Homage

Donna Garrett Boltz

                                                 September 29, 1959 - February 21, 2021

Donna passed away February 21, 2021 on a beautiful, sunny morning in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  She was surrounded by love in the presence of her sister and me.

Those who knew Donna would agree that she resisted putting demands on others.  By all rites she was always very self-reliant and took pride in carrying her own load.  Donna made a request of me around the time she acknowledged that her prognosis had made its dramatic turn.  She asked that I not remember her as a victim of cancer, as weakened and frail.  I wrote and read the following lines to her to assure her otherwise.

Who I Will Remember . . . ?

I will remember . . . Cadet Garrett – in Dress Grey, Gym-Alpha, FD over White.  Always standing tall, head held high, defiant of the forces that tried to steal who she was.  Bob-cut bouncing, rosy cheeks, maybe a bit too much sashay?  A girl of words, intelligent, thoughtful, and fun.  Not at the fringe, but at the center.  Sometimes alone and reflective.  A struggling runner because she had to be better.  For a few years, a long-distance love because she wanted to be.  I was blessed from the start.

 

I will remember . . . Lieutenant Garrett – only for a few days and on a long drive home. A tanned Florida girl, her love of the beach, sun, and blue skies.  Proud of her family and its roots.  Making a wedding dress beautiful.  Carrot cake would do, Kermit in attendance.  Her words were our words – Forever.  

 

I will remember . . . Lieutenant to Colonel Boltz.  For the love of Soldiers.  Perma-press fatigues, BDUs, Army Greens, Dress Blues and Dress Mess, MOPP-4 in the field.  It was not meant to be, yet it was.  She excelled, because of raw talent, passion, and exerted effort.  Loved by many, protected by hers, respected by all.  Always the brightest, always the kindest.  The intellect was polished; the ability to convey and communicate unparalleled.  Multi-dimensional, worldly, empathetic.  The Dog-Momma many times over.  She ran because she could; it was a comfort zone now. She knew when others struggled, and she would be there for them to succeed.  

 

I will remember . . . Donna, Dee, Dale, and teamboltz.  From denim to silk, or jeans to gowns, or Fluevogs to hiking boots.  Some say, some do; she always did.  A reader.  A student who never stopped learning.  Always challenging herself.  I can, I will, I do.  A listener and coach helping others to overcome their challenges and adversities.  A lover of art and artistic expression.  Colors, textures, and design – they helped her find a piece she had lost.  Interested in and respectful of the beliefs and culture of others.  Refined and dignified; yet not afraid to get dirty.  She ran because she wanted to.  And swam and biked.  A proud Ironman.  And she hiked and she climbed, and she trekked.  No corner of the world was too remote, no trail too rough, no mountain too steep.  Committed to preparing and training for the journey – so that it could be absorbed and enjoyed.  

 

To steal a line, she made me a better person.  I pray to feel her touch when I say or act improperly; that touch, a reminder – to let it go.  Not as planned, but not short-changed.  I am the luckiest man alive to have had the full friendship, love, and devotion of the most beautiful woman and soul on Earth for over forty years.  As long as I endure, she will be alive and with me.  I will remember her.  Forever.

 

 

Bow to the Mountain

 

 

This is Cliff. That will become apparent as you read these words - which will not flow with the grace or charm of Donna’s writing.

We apologize for the gap since Donna’s last posting. It is her wish that I provide this update.

We were realistically optimistic on the last posting that the journey was headed in the right direction. And we were wrong. Over the course of six weeks Donna experienced increasing pain and discomfort. There were three separate stays in the hospital and various procedures performed seeking relief from extreme pain and nausea. We would learn that the source was disease progression.

Donna entered a clinical trial and when the schedule for the week ahead included an infusion and three separate procedures to help her continue the journey, she decided that her body had suffered enough. Sometimes the terrain gets too rough, the air too thin, or the weather too menacing. And you realize that you won’t reach the summit. You bow to the mountain.

Last week Donna made the decision to enter at-home Hospice care. Her sister joined us after a cross-country drive, time in quarantine, and virus testing. Donna is at peace with her decision, comfortable and surrounded by love.

Are We There Yet?

 

Offa's Dyke Finger Post

Note: Most of the photos in this post are from our Offa's Dyke walk -- the 200 miles we completed just ten days before my cancer diagnosis.  We never blogged that trip.

