Facing Losses

Today, I saw a reminder on Facebook that a friend of mine from high school was having a birthday today. Sadly, she is not here to celebrate that birthday.  She passed away from metastatic breast cancer over a year ago.  This sad memory came on the heels of some devastating news that another friend of mine from high school just passed away from metastatic breast cancer last week.  While I hadn't been close to them since graduation, these were women I spent a lot of time with in my youth. They were not that different from me.  

I also lost two members of my peer support group in the past few months.  In the end, they had so much pain that they were ready to go, but it doesn't make it any easier.  

All but one of these women were diagnosed after me.  They had less time than I have had with their families. They suffered greater complications from the disease and corresponding treatment.  And it doesn't seem remotely fair.  I have moments of feeling guilty.  How am I still here when so many others have not made it this far?  And in my lowest moments, I have to admit that I wonder when the bubble might burst for me.  

And so I find myself writing, because that is what I do when I feel a bit conflicted or out of sorts. I find that writing helps me to work through some of the painful feelings and to find a way to sit with them so that they don't feel quite so heavy on my heart. Sometimes, words, and the action of pulling them together, can be healing. It lets me put on paper and release from my head the things that are troubling. I think writing is also, in many ways, a sign of hope.  It embraces the idea that I have something worth saying. And it leads to the hope that you'll find what I have to say worth reading.  

It is not always easy to have the sword of damocles that is cancer dangling over your head. But hope is a muscle that gets stronger the more it is worked.  And then it becomes something stronger than hope. It becomes a sense of well-being about myself and the world, despite observations to the contrary.  It allows for me to be present with the way things are, but to look without fear at what may be down the road. I've learned we must let fear go if we want to make progress.  

I mourn the loss of these amazing women who lost their lives too early.  Their memory encourages me to cherish the present moment all the more, and to say yes to the future plans that are offered up. To say yes to vacation plans, to say yes to dinners with friends.  I am grateful that vaccinations are going to make such things possible again. And I'm saying yes to this beautiful life and to the future. I know there are no guarantees,  My scans next week will say what they say.  But I will not be afraid about them. 

What Doesn't Kill You...

Humans are interesting creatures.  I watched a couple of documentaries the last two weeks that really made me think about the nature of physical suffering.  Nobody wants pain or suffering, right? But yet, we actually kind of do.  Sometimes we purposely seek it out.  Why is that?

One of the movies I watched was about Bikram Choudry.  He is the founder of Bikram yoga and popularized the whole hot yoga trend where people practice in rooms heated over 100 degrees.  I've tried it three times, and each time I felt utterly depleted afterward and decided it just wasn't for me.  But people get really addicted to it and swear by it. The interesting thing about Bikram is, not only is the room miserably hot, but his style and personality are quite abusive to his students and he has since fled the country due to litigation over allegations of sexual assault and abusive behavior. Still, thousands of people happily forked over thousands of dollars to train with him, and they still do today. 

The other documentary was about the mountains and the draw that they have for us.  Mountains are not welcoming places. They are starkly beautiful, but they are not places you go for quiet rest and relaxation. In ages past, mountains were forbidding places of deep mystery, and nobody would go there on purpose. Mountains are cold, hard, unforgiving environments. How many people have been injured or died while trying to cross passes or reach summits? Still, the mountains draw people in. People will pay dearly for the opportunity to experience some of the most intense suffering of their lives in attempts to climb the highest peaks in the most heinous conditions imaginable.

I'm no stranger to the joy of suffering.  Each summer, I purposely, and with great delight, weigh myself down with many pounds of gear on my back so that I can go out into the forests or mountains and  expose my fair skin to the punishing effects of the sun (or perhaps rain or wind), put up with all manner of biting bugs eager to make a meal of me, and generally make myself quite exhausted with the effort of it all as I find myself counting down the steps or paddle strokes until I can make camp and sleep on the cold hard ground.  And I love it.

So why do we do it?

Maybe its the old adage, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  While modern life has its challenges, most of them are not physical challenges.  Life is pretty cushy for most of us in the western world who are not manual laborers.  I think we all long to test our mettle in some way. There is something deeply satisfying about doing something really, physically hard, and somehow getting through it. Smooth seas never made for a skilled sailor.  Muscles don't grow from sitting in the easy chair. We get better, and stronger, when we are challenged.

This is exactly why I've started challenging myself with the Wim Hof method. Wim Hof is a slightly insane Dutch guy who is also known as the Ice Man.  He's done some pretty astounding feats such as a climbing to the death zone of Mt. Everest and running a marathon above the Arctic Circle, both times wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. He holds records for swimming under the ice and immersing himself in ice water for a couple of hours without his body temperature dropping. Through experimentation, he has learned how to hack his body so that he can control his autonomic nervous system and charge up his immune system.  He teaches some specific breathing exercises and controlled cold exposure in an effort to help people improve their health and well-being. Even people with chronic diseases like Parkinson's and cancer have found better health through his method.  Hof believes that humans evolved to be able to handle cold temperatures, but in our modern lives, we have climate controlled ourselves into a state of weakness. By exposing ourselves gradually to the cold, we can turn on all kinds of mechanisms within our bodies that help us regulate body temperature, build stronger immune systems, metabolize fat more efficiently, and reduce chronic inflammation.

I already practiced a lot of breathing exercises, so that part wasn't hard to add to my daily routine, but the part I really had a hard time with was the cold exposure. Wim Hof suggests cold showers and ice baths as part of the methodology. Yes. Cold showers. In the middle of winter.  Did I mention this guy is a little bit crazy?  I have always hated the cold, so why was I even considering this?  But somehow Wim Hof kept turning up in just about every podcast I listen to and I kept hearing how awesome it was to experience this cold therapy.  It took me nearly two months of just doing the breathing exercises before I finally summoned up the courage to try the cold showers. So I'm as surprised as anybody to say that I am finding that I almost enjoy it. 

OK. Enjoy might be a strong word, but there is something pretty empowering about it. Despite the fact that the outside temperature is now below freezing, and the water coming out of the pipes is tremendously cold this time of year about (50 degrees), I have been taking a cold shower nearly every day for the past two months.  I start out with warm water, and then I shut off all the hot water so that only the cold is running.  The first few seconds are the worst. But it is surprising how, if I stay calm and just keep my breathing steady, my body knows how to handle it. I turn the warm back on when I feel I can't do it anymore, usually after about one minute, and then I end with another 15 to 20 seconds of cold.  It is very bracing, to say the least, and I am, most certainly very AWAKE by this point.

Will it make a difference for me in the long run with my health?  I have my quarterly scans at the end of the month, and we will see.  But even if nothing changes with my scans, the plain fact of the matter is that I do feel better. I'm finding I've become much more tolerant of the cold weather this winter, and I don't feel nearly as cold as I used to feel. My skin is in better health with less itchiness (itching is a side effect of one of the drugs I get), and I have really good energy and focus.

But mostly, it makes me feel powerful.  And that feeling, I think, is what it's all about. Having cancer or any kind of illness can make you feel like you are somehow weak and frail. So often, though, our mental challenges are far bigger than the physical challenges.  If we can just get out of our heads sometimes, we find that our bodies have the wisdom to know just what to do. These bodies of ours are pretty amazing. Just the fact that you can think about scratching your nose, and then make it happen, is a feat of neurological wonder.

When I take that cold shower, I see how quickly my body warms me back up the minute I step out. It's quite remarkable. We focus so often on the things that are wrong with us, that we forget about the millions of things that go right every single moment. It helps me to recognize that we are so much stronger than we think we are and that every challenge just makes us a little bit stronger for the future.

Health is Not the Absence of Disease

Today was treatment day for me. Every three weeks I go into the cancer center and get an IV infusion of Herceptin and Perjeta.  These are targeted therapies that are meant to keep the specific type of breast cancer cells that I have from growing.  The drugs target receptors on those cells that keep the cell from dividing.  They have kept me stable for over three years now with minimal side effects. I am beyond grateful for them.

