I wrapped it in a jersey.
“Thank you.” Platero.
I suddenly felt a cold too. Here I realized, all around us was snow and ice.
(Connected)
