at 1999 she performed a biopsy on herself (using ice as her only anesthetic) and discovered that she was suffering from an aggressive form of breast cancer.
Meanwhile, at the bottom of the world, Nielsen's odds didn't look particularly good. Under the best of circumstances, women with her type and stage of breast cancer have a 50/50 chance of survival. And the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station hardly provided the best of circumstances.
In temperatures cold enough to coagulate jet fuel, 41 people were living and working in perpetual exterior darkness under a polar dome designed to house a staff of 17. As the medic, it was Nielsen's job to keep the scientists and on-site construction crew healthy until fresh personnel and supplies would arrive with the coming of the Antarctic spring.
As Nielsen's cancer progressed, though, the doctor increasingly became the patient. Because it was too cold at that point to land an airplane at the Pole, the NSF arranged to have cancer-fighting drugs and other medical supplies airdropped.
To a large degree, Nielsen treated herself after that, while continuing to care for other "Polies" with injuries. She did, though, have plenty of help administering her weekly chemotherapy sessions.
Following directions from a stateside oncologist, a welder and a maintenance man on the base learned to administer the IVs. A heavy-equipment mechanic mixed the potentially deadly drugs and monitored the IV drips. Others at the station videotaped the sessions and worked to keep the communications lines open so doctors 9,000 miles away could give advice if something went wrong.
By the time an Air National Guard LC-130 made the coldest-ever landing at the Pole, with temperatures hovering around 60 degrees below zero, on Oct. 16, Nielsen had to be carried to the plane. Once she was in America, the NSF slipped her past waiting reporters and she was taken directly to Indiana University Hospital. There she had a lumpectomy (later, she was forced to have a full mastectomy) and more chemotherapy.
Behind her on the Pole, she left the closest friends she had ever made, a group she rightly calls modern-day heroes.
Unfortunately, Ice Bound, Nielsen's account of the ordeal, has a rushed and almost amateur quality to it. It reads in places like it's the product of a vanity publisher.
The good doctor isn't always a sympathetic character, either, leaving her old life in shambles and heading to the Pole while her father was seemingly on his deathbed. Even now, more than 15 months after Nielsen's emergency evacuation from the Pole, she hasn't been able to arrange a reunion with her three teenage children.
But taken as a whole, Ice Bound is a worthwhile read. The details of life at the fringes of human development are fascinating, and the stages of anger, depression and anguish Nielsen passes through ring true, even to a reader who hasn't faced a terminal illness or been estranged from loved ones.
At one point, Nielsen writes that Antarctica is a "blank slate on which you could write your soul." In Ice Bound, Nielsen bares her soul -- warts, frostbite and all.