Trust me on that — it could be lower by now. There’s nothing between me and the snow except my sleeping bag and a four-foot-square tarp mounted on sticks over my head. I’m a mile up in the mountains of Wyoming, a few hundred miles northeast of the 2002 Olympic Winter Games, which have just started in Salt Lake City. It’s my first morning at Roundtop Wilderness Camp for troubled teens. The noise of an unseen, unidentified animal nearby in the woods wakes me from an uncomfortable sleep. When I try to open my eyes, I find they’re welded shut by a crust of ice. I pry the frozen stuff away, one small particle at a time. A few pieces come off with my eyelashes embedded in them. I’m not here because of my doctors. None of them has ever advised that I do something this unusual, or this extreme. After discovering the dangerous fire in the basement, my parents knew they had to intervene. They eventually came up with the idea of wilderness camp after hearing about a good experience some friends of theirs had had with their son.
What do You think about Against Medical Advice (2008)?