In our trekking lives we've come to count on a litany of trail blazes, mile markers and finger posts to help confirm our place on the map, the trail and toward our destinations.  Where are we (exactly)?  What's the nature of the trail ahead? And often -- in the voice of our eight-year-old inner children -- Are we there yet?

The Unexpected Journey reliably has been bereft of such helpful information.  In the past 16 months we've learned the Unexpected Journey follows a path of unpredictability ruled by all that is unpredictable about cancer and its treatments.  No two days are the same.  Drug side effects can include all or nothing on a prescription info sheet -- hailing, as well, on any timeline (for example, usually skin issues show up early in the use of Panitimumab -- mine waited seven months).  Tumors can grow when markers are undetectable.  Neuropathy may or may not subside (oh, to feel my toes again!).  Our consistency resides in using our experiences (whatever they may be) to strengthen our resolve, refine our focus and remind us of what we really can accomplish (have accomplished).

It can be difficult to know where one stands on the Unexpected Journey

We accept that cancer does not follow the relative ease and efficiency of switchbacks.  Rather it is determined to lead us through the least hospitable of terrains -- and usually straight uphill.  Leaving us better prepared -- though perhaps quite spent -- for the next tough ascent.  In fact, we think cancer may have some Kiwi (New Zealander) leanings as we seem to be destined to slog determinedly through every gosh-darned mud hole and field of sheep shit in the realm!  But we've done it -- so we know we can!  Managing expectations and adjusting to a life of open curiosity has been our best approach.  Every moment, we are in the moment -- all else is unknowable.  And still, that little voice wafts in from the back seat (you remember), "Are we there yet?"

And oh my gosh -- miracle of miracles -- last Friday it felt like we finally got a sign!  

As you recall from my previous posts, over the last two months I've undergone two procedures: Trans-arterial Chemo Embolization (Oct) and Microwave Ablation (Nov).  In tandem, these procedures targeted the single tumor remaining on my liver.  The conditions for the procedures were ideal: Tumor markers well within the normal range since my surgery last February -- in fact, wholly undetectable since May; no circulating tumor cells; all metabolic and blood labs normal (actually, really good).  No other tumors apparent in scans.  And we found out on Friday afternoon, the two procedures resulted in a 98% reduction of the single tumor.  The remaining viable tumor after the procedures was described by my Interventional Radiologist  as a "sliver" about 5mm in length (still along the hard-to-access crest of the liver -- snuggled against my diaphragm).  

This result led my doc to recommend we repeat the two procedures with a slight nuance (no chemo delivered in the embolization) in short order with the goal of extinguishing the last detectable sign of cancer.  It's like my surgeon said last winter, doctors like to go for it when the cancer is on the run.  So, when?  Well, the second embolization is in two days (12/10), and a week later, the second ablation (12/17).  It will all be done before Christmas (at this rate, it may outpace our home renovation (ha!)).  

Definitely feels like solid footing on the right path.

The best news is that during the two-plus months since the procedures began, there are no signs of any new tumors . . ..  It is looking like this holdout may be the last.  So yes, we're dancing to Pentatonix holiday tunes these days. 

As with every step along this path, there are no guarantees . . ..  Still, my optimistic heart is following the signs of hope, encouraged by what we've accomplished so far.  And I'm sure I hear the heartening, lyrical and ghostly voice of my dad whispering (from the front seat), "Buddy, we are nearly there!"

Quote of the Day:

“Remember how far you've come, not just how far you have to go. You are not where you want to be (yet), but neither are you where you used to be.”

                                                                                 ~Rick Warren

Progress Update:

• As of 30 November, I'm off my targeted therapy drugs until at least 28 December.  After 15 targeted treatments (same number as chemo), I have strong signs of drug toxicity.  Dr. Rixe assured me this is a good time for what he describes as a "real break," since my markers are good.  Dr. Rixe is big on "pushing the envelope" -- so big in fact that Cliff once challenged him, asking if I am the envelope.  At this point Dr. Rixe said he was surprised I was able to stay on the drugs for eight months . . . 
• On 28 December, when we reconvene, I may or may not restart targeted therapy.  There is a chance Dr Rixe could be transitioning to a quarterly approach to watch my progress -- more to come on that.
  