Every three to four months, I get a CT scan and an echo-cardiogram to see how I'm doing.  The drugs can be hard on the heart, especially for those taking them long-term, so the the echo checks to make sure my heart is still pumping efficiently. The CT scan checks the state of the lesions that have shown up on previous scans, and they measure them to see if there are any changes or to see if anything new has popped up. I had a scan at the end of November, and it was not entirely good news.  The scan showed a slight enlargement of one of my axial lymph nodes.  These are the nodes right in your armpit. We don't like changes in the scans unless they show that there is a reduction of size. That kind of change is A-OK, but bigger is not better. If there is progression, that could mean that my cancer has stopped responding to the current treatment. This sort of thing happens a lot with cancer which is what makes cancer such a tricky thing to manage.

My oncologist was pretty concerned. This might mean that we would have to change things up with my treatment, which I wasn't excited about at all. Most of the other treatments are not as free of side-effects as the one I'm on. But she didn't want to make any rushes to judgement. There could be lots of reasons why a lymph node might be enlarged.  I had just had a flu shot the week before. Could that have been the reason for it? Maybe I was fighting a cold. So, we decided we'd take a "wait and see" approach and scan again in three months.

The three month re-scan happened last week. I knew that this one, depending on the report, could make a big difference in what my treatment might look like.  I knew I might have to put in a little more effort into the outcome I wanted to see.

I've done a lot of reading this past year about how absolutely powerful our thoughts are.  We've all heard someone say "just thinking about it makes me sick." It's true, though, isn't it?  We've probably all had the experience of worrying so much about something that we got a stomach ache, or feeling so stressed out that we get a headache. We can, most definitely, make ourselves sick.  So, it stands to reason, that if we can make ourselves sick by our thoughts and emotions, couldn't we make ourselves better too?

So, I focused my meditations on feeling the emotions of a positive scan report.  I visualized the smile on my doctor's face as she told me that things looked good.  I imagined healing love energy flowing into my body and filling up every corner of every cell with a beautiful golden light. I visualized myself doing a happy dance and sending that love energy to everyone around me. I imagined telling people the good news. I filled my heart with positive emotions and a sense of well-being. Our brains and bodies produce chemicals based on our emotions, and I wanted my body to know that everything was totally good.

The morning of the scan, I had a thought that popped into my head. "I want to see a monarch butterfly today." If I saw an image of one, I would feel like that was my sign that everything was going to be just fine. And then I went to work and forgot all about that thought.  Before I knew it, afternoon was upon me and I had to head over to the clinic to get my scans. As I was waiting for the CT nurse to call me in, I pulled out my phone to while away the minutes. Facebook is always a reliable way to kill time, and I was scrolling through to see what my world of friends and family have been up to. All of a sudden, I scrolled upon a video that a good friend of mine had posted. And what do you suppose was in the video? Not just one butterfly. The video showed hundreds of monarchs flying against the backdrop of a bright blue sky. It was simply beautiful, and I found myself overcome with love and appreciation and a sense of great awe and wonder. It was almost as if the universe was saying, oh you wanted a butterfly, did you? I'll show you so many butterflies that there will be no mistaking this sign.

As I gazed at this slow-motion video of butterflies dancing across the sky, I had this sense that each one was picking up whatever troubles I did not need and carrying them away. And I knew that, no matter what, everything was going to be okay.

The next day, I thought I'd play around with the universe again. So I asked for an image of an angel as another sign. I didn't see one all day and again forgot about it until evening. We had plans to see a movie that night, Apollo 11, at the Imax theater in Roseville and as we walked into the theater from the parking lot, I realized I had not seen any angel images. Just as I thought that, my son said, "Hey, Alita, Battle Angel.  My friend saw that and he said it was really good."  I had not heard about this movie at all, but as we walked into the theater, the first thing I saw was the poster for Alita, Battle Angel, with an image of her front and center.  I laughed to myself and thought, OK, so it wasn't exactly the image of an angel that I had in my mind. But sometimes the universe gives you what you want in ways you did not expect. You just have to be open to things as they come your way. 

I met with my oncologist today.  It took her a good long while to get around to telling me about my scan results.  We talked about how Stage 4 in one person, isn't the same as Stage 4 in another person. If we just checked off the boxes that say "this is what you do when you see a change" I would probably already be on a different treatment. But she understands that she's not treating cancer. She's treating me. She is treating someone she knows. Yes, I have metastatic breast cancer, but that is not who I am.  I am not a diagnosis. We are not defined by the labels assigned to us by a system that wants to check off boxes.  I may be labeled as stage 4, but I also snowshoe, and I backpack, and there is nothing keeping me from living the life that I want to live. Just as my angel didn't look like I expected, "health" does not always look like you expect. Health is not the absence of disease.  It's about how we are able to live our lives. Are we able to do the things we want to do most of the time? Are we able to give something to our communities.  Are we part of something bigger than ourselves?

We talked about how cancer changes us and makes us see life in ways we would not have imagined.  She sees it all the time - people who say, I'm actually a lot happier and healthier post cancer than I was pre-cancer. Of course, none of us who have cancer or have been touched by it would ever wish it upon another person, but there is something about the experience of it that changes you. It makes you understand that life is so incredibly beautiful in all its many guises. It makes you take better care of yourself. It makes you appreciate and see each day in a whole new way. It makes you wonder how you can make the world a better place.

That lymph node? It's still enlarged, which I wasn't wanting to hear. But it hasn't changed since last time. Everything else is perfectly stable as well. No changes at all. So my Dr. doesn't think we should make any changes to my treatment because I'm doing so great and everything still looks good. So I didn't get exactly what I expected, but it was still the exact outcome I wanted. My doctor did have the happy smile I had imagined.  I did feel my body full of light and love. I did do that happy dance I had visualized and excitedly shared my scan report with the nurses and my family. It all transpired just as I had imagined it would

So it's all good. We will scan again in three months to keep an eye on things, and as we wait for the next scan to come round, we will all just live each day the best we can, and imagine and feel deep in our cells what we want our future to be.  And if we open our eyes, I bet we will see unexpected angels everywhere. Or a hundred butterflies. You never know. Spring isn't that far away.

https://www.facebook.com/pato.moreno.71/videos/1879461472182424/?t=2

Believing in Impossible Things

This weekend, we watched a terrific movie called The Dawn Wall. It tells the story of American rock climbers, Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson, who drew worldwide attention as they attempted to free-climb a 3,000 foot rock face on El Capitan in Yosemite National Park.

El Capitan is very popular with climbers and many routes up the rock have been explored over the years, but the face known as the Dawn Wall was considered much too difficult to free climb.  Free climbing is where a climber can use ropes and equipment to protect themselves from falls, but not to actually aid in the climbing itself.  Free climbers use only the strength of their bodies to make the ascent. The Dawn Wall is particularly difficult to climb because it really is a wall with sheer rock faces that provide almost nothing to grab onto.   This photo from the movie gives you some sense of how truly difficult this climb is. It's pretty much a straight wall with some little bumps in it. Even Spiderman would have some challenges with this wall.



To make things even more complicated, this is not a one-day climb. They would need to complete 32 pitches (sections) to reach the top.  Some days they could do several at once, but some difficult pitches required days to finally get through.  To make the climb truly count, they had to do it all without coming off the wall. They lived in a porta-ledge for the duration of the climb, never coming down to the ground but hauling up everything they needed to live for days on end as, each day, they banged up their bodies and tore up their fingers on the rock, moving careful precise inches at a time. Sleeping and living life from a piece of nylon and tubing hung against a rock thousands of feet above the ground, in the middle of winter, is not a recipe for achieving peak performance in most situations.

The fact that they both achieved their goal is a marvel of human achievement. But that isn't even the half of it. You see, not only were they attempting this impossible climb, in the winter, with no comforts at the end of each grueling day, but Tommy Caldwell does not have all of his fingers on his left hand. He accidentally cut off his pointer finger with a table saw many years ago. Everybody said that he would probably never be able to climb again. You kind of  need all your fingers to climb, right? But the thing is, he didn't want to find a new career. He wanted to be a climber. And so he worked at it, and worked at it, and developed his own ways of climbing to compensate. To do this climb with ten fully functional fingers is super-human.  To do the climb with nine fingers?  I don't even have the words for how amazing that is.

There is something deep in the human psyche that looks at an impossible problem, and then says, "I wonder."  I wonder if we can climb this rock face?  I wonder if a person can run a mile in less than four minutes? I wonder if we can fly across the ocean in a plane?  I wonder if we can send a human being into space? I wonder what is at the bottom of the ocean?

