October 24, 1975: Friday

Decided I should eat breakfast, in case I have to cook lunch. Ate with Henry’s friends.

My field partner is Noel, from Maine. Short blond hair and beard. Pipe smoker. The other two guys remind me of Mooch Warden. I don’t know how both of them can, but I think the dark haired one is more of a Mark Hahn.

I really hate this sort of thing. I’ll survive when there’s a need to. But just going out to make oneself miserable is fruitless. Against all principles.

I worked sort of hard digging our snow shelter. Noel did about two thirds of the work, maybe 60 per cent. I worked most on the entrance tunnel and my sleeping bench. I suggested the menus and let Noel cook them. Pea soup with cheese for lunch and macaroni and cheese for dinner.

We went to the Ski Chalet, an A-frame (rough wood with benches and a Preway place), to talk about Antarctic first-aide. I always get squirmish at other people’s ailments.

Got back, crawled into the sleeping bag, and began thinking how cold it was. Started to read a very funny story in a SF anthology.

During the day I had thought of various ways to get out of this lunatic camp. I was going to twist my ankle, but didn’t get a chance. Next I was going to limp-fall at the Ski Chalet, but they would have mistaken it for Exposure. Then I thought about rolling off the ledge into the snow trench and getting hurt.

Then it occurred to me I had a fool proof plan. I could suddenly develop a pain in the male gonad. Perfect. I knew all the symptoms and everything. I could fake it. I’d had practice with the real thing. Beats being cold. So I got out of the snow shelter and quietly talked to Dave, one of the instructors. He looks like Bob Sailors (and you know who He looks like).

Dave took me back to Scott Base in Nodwell 42.

On the way back I began feeling very blue about telling the biggest, cheapest, most chicken-hearted lie in my life. Except, closer to the Base, I could feel a little twinge. And not of regret. Psychosomatic I always have been.

Fortunately Dr. Tim Flynn was at Scott Base. He’s the un-Navy Navy doctor, who operates on Al’s fish and started the rumor about there being only one set of crutches in McMurdo.

Anyway, he examined me and, lo and behold, I actually do have epiditimitis. A minor case.

The Lord moves in strange and mysterious ways. But I think my infection has been more or less permanent.

When the party at Scott Base broke up, an ear infection Kiwi gave us a ride home. I went into the dispensary. While the Doc looked for some medicine I filled out the Doctor’s report on my case.

I got prescribed some Indocin and a Jockstrap. And ordered to show up for sick call because Indocin can cause all sorts of strange and ludicrous side effects. (I should have written “kinky” side effects).