• In just the week since I came off of the drugs, some range of motion is returning to my arms . . . and with a little finessing, I can dress myself (yay!).
• On Sunday night (three nights ago), we slept in our own room/bed for the first time in four months!  Seriously, the reno project is wrapping up . . .
• I'm continuing my modified Mediterranean diet with an extra dose of healthy fats to stay in ketosis.  I'm continuing massive supplements as ordered by Drs. Hooper and Winters.  I'm up to 20 mg of mistletoe therapy (and better all the time about those shots in the gut). I'm continuing IV Vitamin C at 50 grams once a week.  I'm on a 31-week Peloton streak.  I continue to meditate and benefit from energy work.  And even though I have yet to jump in our freezing pool, I am into cold showers (Thanks, Wim Hoff).  I guess all of this says that I'm continuing a fully integrated approach to our fight -- all supported by Dr. Rixe who continues to say, "Something is working.  Don't change a thing." 
• This week Cliff celebrates a birthday -- actually I think it is mostly me who celebrates his presence on earth and in my life.  He is a gift to me.  Every. Single. Day.
• And lastly, the new puppy is due to be born at the end of the week.  Puppy energy is heading our way this spring.
  
• Yep, we got this!  So grateful for where we are, for who you are and your support.  Thank you.
  

VIA FRANCIGENA!

Uphill in the Wind and the Rain

 

I know it's been a quiet span on the blog.  We've spent the last few weeks in a steady climb . . . only in the last few days have we been able to anchor our boots in scree, lean into the wind, deflect a steady rain with  bladed hands over wrinkled brows, and discern the culmination of the rise.  

It's not our first uphill slog in the elements.  There have been plenty . . . In particular, I recall a crazy day on the Pennine Way when we sang (in relentless repetition) all we could recall of Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown."  Words we could not recall, we made up --  and soon we were staggering in collapsing giggles -- uphill, against the wind, in a driving rain -- to the top of Great Shunner Fell.  Nothing we did made the climb any less steep, the rain needles any less spiky nor the wind any less penetrating . . . but when I think back, what I remember is the fun.  It was our choice to sing and laugh.  It was the power of being part of a team (of two) who chose to smile.  And you know, when we reached the top, the rain turned to fog, which eventually gave way to a late day clearing sky.  I can't imagine whining and complaining would in any way have eased the climb.  There's no way to know how the hiking may have been different on a clear day.  What I do know for sure is that I cherish the memory of laughing through adversity.

And I've no doubt, there will come a day when we'll look back across the past five weeks of treatments and procedures, grateful to have made the decision to lean into the ascent, the wind and the rain, with all the humor and grace we could muster.  Over time, experiences of post-procedure discomfort, malaise, and nausea will give way to fond memories of walks with our dogs, high fives over achieving Genius level on the New York Times Spelling Bee, a spectacular take out meal and the continuous support of family and friends.  We truly are blessed.

Quote of the Day:

"Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”

                                                                          ~Thich Nhat Hanh

Progress Report:

• My second procedure in just less than a month -- microwave ablation (MWA) of the remaining tumor on my liver -- went (according to Dr. Bennett) "technically perfect,"  to which he added with a wry smile, "We got a really good burn."  We'll find out how really good with a scan in a couple of weeks.  
• My marker test this week confirmed my CEA remains undetectable.  All metabolic and blood labs remain normal.  The joke is that I am the healthiest Stage Four cancer patient in town.
• My integrative medicine doctor has tailored my diet somewhat as a result of nutrition genome testing.  Turns out, I have a genetic SNIP (Single nucleotide polymorphism) that sees increased glucose levels with higher saturated fat intake.  So immediately I began to reduce fatty red meats and dairy (two key components of my KETO nutrition plan).  There will be no red meat and very little dairy going forward -- rather, more healthy mono-unsaturated and polyunsaturated fats.  No complaint from this quarter -- I'm back to a modified Mediterranean diet with ample healthy (plant-based) fats.  I'll stay in ketosis through fasting -- without the butter and bacon backbone!  This is a big yippee! 
  