When we humans start to wonder, some truly wonderful things can happen. Seemingly impossible things can happen. They may seem miraculous, but they are the result of trying, and failing, and trying, and failing, and then trying again and then failing again.  The miracle, then, is not really in the achievement. The miracle is in the never giving up. The miracle is in opening our eyes in the morning, getting up and trying again, and again, and again. And some days it does seem like it might just be impossible as setback after setback occurs. But then one fine day, something clicks into place, and the impossible becomes possible.

We've all been told that certain things we might want to achieve are impossible. Almost every human achievement started out with somebody saying, "it will never work."  "It can't be done." "Don't even try."  But, I think we all have that sense of wonder within us. Maybe we stop listening to the doomsayers, and start believing in impossible things. Maybe we start to take those first unsteady steps towards finding out that nothing is really impossible. Maybe we commit to the daily miracle of trying. And then trying again.

Nothing is impossible. Impossible is an opinion, not the truth. Audrey Hepburn stated it beautifully.  "Nothing is impossible. The word itself says I'm possible".

I'm possible. And you are possible. Anything is possible. Isn't that wonderful?

Amazing and Awful

Today was a hard day. I went to the Midwest Metastatic Breast Cancer Conference. It was a well organized conference, with some great speakers and presentations, and I heard a lot of very valuable information. I met some really lovely people. 

But it was also really hard. It was hard to hear about one of the valiant organizers of the conference who succumbed to this disease just a few weeks ago. It was hard to hear about the difficulties that so many people with this disease face.  And it was hard because it was an acknowledgement, a reminder, that I am still dealing with this disease.

It was hard because we lost a dear family member yesterday. My kind and gentle aunt passed away from complications from treatment for lymphoma. It's a devastating loss for my uncle and cousins, and she will be so deeply missed. I was thinking about them all a lot today.

It was hard because I also found out this past week that a very good friend of mine was just diagnosed with breast cancer. And I hate to think about her having to go through it. I thought about her a lot today and the many other dear people I know who have had to face a cancer diagnosis or who have lost a loved one to cancer. It is too high a number.

It was hard because I was reminded of how cancer has stolen so much from so many and caused so much suffering. And today, it is breaking my heart just a little bit.

But this is what it is to be human. And those broken places in our hearts somehow get filled up again. I don't know how it happens, but if we allow grace in it just does. The breaks, of course, can never really be repaired to their original state. But those cracks, they remind us that we can break, and then we can be put back together again.

One of the best things that came out of the conference today was the quote that I shared at the top of this post. It is so beautifully and tragically true. Life is, indeed, amazing, and then it's awful, and then it's amazing again.

Life is full of suffering. But it is also full of overcoming it. And that gives me hope.

Wish upon a Power Port

Do you know what a Power Port is?  It is not anywhere near as exciting as it sounds. If you are not familiar with these little devices, you should consider yourself very lucky because that probably means that neither you nor someone you care about needed one. They are also called port catheters and they are used primarily for people who need chemotherapy drugs or have need to frequently access the veins. The port is placed under the skin (usually in your chest) and is attached to a thin tube that is threaded into the superior vena cava vein above your heart. They make it so much easier to get infusions, draw blood, or be injected with contrast solutions for CT or PET scans. They help protect the skin and tissues from potential leakage of caustic chemotherapy drugs, and they also mean you don't get poked in the arm a million times by a nurse trying to find a good vein to use for an IV.  They make infusion day so much easier.

But they are also a huge annoyance. The seat belt runs right across where the port usually goes and rubs against the skin.  You can't really wear certain types of necklines or the port is exposed and the bump under the skin is not particularly attractive. But mostly, it is a daily reminder that something is wrong with you. I had my first port back in 2007 during my first go-round with cancer, and I was so glad when I was finally able to be rid of it after my treatments were done. When I had to get another one after the cancer had spread, I had to face the realization that this time there would probably not be an end to treatment and the port would be a permanent part of my life. I wished I could get rid of it, but didn't see any way that would happen since I couldn't imagine my doctor being OK with me removing it.

But sometimes we get what we wish for in the most unexpected ways. 

The port catheter tube that goes into the heart is just underneath the skin and right by your neck jugular vein. They have to make a little incision by your neck so that they can guide the tube into a vein. The incision heals, of course, but it's hard for it not to be brushed against all the time and irritated.  I am guessing they also don't really expect people who have Power Ports to be out backpacking a lot. Unfortunately, with all of my activity this year, my incision site started to open up and the tube became exposed.

It's kind of a big problem when a tube that goes directly into a major heart vein is exposed to a world full of germs.  My doctor declared that it needed to come out as quickly as possible. And since my cancer is staying stable, and I don't need chemotherapy drugs, I would NOT have to replace it.  My wish was coming true!

I still go to the clinic every three weeks for infusions of Herceptin and Perjeta, the two drugs that are instrumental in keeping me stable and preventing the cancer from growing. That isn't going to change anytime soon unless something new comes along or those drugs stop working for me. But my port?  I had it removed today! Yes, it means I will have to have my arm poked a bazillion times, but I decided I would rather have a few minutes of annoyance every three weeks than the daily annoyance of a port.

Psychologically, it is also really wonderful to have the port gone.  It's hard to really see yourself as a healthy person when you have a constant physical reminder visible every time you look in a mirror or drive your car, or change your shirt. And we are so much a product of our thoughts.  I have been learning over these past two and a half years that the body achieves what the mind believes. If I place limits on myself and what I can do, that doesn't really serve me in any way. 

My last scans showed that everything was stable. This is fantastic news, and I don't mean to diminish this at all because it really is exactly what we all want to see.  But I can't help believing that there is possibility for more. I can't help but believe that there could be a day when I get to read a report that doesn't just say I am stable, but that there is no sign of any cancer anymore.  I know this is rare. I know this is unlikely, even. But we must believe that something is possible in order to achieve it.  If we don't believe it is possible, we won't even try to wish for it. Yes, wishes don't always come true. Sometimes, we are disappointed.

But sometimes wishes do come true.  And I don't have a port anymore.

A Walk in the Woods

This weekend, I was fortunate to be able to spend some time at our friend's cabin up on the North Shore of Lake Superior.  It's in a beautiful spot, heavily forested with birch, cedar and pine, a short walk to the lake, and a cascading river running through the forest providing a sound backdrop that manages to mask the sound of the nearby highway. It also lacks internet.

While I could occasionally get a cell signal, it was spotty and very slow, so we spent a lot of time outside. I can resoundingly say that this was a much better way to spend my time. We went on long walks in the forest and up to the ridge lines overlooking the lake, we kayaked, and we explored some nearby trails.

On one of our walks, we followed the river upstream to a beautiful waterfall surrounded by tall rock walls. Large boulders provided the perfect spot to sit and watch the water pour from above into the pool at my feet. As I sat there, I had no thoughts of the daily dramas of life. No thoughts of work, politics or war. No thoughts of pain, illness or suffering of any kind. I didn't have a phone with me or camera to try to capture just the right image. I was simply there. Everything fell away except that moment and the pure sensory experience of hearing the water, feeling the cool air, seeing the deep green, and smelling the intoxicating scent of the forest surrounding me.

As we continued to walk I found my senses becoming nearly overwhelmed by the heady scent of of the trees and the simple beauty of the spring wildflowers just coming into bloom. Each inhale was like breathing in pure, sweet joy. With every step, I was filled with gratitude such that I nearly burst into tears a few times. With every step, I began to offer thanks. Thank you to this tree. Thank you to the leaves and pine needles beneath my feet. Thank you little purple flowers for being so delicate and lovely. Thank you wild strawberry blossoms that I know will yield flavorful fruit in just a few weeks. Thank you to the sun for providing the warmth and light that made these trees grow.  Thank you to the powerful forces beneath the earth that created these rocks I step across.  Thank you to the rain and clouds for the water that feeds this river and that provides life to this forest. Thank you to the people who came before me who created these paths that I follow.  Thank you for my friends who so willingly share this beauty with me. Thank you for my son and husband who walk with me. Thank you to my parents for bringing me into the woods at a young age and kindling that spark within me of a deep love of the natural world.

It was a deeply satisfying walk, and I found myself full of energy despite the many miles I had walked that day.

