Steve's trip is not that big of deal. Yes, people die on their way to the top but it isn't the death of getting caught in an unexpected storm or falling into a crevasse. The number is a handful per year and is more a result of congenital predispositions towards certain very severe forms of altitude sickness.
I did not peak. I made it to about 15,000 feet or so to the last camp. I read one should eat and if not hungry force themselves to eat. I was hungry and I fed myself like I was hungry. Well about an hour or two before we were to set out for the final push I woke up and blew chunks (and I had a big long hairy beard at this time). The rest of my team came to wake me for the final push and I told them to come back on the way down.
My buddy told me the last couple of hours was three steps, stop try to catch breath, three steps, ad naseum. My buddy made it.
From there it was one more night on the mountain and then the rest of the way down. We turned in our gear and caught a bus back to a certain town. Found a place to stay, got some food and crashed. The next morning I creaked into a tub for a hot bath (or lukewarm and mind you hot water was not available all day).
I enjoyed walking around drinking Castle Beers & eating lobster on Zanzibar much better.