Going back: I still can't shake the idea. God knows I've tried. I've embarked on Doctoral studies, started a family, become a professor in Adventure Education at Prescott College. I owe it to my wife, I owe it to my child, and I owe it to my body to stay away. But still the worm turns.

Dreams are sequential. They build upon themselves. You have to realize the first dream before you can conceive the next. In 1989, no disabled person had attempted to climb Mt. Everest. I needed to find out if a person with an artificial foot could be a serious contender on the world's highest mountain. I came back with the conviction that I have the ability to reach, at 29,028 feet, the highest point on Earth.

Everest is an incredibly hungry mountain that gobbles up money, resources and lives. For me, this venture has to go beyond personal satisfaction and the allure of making history, there has to be the possibility, in some small way, to change the way people view disability. To say: disability is as much an attitude, as it is a condition.

From my Lazy Boy recliner in Prescott, Arizona, the project seemed worthy. Climb Mt. Everest. Make a film. There were still a few bothersome details to work out. Like who to go with, how to get a permit for the mountain, how to raise the thousands of dollars for the film and climb, how to equip the expedition, and what about a foot? Still, who's going to let a few loose ends intimidate you!

Flex-Foot, who not only made my first attempt possible, but actually made it fun, jumped back into the fray along with prosthetist, Dale Perkins, of Rehab Systems, Twin Falls, Idaho. Have foot, will travel.

In the giddy, hurly-burly of casinos and the Outdoor Industry's Reno Trade Show, I met up with a longtime compadre, Greg Child. Over a beer, I lay out my plan.

"You must think I'm bloody daft," he replies, with the good natured candor of an Aussie who's beaten the odds on many of the world's most respected mountains, "if you think I'd tie into the rope with a man with one leg on that mountain!"

"One foot," I correct him. And demonstrating my grasp of marketing vernacular, I add with appropriate nonchalance. "Anyway, it's a sexy project."

"Sexy!" He snorts, "It'll take a mite more than Everest for either one of us to look sexy."

"No, no, not look sexy! This project has virtue. It has appeal. It's the essence of the American dream. Think about it: mountaineer struck down in the prime of life, returns with former climbing partner to climb the world's highest mountain. Can't you see it? It's a "getting back on the horse story"...the story of the runner who gets up and finishes the race. It's the story of triumph in the face of insurmountable odds...".

I wasn't completely sure, but I thought, as he brought his beer glass up to his mouth, I heard him mutter. "You can say that again!" Australians, as a people, can be remarkably slow to catch on if they think there's another beer in it for them. From the expression on his face, I could tell, at the very least, this was a two beer idea.

After that, it was all down hill, so to speak. In April 1995, I met Greg and film maker Leo Dickinson, in Kathmandu to make "One Foot on the Road to Everest", a documentary of our attempt on Everest's North Ridge.

From Nepal we flew into the long forbidden city of Lhasa.

After two weeks of frustrating delays, grim food, and marginal accommodations we arrived at the spot on the Rombuk glacier that was to be our base camp for April, May and the first week of June. At 17,000 ft. we were higher than any permanent habitation on earth. The desolate valley was crowned by Mt. Everest, or Cho-mo-lung-ma, mother goddess of the Earth, as the Tibetans call her.

Our initial task was to ferry four tons of equipment, 22 kilometers and 4,000 vertical feet to establish a camp at the head of the East Rombuk Glacier. Days were spent sorting gear into 70 lb. loads, refining equipment and adjusting the fit of my crampons, the metal spikes, that attached directly to my Flex-Foot prosthesis. By forgoing a boot and insulating the socket of my prosthesis, I saved two and a half pounds. Every pound you save on your feet, in terms of energy expenditure, is 5 lbs. off your back. Thanks to the synergy of Dale Perkins at Rehab Systems and Flex-Foot, the 18 lb. oxygen bottle just went down to five and a half pounds!

By April 21 all was ready. As wild and sinewy as the mountains they inhabit, Tibetan herders strapped 150 lb. loads to the backs of thirty unwilling yaks. A day of jubilation! The two day march to advance base camp had begun.