There are many problems in the world, but sometimes we need to step away from them all. It was enormously helpful to have a news hiatus and to get back to the simplicity of the world that goes on without the artificial human drama that we create.  When we are always focused on the things that make us upset and angry, on the the injustices of the world, we will always be supplied with examples. Seek and ye shall find. If you look for problems, you will find plenty of them. That does not mean we ignore the problems. But when we spend so much of our energy focusing on all the problems, we have no energy left for solutions. We don't realize that most of the shadows of this life are caused by standing in our own sunshine. I forget this sometimes, even though it's the name of this blog. It's good to be reminded.

Turn around. Turn away from the computer and the news. Turn away from your work. Turn away from your worries, your self-doubt, and all the shadows that you see in front of you.  Turn around and face the sun.  Let the sun shine on your face and let the shadows fall behind you. Walk in the woods and smell the pines. If you can't walk, take a drive into a forested area and open up the windows. If you can't do that, step outside after a rain and breathe in the air.

And if you can't do that, close your eyes and imagine it. Imagine the wind blowing gently through the trees. Imagine the water tumbling over the rocks. Imagine butterflies hovering over new blossoms, and imagine your heart full of gratitude.

And breathe.

Sadness

I had a lot of plans for this evening. I was going to do a little bit of work to get ahead of things during a busy week at the office, and I was going to spend a couple of hours working on the rather mammoth room painting project I embarked upon last weekend. 

But I am finding that I do not have the energy or drive to do any of that tonight. I am sitting here contemplating happiness and sadness.  You see, a very dear colleague of mine passed away today.  We were the same age. Indeed, we started working at our company within weeks of each other. I'm not really sure which one of us started there first, but for as long as I have been there, she has been there too. We spent the greater part of our lives working together, and we shared many stories of our triumphs and tribulations over the years. We both loved music and singing. We both adored our families. We both loved books and reading. We both loved the outdoors and the beauty of the natural world.

We also both shared a history of cancer. She and I talked often after our first brushes with cancer, me with breast cancer and her with melanoma. We both felt so fortunate to have made it through the fires and come out the other side. We held so much gratitude for all the wonderful people and experiences in our lives.  And we both understood that life is fragile and that every day is a miracle.

When my cancer returned, she was among many who provided love and encouragement to me. She told me I was strong and that she was rooting for me. She smiled with me at each positive scan report, and we marveled at how far we have come with cancer treatment. And then about 18 months after my cancer returned, so did hers. It was my turn now to encourage her and to be certain that all the advancements in treatments would work for her too. Only, they didn't work for her, and each day became more difficult for her. 

Last week, I received news that my scans show that everything is still stable, and that I have no progression. This is just what we want to see, of course, but it feels a hollow victory today. And while I frequently write about finding the light in every situation, I also know that light is only meaningful if darkness also exists. Happiness can not truly exist without having known sadness. And I am realizing that it is OK to experience the darkness and it is OK to sit in the dark with the sadness and to let the tears come. 

Tonight I sit in the dark and cry, but I do so only because I am so very aware of the light that she was and the happiness she once brought to all her family and friends. Light and dark. Joy and sadness.They are all wrapped up together into this topsy-turvy experience we call life. And so I sorrowfully embrace the sadness tonight. And tomorrow morning I will witness again the miracle of the new day, and I will remember her laugh and her smile, and I know I will smile too. 

Return of the Light

Yesterday was the winter solstice.  It is no wonder that nearly every culture across the world has some kind of celebration of light this time of year. The days are short, and the nights are long, and the winter is cold and dark.  In ancient times, darkness was something to be feared.  They did not have light at the flip of a switch.  They did not have sturdy houses that would keep predators away. Crops were all dead, and food stores would not be replenished for several months.  A lot of bad things could happen in the dark.  The solstice celebration was a reminder that the sun would not be gone forever.  The life-bringing light would return, and with it the days of milk and honey. 

It seemed fitting that on the longest, darkest day of the year, I had my oncology treatment and an appointment with my doctor.  I was a bit apprehensive this time because I had my quarterly scans on Monday.  These included a bone scan to check on the status of the cancer in my bones, a CT scan to check the lymph, lungs, liver and bones, and an echocardiogram to make sure that the drugs I receive every three weeks are not adversely affecting my heart.  My oncologist is really good about making sure I get my test results as soon as possible, so when I saw the email Tuesday night that my test results were in, I opened the files with a little trepidation.  What would I find? Would everything still be OK?  

I was pretty sure it was going to be OK. I've been meditating on healing for a couple of weeks, and I had convinced myself that surely there would be a decrease, but at the very least everything would be totally stable.  The test reports were not, however, unambiguously good. My heart was fine. There was nothing new with the bones. The lungs were stable. But there were some new lesions in the liver. This was not at all what I expected.  I had been feeling so good! How could this possibly be true? As much as I try to maintain a sense of peace with things and accept things as they are, I did not find this news very peaceful at all. While my oncologist has often said that not every liver lesion is always cancer, I couldn't help but assume it was. My carefully constructed house did not have as firm a foundation as I had thought, and a sense of anxiety began to creep through the cracks.  I found myself in momentary darkness as I thought about what that could mean. Would I have to go through more chemo again? Would I have to try some other kind of drugs?   

I closed my eyes, and I went to all of the tools in my mindfulness toolbox.  I practiced EFT tapping, where I tap on meridian points in the body while releasing anxiety and giving myself positive affirmations.  I did some yoga sun salutations to release more pent-up anxiety. And I returned to my breath again and again over the next two days while I waited to hear what my oncologist would say.  And by the time my appointment rolled around on Thursday morning, I was back to a sense of peace and calm.  I knew I was OK, no matter what the scans said. I realized I had given away my power for a while to a scan report. Nothing had changed from Monday to Tuesday aside from a few little words. A few little blurry spots on a scan. I decided I didn't need to believe the scan. I still felt good. I still had everything I needed. I still had every reason to be happy. I still had every opportunity to make changes and take even better care of myself. Darkness would not win. It never does. All it takes is one small candle and darkness is gone. 

My oncologist is a wonderful woman.  She told me, "The people who read the scans - they don't know you. They don't know your history. They only see the scan and they make their report.  But I know you, and I wasn't convinced".  She didn't believe the scan results either, so she actually sat down herself with the radiologist to look at it carefully. They both agreed that it was not at all clear that these were new lesions and that I should not be worried. 

So, we decided we are going to have another look in six weeks just to make sure, and then we moved on to talking about Christmas plans, vacation plans, and good movies we've seen, and what our favorite foods are. Because when you have known your oncologist for ten years, you move on to the the things that really matter like your family, your friends, and the things you love to do that make life enjoyable. And I knew that everything really was OK and that those dark thoughts were simply thoughts, and they could be banished with the smallest of lights.  I lit my candle, and she added hers, and we both saw that there was more than enough light to make the darkness retreat. 

It only takes the light of one candle to extinguish the darkness. We, each of us, have our own candles to contribute to dispel the darkness. Think of how much light we can create together when each one of us shares our light with one another. 

The days do get dark. The nights can seem so long.  But in the darkest of times, never forget that the light will always return.    

The Power of Writing

Sometimes I write things that I don't post.  I intend to at the time that I'm writing, but something just doesn't feel right, or I just get stuck and don't quite know how to continue, or I can't figure out what the heck the point is that I'm trying to make. It is interesting to look back at some of these unfinished writings and see how much I have changed over the years.

We don't always notice how much we have changed.  We tend to believe our thinking is pretty static, but that just isn't true. I recently read a piece I started about seven years ago talking about food and what we should or shouldn't eat.  I never posted it, and now as I look back, I am pretty bemused by it. Who am I to say what you should eat?  I honestly don't know what each of us should eat. It's totally different for each of us.

It reminded me to look back on my Caring Bridge page from ten years ago when I went through cancer treatment the first time around, and I was a bit taken aback with how relentlessly chipper I was. I joked a lot and used a lot! of exclamation marks! As I look back at those posts now, I can see that I was desperately trying to make sure that nobody worried too much about me.  My posts were meant to convince everyone, including myself, that I was strong and that everything was going to be just fine! 

