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I made the decision to attempt the trek to Everest Base Camp in April 2016, whilst stood on top of the highest mountain in Wales (Snowdon - it was a trial set by my cousin who organised the EBC trek and me getting to the top and down again in one piece was the green light to go to Nepal). Okay, I’m not reaching for the ‘Disability Card’, but my story is based on the hardship and strife I endured whilst in the upper Himalayas. It was the single most difficult thing I’ve done. Thousands of people do the EBC trek each year. So what makes my story different? The fact that I had a life changing head injury in 2001 which paralysed my right arm and leg. I did it, mostly to satisfy my need for adventure and challenge and partly to raise money for the hospital that saved my life. I was in a coma for 3 weeks and rehabilitation for 8 months, learning how to walk and talk again. I recovered a lot but will have a lifelong disability. My leg is weak and I can’t use my arm. I arrived to Nepal in October of the same year. The trek was arranged as a team exercise, but, owing to my disability I decided to go 2 days ahead of the other 6 so as not to slow them down. I was given my own porter, a local lad called Ram who would carry my backpack on the trek and we met in Kathmandu on the morning we were due to take the perilous flight to Lukla. I took an instant like to him. An unassuming, tough looking kid from a village 5 hours west of Kathmandu where he worked on his family’s farm. The weather was bad, we waited in the airport 5 hours before being told that all the day’s flights were cancelled. Disaster. I had to go that day in order to get there on time. The whole trip was scheduled day by day and I’d booked an onward flight to Bali in 15 days time so couldn’t afford to lose a day. Plus I didn’t know what kind of obstacles I’d face during the trek. Ram went away to an office in the airport to ask. No joy. We’d have to rearrange our flight for the day after - if there was any space and if the weather was OK. Just then, in the midst of my panic I overheard a German couple talking about hiring a helicopter (because apparently they can fly beneath the cloud). My ears perked up when I heard one of them say that they needed more people to fill it. I joined in the discussion. It was a hefty price and I’d have to pay for Ram too. Yes or no. They moved fast and before I knew it we were onboard the chopper and heading to Lukla where we’d begin the trek. What followed was the most intense ride. I’m not sure how close we came to crashing but there was at least 15 minutes where was there was an eerie silence in the cabin as the young pilot navigated his way through the low, menacing clouds, barely scraping over mountains until, relieved, we arrived and started the long trek to EBC that very afternoon. What followed was 13 days of amazement, unbelievably breathtaking vistas and almost unbearable difficulties. We averaged 9 hours walking per day, from tea-house to tea-house (where trekkers eat and sleep during the trek) slowly winding our way up and around the massive peaks. Entering valleys so sublime I was brought to tears on more than one occasion and all the time Ram was there to carry my load, pick me up when I fell, steady me when I almost went over, bring me my supper and on the final push, when I thought I couldn’t go on he was tentatively willing me on with his native eagerness and steely gaze. On the final approach, in the other worldliness that lies under Everest we walked, determined and at last reached Base Camp, sweating, tearful, humbled, empty. We embraced and I have a friend for life.