Despite the constant gales that ripped its flanks, our task was to establish three camps up the North Ridge of Mt. Everest. The first on the North Col at 23,000 ft, the second at the top of a huge snow ramp on a crumbling rock ledge at 25,000 ft, and another at the foot of the Yellow Band at 27,000 ft. This has the distinction of being the highest camp in the world; there are only five points of land higher than this on the globe.

The problem of summiting on Everest is not so much the technical character of the mountain, but the climatic, psychological and physiological problems posed by great altitude. Altitude turns you into a codfish. Gasping for breath in the dry lean air dehydrates your body and aggravates your throat and bronchioles. A dry, hacking cough develops. There is no place to hide from the ultraviolet rays. Caught in the world's largest microwave, your lips, the inside of your mouth and nostrils fry.

I spent 34 consecutive days at, or above, 21,000 ft on the mountain. My acclimatization was extremely good. After 15 days, a mountaineer's physical condition starts to deteriorate and strength and endurance suffer greatly. Every day I watch the white plume ripping off the top of the mountain. Every day I hope and pray that tomorrow will be the day I get the "window", and each day it doesn't come, I die a little. In two expeditions I've melted away 96 lbs on that mountain. You go to Everest in prime condition, you return a wasted bag of bones. Chomolungma!

Oxygen, to the mountaineer, is akin to armor to the knights of old. It's a big asset in keeping you healthy, but it also exacts a price. The equipment is heavy and cumbersome, the mask restricts your vision and is uncomfortable, and there isn't a moment when you don't wonder if you'd be better off without it.

Crammed into a tent at 27,000 ft., we tried to rest - by midnight we'd had enough. Greg, Russell Brice and I with two Sherpa set off up the mountain. Our head lamps searched the darkness for the way through the Yellow Band, a strata of limestone that presents a series of steep snow ramps and rock traverses to the Northeast Ridge.

After three hours it was apparent that I was not moving fast enough to reach the summit and return in daylight. Exhausted, without oxygen, a second night at that altitude would have dire consequences. Frostbite, leading to amputation of extremities is a given; death, a distinct probability. Depleted from more than a month of living and working at altitude, struggling under a burden of two oxygen bottles, with nothing but old, tattered, fixed lines to safe guard my progress, I realized that we were exceeding an acceptable risk. If the fixed lines I was relying on for upward progress were to fail, all five of us would perish.

Russell, sacrificing his summit bid opted to descend with me to the high camp where we would wait for the Sherpa and Greg's return. Based on the information we received from Greg we would either give it another attempt or call it quits.

Upon his return, Greg had a new respect for the mountain and the difficulties it posed. "Whittaker" he said, "we are on the wrong side of the mountain. From the South Col I really believe you can do it. But on this side there is too much rock. It'll slow you down way too much". Bitter disappointment engulfs me. So much work; so much pain. And what about those hopes and dreams? Where were they now? Taking me by the shoulders Greg shakes me affectionately. His tone softens and becomes more urgent. "Whittaker" he says, "Damn it man, you should've never made it this far. But against all odds you did! On the other side, you are traveling on snow and ice. If you want this thing bad enough, I really believe you can do it. But from Nepal, not on this side of the mountain."

Back at Base Camp Greg gave me a piece of rock from the summit. "Tom" he said, "I want you to put this back where I got it."

As I said before, dreams are sequential. You have to be able to imagine something before you can do it. In the spring of 1995, I got close enough to smell the summit. In the spring of 1998, I will be heading for Nepal and Mt. Everest. And when I go, it will be, with a little piece of rock in my pocket.

Editors Note: In spring 1998, Tom Whittaker will lead an international expedition of 12 people with disabilities to Everest's base camp in Nepal. He will stay on to climb the mountain with a disabled Sherpa. His intention is to expand on the consciousness-building work of the Paralympic games, August 1996, and focus attention through the media and internet. Whittaker says,"To change a societal mind–set you have to start young." He is targeting schools world wide to follow the expedition from March through June,1998. His intention is to create a transference from himself and the disabled people on the expedition to disabled children in schools all over the globe, thereby raising the status of disabled children amongst their peers and setting the stage for a more functional and diverse society.