My writing now is a bit different - a bit more introspective. And so I found myself asking, why do I write anyway? Is it to get something off my chest? Is it to share information? Is it to impart some hard-won wisdom?  I think it's a little of all of those things. I think we tend to teach best what we most need to learn ourselves. By writing, I am reinforcing for myself what I want to learn. I am reinforcing for myself what I believe. I am still convincing myself of things just as I did ten years ago. When you put words to paper, it changes things. It makes things more real. It makes you really stop and consider. It makes you sift through the swirling thoughts in your head to create order out of the chaos.

When you write something, you are putting it out into the world to possibly be made manifest.  I think about how those words on the page create a reality.  They create a feeling when I am writing them, and they create a feeling when you are reading them.  This is pretty powerful stuff. Words create worlds. Do you know what the word "Abracadabra" means?  It's actually an ancient Aramaic word that means" as I speak, so I create". That's real magic. The words we say create reality.  The words we write are even more powerful because they are so much more permanent.  They live on long after we write them, and they continue to impact people again and again. 

And so I had to make a change on my blog page in the "About Me" section.  I realized that written there, to be read over and over again, by me and everyone else, was a statement about my health where I identified myself as someone with stage IV cancer.  This was how I presented my identity.  It was one of the few things I said about myself.  I ask you, how can I possibly change this about myself if I have it written down as part of how I define myself?  How can I convince myself of any other possibilities if I have that staring at me anytime I see my blog page?  And so it is gone. I have wiped it clear and now there are endless possibilities for how I choose to define myself. Now it reads that I am writing about the journey, not the destination.  I am writing about seeking and finding beauty. I am writing to change my world into the place I want it to be.

How powerful is the written word? Life changing.

Putting in the Work

I went to the garden center today at my local home improvement store and it was a pretty forlorn place.  All of the plants are gone now that fall is in full swing and the days are getting shorter and colder. Christmas decorations abounded inside the store as a reminder that winter is not so far off. Outside, in the area that usually holds so much life, there was almost nothing. There were a few random pots, a few dusty birdbaths, and hidden in a corner, was what I came for - the rack with the tulip bulbs.

I haven't planted tulips or other spring bulbs in a very long time.  The few that were in our yard had disappeared over the years to hungry squirrels and some difficult winters. But I love tulips. I love the crocuses that start coming up through the snow bringing the promise of winter's end. I swoon over the gorgeous scent of hyacinths as their fragrance foretells the explosion of warmth and color soon to come.  And so I made the effort today to find them.

It was a lovely sunny day here, and I eagerly went out to my flower beds in the front yard to start the business of planting.  It was so much harder than I remembered. Digging up compacted dirt is backbreaking work. Figuring out where to plant, and how deep to plant, and how they should be arranged, were all challenging. But the promise of a beautiful spring several months from now was worth the tired arms and sore back.

I don't know if I planted deeply enough or early enough. I don't know if the squirrels will dig them up.  I don't know if they will come up in the spring. But it was a powerful reminder that good things don't always come easily, and they don't come overnight. It's a slow process, and we have to get through some dark and challenging days with no certainty of the outcome. But we put in the work anyway, and then we trust that the work will pay off. And then one day, when we least expect it, we see a little green poking up through the snow.

It may be a long ways off, but here's to a beautiful spring.

Be Impeccable With Your Word

Many years ago, I read a book that changed me in many ways and continues to affect me every day.  The book was The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz. He writes that we all make agreements every single day.  We make agreements that certain words mean certain things. We agree that certain ways of behaving are acceptable and others are not.  We make agreements about everything from what kind of toothpaste we think is right to buy to who gets to turn next at the four-way-stop. We make agreements about our beliefs. Some of our agreements are helpful and some are harmful. Some of our agreements make us miserable. But there are four agreements we can make that will transform our lives and help us to create peace and harmony within and without.

1. Be Impeccable With your Word.
2. Don't Take Anything Personally.
3. Don't Make Assumptions.
4. Always Do Your Best.

They seem simple, right? But they are much harder to master than one might think. The first agreement, "Be Impeccable With your Word", is the foundation. If we focus on mastering this one alone, it will change our lives completely.  Being impeccable means that we recognize the power of our words and use them with great care.  That's really where everything starts, isn't it?  Even the Bible says, "In the beginning was the Word." We can cause so much damage with our words. We can say the most awful things to one another and spread so much emotional poison through our words. We can incite crowds to violence or other destructive behaviors. We can spread lies, gossip and falsehoods. We can destroy lives, both our own lives and other lives, with simple words. A few simple words can create mistrust. A few simple words can destroy friendships. Words can raise blood pressure, cause fear and anger, and bring people to their knees in sobbing tears.

But words can also do just the opposite. Being impeccable with our word means we don't use our words to cause any harm. We don't use our words to gossip, to complain, to belittle or chastise. We don't use our words to spread hate and violence. We don't use our words against ourselves or against anyone else. Instead, we try to use our words to uplift, to encourage, to bring light and joy to others, and to ourselves. We use our words to inspire and make people smile. We use our words to spread love and kindness.

I am always conscious of the fact that our words have so much power.  Perhaps that is why I don't write posts very often. I try to be impeccable with my word, but it is so much harder than it seems.I read the news stories of the day, and I often am frustrated.  I find myself wanting to write and vent about the things that offend me. But then I remember this agreement, and I ask myself if it is really necessary for me do that.  Am I being impeccable? Am I using my words in a way that is helpful and not harmful?  How will it help if I just add my fuel to the verbal fire? The people that agree with my viewpoint will continue to see their blood pressure rise as I make the case for why something is so terrible.  The people that don't agree with me may also see their blood pressure rise in argument over what I might have to say.  There is nobody who wins in this scenario. We all end up frustrated and upset.

I am learning to be more conscious in the way I communicate. I don't always succeed, but I each day I try.  And I am learning to give words less power over me.  They are just words, mere squiggles on a page. They are simple thoughts, but thoughts are not real. Yet we have imbued those words with so much energy. Fear, anger, and hate are all words that have great power. Do you notice how you feel when you say any of those words?  Love, peace, and kindness are also powerful words.  How do they make you feel when you say them aloud? Which ones make you feel better?

I was reminded of this when I heard this story the other day:

LIFE IS AN ECHO

A son and his father were walking in the mountains. Suddenly, his son falls, hurts himself and screams: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

To his surprise, he hears the voice repeating, somewhere in the mountain: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Curious, he yells: "Who are you?"

He receives the answer: "Who are you?"

Angered at the response, he screams: "Coward!"

He receives the answer: "Coward!"

He looks to his father and asks: "What's going on?"

The father smiles and says: "My son, pay attention." And then he screams to the mountain: "I admire you!"

The voice answers: "I admire you!"

Again the man screams: "You are a champion!"

The voice answers: "You are a champion!"

The boy is surprised, but does not understand. Then the father explains: "People call this an echo, but really this is life. It gives you back everything you say or do. Our life is simply a reflection of our actions. If you want more love in the world, create more love in your heart. If you want more competence in your team, improve your competence.

This relationship applies to everything, in all aspects of life; life will give you back everything you have given to it.


We, each of us, create our own realities by the words we choose to use.  When we use fearful, angry, blaming or defensive words, guess what we tend to get back?  When we use kind, encouraging, and hopeful words, we tend to get those returned. 

I know which ones I'd rather get back.

Monsters among us

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.” 

― Friedrich Nietzsche

When I started writing about my cancer journey, I likened my cancer to a monster that had caught me. At the time, it seemed like a monstrous thing.  It was dark and ominous, and I did not know if I could make it retreat. I tried very hard to keep shining a light on it to make it seem less scary, but I will admit that it was not always easy, and the batteries in my monster flashlight required constant recharging. Were it not for my yoga and mindfulness practices, I don't know what I would have done.

Over time, through quiet meditation, I began to realize that the monster was not something outside of myself.  It was me. It was my own cells that were causing me trouble. And so I had to think about my cancer in a whole new way.  I knew that I could try to eradicate it completely, but the funny thing about cancer is that it will keep popping up. Our bodies are always producing cancer cells. Most of the time, we can keep them in check. But if we ignore things for too long, the cancer can build.  If we aren't consistently mindful of our thoughts and actions, our stress can fuel the fire that make cancer cells ignite and grow.  If we aren't mindful of what we put in and on our bodies, we can make our inner terrain more hospitable to cancer.

I see what is happening in our country as white supremacists bring their monstrous hate into our public spaces, and I think about how it is so much like cancer.  Cancer is a cell that was once good but that, through lack of something important, goes wrong. I don't know just what that cancer cell is missing, but it clearly is not behaving the way it was designed to. I think about these men and women who marched with hate in their hearts and fire in their hands and I know that this is not how they were designed to be.  We are not born to be filled with hate. We are not born to be angry and judgmental.  We are not born to believe that some of us are better than others. We are born to be loved. We are born to give love and born to receive love. But somehow, these people have been filled with so much fear that is has resulted in anger and hate.

And so I wonder why these men and women are so afraid. What is missing in their lives that they feel the need to lash out in anger?  I do not understand them, but I imagine they feel justified. I am sure they feel their survival is at stake, somehow. And so in fighting their imagined monsters they have become monsters themselves.

We cannot ignore the monster or it will grow.  We must somehow change our societal terrain so that the monster can be transformed. I don't know just how, but I do know that monsters can be tamed. They can be transformed by shining the light upon them and by recognizing that they are not something other than us. They are part of us. They need our love and compassion because we get reflected back to us what we put out.

I'm going to meet their hate with love, because I don't want to become a monster myself.

 

Health Care and Worry

I was reminded, recently, that many people don't see me on a regular basis and really don't have any idea how I've been doing. So I thought an update was in order, and I do have some very good news to share. I had a PET scan a couple of weeks ago.  These scans are a little more accurate than my quarterly CAT scans because these measure metabolic activity of the cancer.  If the cancer is very active, you get lots of bright lights in the scan. We want little dim lights or no lights at all.  I'm happy to report that there weren't very many lights in my lungs, and they are smaller and less active than a year ago. The ones on my liver don't seem to be active either. The ones in the bones aren't active at all. The treatment I am on is doing just what we want it to do. It's keeping me stable with minimal side effects.  I feel really good, and I feel so very fortunate.

But I've been reflecting a lot on my health this week as the debate over health care laws have dominated the news cycle.  You see, it dawned on me that I'm the person that this new proposed law is trying to save you from.This very successful treatment I am on also happens to be very expensive.  Crazy expensive. I met my deductible for my insurance in January. Just one of the drugs I get is $8,400 per dose.  Another is $4,600.00 per dose.  I get them every three weeks. That adds up $13,000 every three weeks, and that only accounts for two of the drugs. It doesn't include the doctors visits, the lab tests, the scans, and all the other associated costs.  If you add up everything, my treatment costs about $250,000 per year. It's pretty ridiculous. I could never afford this without insurance.

So long as this treatment continues to keep me stable, I could be on it for years, and, well, you can do the math. It's a great deal for the drug companies. It's not such a great deal for everyone else who has to pay more for their insurance because of people like me. So, I'm sorry about that. I really am. I wish it didn't cost so much. I wish I didn't need it.

I was very angry and worried when I first heard the news because people like me, we don't have very many guarantees that we could continue to get coverage affordably.  People like me could be expected to pay a whole lot more for coverage, if I could get coverage at all. Or I could be priced out of getting coverage or go bankrupt due to medical bills. I didn't get cancer because of my lifestyle. Very few people with cancer do. We can't control our genetics, and we can't control the toxic environment that we live in that exacerbates cell damage.

But then I had to stop being angry.  I had to stop worrying. Falling into the drama created by fear, anger and worry are old habitual patterns that do not serve me.  I have to focus on what I can control.  I had forgotten for a moment that I control my reality.  Although I can't control anything externally. I can control my thoughts and my actions.

I don't know for certain that I will need this treatment for the rest of my life.  I only believe this because I was told this by a medical establishment that does not yet have a different answer. My doctor can't, ethically, make a change in my treatment plan, because there is not enough research based evidence to show that it can safely be stopped. But maybe it can. Maybe someday they will have more answers. I know that my daily exercise and the things I am choosing to eat or not eat make a difference in how I feel from day to day. Maybe those are actually the things keeping cancer at bay. Maybe my absolute belief that everything is OK is keeping me well. Maybe it is a combination of many factors. Maybe our politics will change. Maybe we can figure out a way to make health care fair and accessible to all. Maybe drug prices will go down.

What is disease? Dis-ease. Not being at ease. I could be perfectly healthy in medical terms, but still not be at ease. I am not being so simplistic as to say that, if only someone believes something strongly enough or doesn't ever worry that they will never get sick. But I can certainly make my dis-ease worse by dwelling on the negative and the worry and the fear.

I can't control the external world. Maybe I can't control my biology. But I can control my thinking. I can choose to see myself as a victim of cancer, as a helpless pawn in the politics of health care.  Or I can choose to see myself as a vibrant, healthy, loving soul with something positive to contribute to the world. I can use the experiences of living with cancer to empathize and understand the suffering of others.  I can remember that you and I and every living being on this planet are all important and connected.

I can imagine and dream of a world where we help each other regardless of how much money we have. That's not so far-fetched, is it?

Making Changes

You've probably noticed, I don't write very often.  Motivation and inspiration are often hard to come by when it comes to creative pursuits. It's a lot easier to sit down at the end of the day and play a round of Candy Crush than to face the challenge of a blank page in front of me. It'a also a lot easier to sit down and read than to go for a walk. Or to practice yoga. Or to work on my push-ups. Things that are hard are things we tend to avoid, unless they have become habitual for us.

I'm happy to say, however, that while writing has not become habitual for me, fitness has finally become a priority for me. I now feel a bit restless if I don't get at least a half hour of exercise in each day.  If I don't start my day with a few sun salutations or some form of yoga, it feels a little off. A few months ago, on my birthday, I set a goal to be able to run a mile without stopping and to be able to do 15 push-ups.  The mile turned out to be pretty easy to attain regularly, especially on a treadmill (it's too icy outside for running) and although I definitely can't do them all at once, I can do 15 push-ups in a day too.  My goal on my Fitbit has been to rack up 7,500 steps per day.  Now that seems like it might be too low, and I feel like maybe I should increase it.

It didn't happen overnight though. It was a slow, gradual process. That's how change works. Little changes, over time, add up to big changes. It's a good reminder as we start up a new year and have our many resolutions and goals. It's so easy to grow impatient when the changes we seek don't happen right away, but if we keep at it, we will eventually see results. And if we really pay attention, we will notice the subtle changes each day, and then one day we surprise ourselves by doing more than we thought we could.

I have to keep the same mindset when it comes to my scan results.  While I was super happy to learn that everything was stable, I was also disappointed that I didn't see reduction.  My goal, you see, is for my scans to show nothing. NEAD - No Evidence of Active Disease. It's frustrating to me that I'm not there yet. I'm already taking advantage of everything Western medicine can do with my Perjeta and Herceptin treatments, so now I'm exploring other healing avenues as well. I've changed my diet even more. I've changed how I exercise, and I'm changing how I think. I'll share more about all of those changes in future posts, but the bottom line is that I'm making lots of changes. I'm also trying to stop giving a set of scans so much power and start to reclaim my own power. After all, does it really matter what the scans say?What good is a clean scan if I feel lousy? How I feel is what really matters in the day to day.

And I feel pretty great. I hope you do too. If not, I hope you can see that you have the power to effect change in your own life. I will not sit here and pretend that it is easy. It's not. Some days I really just want to curl up by the fire and not go out in the cold for that walk. Some days, I really, really want to eat that chocolate covered doughnut. Some days, meditating for 5 minutes feels like painful hours. But I'm learning that it is the hard things that make us grow. It's the challenges we overcome that make us feel strong. We just have to stay focused on the direction we want to go and keep trying and keep on doing the hard work.

Change does happen. Things do get easier. We do get stronger. We just have to decide to do it.

Hope and Fear - Who is Driving?

Eleven months ago, I found myself in a very dark and very scary place. I could not breathe properly. Something was terribly wrong. The chest x-ray at the ER confirmed my very worst fears. My cancer had returned, and I was scared. I was scared about what kind of treatment options I might have. I was scared about pain. I was scared that I would never feel good again. I was scared about dying and the toll it would take on my family and friends. And I couldn't bear to keep feeling that way, so I had to learn how to stop being scared.

Fear is a powerful motivator, but it can't be in the driver's seat because it spoils the road trip for everybody. Fear likes to drive at night when everything is dark and you can't see the beautiful scenery. Fear never likes to stop at interesting roadside attractions or take the road less traveled. Fear never wants to open the windows to let in some fresh air and won't stop anywhere for decent snacks. And so the journey becomes one of drudgery and darkness as we while away the hours hoping to get to our destination safely, worried about every turn in the road ahead.

It is a very hard thing to put fear in the back seat or even kick fear out of the car when we worry about all the possibilities that could prevent us from making it to where we wish to go. But it must be done or we risk losing the very happiness that we so desperately want to preserve. When we let fear drive, there is no joy in the journey, and we don't get to our destination any faster or easier. It just robs us of moments of happiness along the way.

Hope, on the other hand, is a much more interesting driver. Yes, hope is sometimes misguided and takes some risks, but how else will you get to see the view from the curvy mountain roads? How else will you get to enjoy the wind in your hair as you open the windows and appreciate the blue sky? Hope knows where you want to go, just as fear does, but hope has some good corny jokes and brought along some cookies to share with everyone you pass along the way.

Two weeks ago, we were in Nicaragua on vacation at the beach, and we were all having a fantastic time boogie boarding in the waves. Until, of course, I stepped on a string ray and got stung. It was excruciatingly painful - some of the worst pain I have ever experienced. I was fortunate that the person working at the surf shop near the beach knew that soaking my foot in super hot water was the best remedy. She helped me get my foot in the water and provided encouragement as I struggled with the intense pain for about 30 minutes. And then the pain was pretty much gone, and I was fine. Unless you count the fact that the intensity of the experience resulted in a delayed reaction of me fainting at dinner and taking a quick trip to the local village clinic. I was still fine. I just shook everybody up a little bit.

We thought the experience was pretty isolated, so we went boogie boarding the next day at a different beach. Wouldn't you know, it - BAM! My friend got stung even worse than I had been. After two experiences like that, we pretty much decided to stay out of the ocean. We had planned to go surfing one day, but all of us were too afraid to go back in the water. Who knew what else was lurking in the surf zone that would attack us?

But, I just couldn't let go of the idea of surfing. I had traveled so far, and there isn't much in the way of surfing in Minnesota. If this was something I really wanted, I had to say no to being scared. I crossed my fingers that lightning wouldn't strike a third time, and I went back in the water.  I shuffled my feet in the sand and tried to be cautious about where I was stepping. I sent out friendly vibrations to the little sea creatures in the hopes that they would stay out of my way. I was shameless in jumping back on my board after each wave and letting the surf instructor push me out so that I didn't have to walk much in the sand. But I had a wonderful time, and I would have missed out on so much if I hadn't pushed that fear aside.

A lot of people are feeling fear right now. Our country, our world, seems completely messed up. We don't know what the future holds. We don't know where this road will take us. But the truth is that none of us have ever known that. Eleven months ago I thought life was over, but two weeks ago I was surfing in Nicaragua. We can let fear drive and have a pretty unpleasant journey, or we can let hope drive and enjoy the trip.

Make room for hope.

The Power of Music

In the last week, I have had the opportunity to see two different live music shows. They could not have been more different. One was a very intimate setting, with maybe 40 people in the room, with acoustic guitars, beautiful voices, and a tiny drum kit that fits into a suitcase.  The other was a super loud rock show in a venue with over 2,000 people with lights, huge speakers, and three full bands.

One had musicians whom I am fortunate to know personally and whose music I listen to regularly at home. The other had bands whose music I didn't really know at all. I went because a very dear friend invited me, and I mostly just wanted to spend time with her.

Despite the totally different experiences, there was still something about them that was the same. There is something special about the power of music that brings a bunch of strangers together to share a common experience. There is a connection that happens with you and the performer, with you and the other audience members, that is hard to articulate, but you can feel that connection.

You don't need to know the lyrics to the songs to experience the emotion of it.  In fact, even when you know the lyrics, you often find that what they mean to you is different from what they mean to someone else.  Each person takes what they need from the song.  But if you pay attention, you can sense the energy and emotion of everyone in the room around you.  I had a few moments like that at these music shows.  I closed my eyes, and I could sense the life energy of all those people around me. I could sense their hopes, their dreams, their sorrows, and their beautiful life force humming in the background. I could sense that we are all the same. Behind the ego masks of who we think we are, if we peel them away we find that we are, really, all the same.

It's important to remember that during these divisive times. Maybe that's why music is so important. Music is universal. Before we are born, we hear the beating of our mother's heart, a rhythm of life that is always in the background.  Our own hearts continue the rhythm, and they all beat together into one continuous vibration.

I was inspired to pick my guitar back up and try to work on some new songs. I have only written two songs in the last year. One was a song for two sweet little babies who joined our world recently. (Just as a side note, if you are ever looking for a way to lift your spirits and stop focusing on the woes of the world, you should just write a song for babies. It's a surefire day brightener.)  The other I wrote while on vacation, inspired by the beauty of the natural world and the majestic trees of the Pacific coast. It takes inspiration to write a song. Sometimes I just don't have it. Sometimes I channel the spark of those creative impulses into writing this blog. In some ways it is a lot easier. In some ways, it is actually the lazy route for me. I don't have to think about meter or rhyme, or what key I should use. I don't have to worry about if I can actually play on guitar what I hear in my head  But I have to admit it really doesn't satisfy the same need.

I realized this after listening to the songs from both of these music shows.  I think we need to tell our stories in music because I think it might be the language we communicate in best.  I just started working on a song that I'm calling "Alright Today". Because, for today anyway, I am alright. My scans this week showed no progression of my cancer. I'm happy to report that things are stable, and we will continue with the current course of treatment. So I am alright. And I'm going to tell that story.

Listening to the Body

I have not done any running this week. In my last post, I suggested that my body should not be listening to what my mind says.  It is, however, true that the mind should usually listen to what the body says.  The start of the school year typically brings new viruses into the house, and Jasper brought home a potent one that he so generously shared with me. My body has been fighting this virus for a few days, and it does not really want to run right now, so I've been keeping the exercise to walking, a few planks, and some light yoga.

Our bodies tell us things all the time.  How often do we listen?  I know I am guilty of ignoring what it is saying to me.  When I have aches, pains, coughs, discomforts, I usually shrug them off, convinced that they will go away soon. If I am really, really tired, do I go to bed earlier? Usually not. If I am feeling a little under the weather, do I go to work? Yep! I usually do. If my cough isn't going away, do I go in to the doctor right away? Um. No, not so much. Perhaps if I had been listening a little better to my body I would have realized that I was not just out of shape last year. Perhaps if I had not been truly paying attention, I would have felt the slow decline of my stamina and realized something was up much sooner.

As a practicing yogi, I always thought I was pretty in tune with my body. I can tell when I"m getting stressed, and I can find a breathing pattern that helps me to remain calm. I can see when I should back off of a challenging pose that my muscles are not ready for.  It's been a long time since I've injured myself in my practice because I do pay attention when I'm on my yoga mat.  But as I reflect on the past year, I can see that I wasn't following the same practice off the mat.  My body was hollering at me that things were not right, and I just refused to listen. As I find myself coughing from this cold virus, I am reminded of how many weeks I was coughing last fall, and how I kept telling myself that the cough was nothing serious.  And we all know how that turned out.

I'm feeling pretty good these days. I feel strong. I feel pretty healthy. On Monday I go in for my quarterly CT scan and bone scan and we will see, visually, if things match up with how I feel.  I like to think I've gotten better at paying attention to my body. I'm trying to eat the right things, and make all the right moves. I am trying to take a few minutes each day to sit and simply notice where I am holding stress, to notice where I am feeling not quite 100%. I'm trying to listen to the subtle hints and whispers that say move, rest, eat, drink, sleep.

The body will eventually get your attention, one way or another. I'm learning not to make it yell.

Peeling off the Labels

I am not a runner.  At least that's what I've always thought about myself. I am not athletic. The only "sport" I ever really was decent at was water-skiing, but if you don't live on a lake and own a ski boat, it's not exactly an activity that you can do every day.  I walk and do the yoga thing. I bike a little bit, but I wanted to up my cardiovascular activity, and running seemed like the quickest way to improve my fitness level and also to quickly get those steps in each day that my FitBit tracks for me.  So I decided to try running a little every day. I figured it would probably take me a few weeks of trying before I could even run a mile. After all, I'm a little bit broken, right? For heavens sake, I'm in cancer treatment. How could I possibly run a mile yet?

I started by running a block and then walking a block and just alternating back and forth a few times.  I did that for a couple of days. And then, on the third day, I wasn't really paying that much attention, and I realized I was still running into the second block. And when I finished those two blocks, I realized I was working hard, but not so hard that I needed to stop. And then I just kept going until I found I had reached that one mile mark. Once I stopped listening to the voice in my head that was telling me how hard it would be to run a mile, I found I could actually do that mile without too much difficulty. By disregarding that label of "broken" that I had given myself, I found that the label was false. All those other labels, that I am not a runner, that I am not athletic, they are false too.  When my mind stopped telling my body what it couldn't do, it did just fine.

We assign labels to ourselves and to others all the time.  We define ourselves by our jobs, by our friends, by our beliefs, and by so many other ways.  I am a mother. I am a bad cook. I'm an extrovert. I am smart. I am not that smart. I'm great at math. I'm terrible with numbers. I am fat. I am not lucky. I am a liberal. I am a conservative. I am a cat person. I am a dog person. I am this. I am not that.  But when we start to label ourselves, we start to believe that is who we are.  We start to give the label more power than it deserves. In fact, if someone tries to take that label away from us or assigns us one that we don't like, we can even feel like we are worthless or that we have failed in some way.

I think we all know we should never read online comments, but sometimes curiosity takes over. It can be so discouraging, can't it? There is so much anger and judgement of each other. So many labels are being assigned. People do it in person, of course, but it seems to be even more prevalent with the relative anonymity of the internet.  Total strangers call one another fools, morons, evil, idiots, bitches, and much worse. It doesn't seem to matter if it's politics or if it's a book review or even a recipe suggestion. We don't understand why this stupid person who believes something different can't see how stupid they are being. And it gets us nowhere. We just end up feeling upset. We feel fear and anger over the things being said. And we don't just feel it in the mind. We can feel it in our bodies as we tense up and feel the emotion rippling through. Our bodies are always listening. Even if we don't believe we are stupid, having somebody label us as stupid gets under our skin.

Of course, none of those labels are really who we are. Labels are transient things. We can change our names. We could change jobs. I can change my hair color or my weight. I can change my religion or my political persuasion. I can change my opinion. I can change my mind. I will still be the same person. I am not really any of those labels.

What it we all stopped labeling ourselves?  What if we all stopped labeling each other?  How much more peace would we all have? We have so much unhappiness because of labels, because of our thoughts. But thoughts aren't true. They are just thoughts. Labels aren't true. They are just labels. Just words. We endow the thought with the power of reality, but a thought is not real. It's just a bunch of electric chemical impulses that happen in our brain. We lie awake at night because of thoughts. We yell at each other because of thoughts. We suffer because of thoughts.

Our bodies hear all of these thoughts and respond.  I am old. I am ugly. I am weak. I am lazy. I am fat. I am angry. I am tired. I am sick. We use these words, these labels, against ourselves, and our bodies listen and respond accordingly.

I have labeled myself as a cancer patient. I have given this label a lot of power, and I know I have let it take over my thoughts frequently. What if I stopped thinking of myself as a cancer patient? What if I stop thinking about what might happen and just live in the moment? What if I peel off the cancer label. How will my body respond?

Have you ever seen a flower that you didn't know the name of? You didn't need to know it's name to appreciate it's beauty. You could just appreciate that it was there. When we see beyond those labels, beyond the symbols we assign to things, we can discover the beautiful presence that is simply there. We are not labels. We are not thoughts. We are simply here, and we are beautiful.

What if we all peel away all the labels that we use to define ourselves? Who is underneath those labels? That's who we really are.

Let's peel off those labels.

Taking the Long View

Victory Memorial Parkway. Photo from Minneapolis Parks.

Last night, my son, Jasper, and I went for a walk.  We live near a very special park called Victory Memorial Parkway.  It's a 3 mile stretch of road bordered by green space that pays tribute to the 568 men from Hennepin County who lost their lives in World War I. Five-hundred and sixty-eight trees, evenly spaced, line the parkway, each with a plaque on the ground beneath bearing the name of a lost soldier. It's easy to take for granted this open space, but when you take a moment to ponder what this space represents, it's really an impressive thing.

It is especially impressive to think about the people who dreamed up this monument. It probably took several years to plan and bring to fruition. Charles M. Loring was known as the "Father of Parks" in Minneapolis, and he was the driving force behind the parkway (as well as most of the other parks in the city - you can read more about him here). The memorial was dedicated in 1921, and he died in 1922. He never got to see the parkway as he had envisioned it, with a canopy of full-grown stately elm trees lining its length. Trees grow far too slowly. But he gave more than $50,000 of his own money to make sure the trees of the parkway would continue to be cared for, even though he was never going to see them in their glory. This was someone who did not do things for instant gratification. He took the long view.  He did them because it was the right thing to do.

I am not so good at taking the long view.  I'm guessing most of us aren't. We like things to happen, and we like them to happen right now, thank you very much. We don't like to delay gratification. We want the bowl of ice cream tonight, even if we know the calories might add to our waistlines.  We know we should go to bed early to make getting up easier, but we stay up late to watch one more episode of "Stranger Things" on Netflix.  We know we should exercise, but it's hard, and sweaty, and this chair is pretty comfy and there's something new on Facebook that I haven't seen yet.

It often takes a lot of time to see results too, so the motivation has to be pretty strong to make yourself do things you don't really want to do. Exercise is one of those things we don't necessarily want to do. Yet research shows that vigorous exercise of 30 minutes or more at least five times a week is crucial for helping to keep cancer at bay. It changes the way that hormones are produced in the body and, it doesn't matter what kind of cancer you have. It's protective against almost all of them. We aren't talking about taking a 30 minute stroll. It has to be vigorous enough to make you feel almost like you are jogging - about 3.8 miles per hour, and you have to do this more than once or twice week. You can't just do a long, hard day on the weekend and expect it to count. It has to be more days than not. Anything less is just not effective. Isn't that annoying?

Of course, I've known for years that exercise is important. I've flirted with biking, walking, stair climbing, jogging, and such on and off over the years, but I've never developed a steady, long-term habit. You'd think the potential to die from cancer would be a strong motivating force for me to keep at it, but that just doesn't seem to be enough.

Today is my birthday. I've never been a big "celebrate my birthday" kind of person, but the reminder that birthdays are not foregone conclusions makes a person rethink things. So, I'm going to celebrate this birthday by setting some goals. I want to be able to run a mile without needing to stop.  I want to be more generous. I want to find ways to make people smile.  I want to be able to do at least 15 push ups (full Russian style). I want to give more than I get.  I want to write more songs.  I want to have another birthday. And then another. And then how about a few more?

I bought a Fit Bit as an early birthday present. Goals are good motivators, but it turns out that instant gratification is pretty powerful. It's a little silly that it takes a plastic band around my wrist telling me how many steps I have gone and how many "active" minutes I have completed today to get me out the door and moving, but it seems to work where fear of potential death does not. Crazy, huh?  I have been out walking, briskly, almost every day since I got it. Apparently, a little Huzzah! vibration on my wrist when I meet my step and activity goal is just what the doctor ordered. I guess we all just need someone to remind us of our goals and to tell us, occasionally, that we are doing a good job.

I'm trying to take the long view. I'm trying to set into motion the things that will make me healthier and life even better. I'm trying to take a page from Charles Loring's playbook and think about how to make this world a more beautiful place. Set enough aside to share with others. Pick up that piece of trash in the street, plant flowers, walk in the community every day and get to know my neighbors. Each little thing contributes to making life a little better.  Little things, done every day, add up to big things down the road.

Whatever we are doing that is hard, be it wanting to run a marathon or walk a block, or maybe even just wanting to get through to the next week, look at today. Look at what you can do today. Know that your effort today will pay off in some way. We may never even see the results for a long time, but we know that some good will have been done along the way.

And by the way, you are doing a good job.