• It's been a light stretch for my beloved HIIT workouts since the MWA -- still I'm on a 29-week Peloton streak!
• Another lifestyle adaptation recommended by my naturopathic oncologist is cold exposure to boost my cellular energy (viva la mitochondria!).  So it's back to my cold shower experiment from 2016 -- this time with the structure of the Wim Hoff Method   If Wim (the Iceman) is new to you, click on the link to learn about Wim and his Method.  Unconventional, yes . . . and just the change in tempo I need right now!  (Things were getting a tad "groundhoggy" after 16 months on the trail). So, forget that neoprene jacket . . . I'm headed into an unheated pool (at 6,600') in the winter.  My teeth already are chattering!
• And a puppy update:  The fall the mating was successful!  Our new puppy should be born between 10 and 14 December.  That means we'll bring our Brussels Griffon home at the (puppy) tail end of winter.  
• Otherwise: IVC continues weekly, the supplement list just keeps growing (the more we learn, the more we supplement) and another two-week Braftovi break seems to be somewhat ameliorating the discomfort and limited range of motion in my arms. 
• Bottomline: We're choosing to smile, lean in and trust that the sun will break through to shine on a fabulous view before us.
  

Via Francigena!

The Terrain is Always Changing

Over the past 15 months on this metaphorical Unexpected Journey, I've written about summit goals and en route trail objectives.  I've written about breathtaking views and in-progress pull-out dance parties.  I've written about the rewarding joy of presence along the path of awareness and the bounties of gratitude and learning.  

By my count, this is the longest break I've taken in posting a blog since I started.  It seems for the most part that I've covered the expansiveness of the Journey's terrain (and then some) in the last 49 posts.  Then I get a stretch like this last one that just goes to show, the terrain is always changing . . .

 Base Camp:

The week of the TACE (trans-arterial chemo-embolization) procedure, I spent most days in base camp.  Although my post-embolization syndrome symptoms were mild -- some nausea from the slug of Doxorubicin (the "C" of TACE), some referred pain from the procedure itself and a doctor-imposed break from workouts beyond easy walking (something about the femoral artery intervention . . . ) -- it still took some time and an intentional healing pause before I was ready to resume the trek.  

Back on the Trail (with a dose of humility):

And in my resumption, I was reminded that this Unexpected Journey includes the visually stunning and motivating grandeur of the trail ahead, AND the (rather in-my-face) hard work that every present moment of trekking across an ever-changing landscape requires.  Trekking, lest I romantically have colored it as less, can present some breath-sucking, limb-numbing challenges that demand an engaged, determined, unflinching mindset of progress.  It's on some of those hunched-shoulder, head-down, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other approaches -- when this climber is drenched in humility -- that I hail the mountain for her greatness and respect she will not yield to my steps.  There will be rugged terrain to navigate and confounding obstacles to negotiate.  The work is mine to do.  This journey -- unbounded by geography, prescribed routes or clearly delineated timelines -- chastens and champions this climber as surely as alpine spires, western hoodoos, Himalayan high ground and crags and cliffs on the Dark Continent.  It is my job to stay alert.  Stay present.  Stay the course with grace and curiosity.  And when things get really weird, to keep a sense of humor, let go and get over myself.

Such skill and mindfulness were essential in the week after the TACE, when I resumed the trek (to include my targeted therapy), and immediately noticed a root-y path underfoot:  For the first time since starting targeted therapy, I suffered the skin reactions of Panitumumab.  Who knows if it was somehow exacerbated by TACE, or if it was just a "thirteenth time's a charm" thing (I've now had as many rounds of targeted therapy as of chemo), but acneform dermatitis colored a stripe down my face from hairline to chin.  I know my reaction was pure vanity; still, I cannot tell you how happy I've been to be able to hide out under hats and masks!  Head down, watching the trail for these roots, I simultaneously was assaulted by a profusion of trail-choking limbs hellbent on pummeling my shoulders to submission (courtesy of my other targeted therapy drug, Encorafenib).  These days it takes two Boltz to get my shirts on and off as lifting my arms above my head is pretty much out of the question.  Chastened, but not broken, we can shake it off, smile, vote early and carry on.  What else are we gonna do?

My Trekker Rhythm Returns (Dale gets her groove back):

This week, I'm back on an unobstructed path across rolling terrain.  On Sunday I had a fabulous long walk on the tread -- virtually accompanying Cliff and our friend Marty on the loop hike.  On Monday, I turned in a nice HIIT power walk.  On Tuesday I resumed one of my sewing projects (this time it's Cliff's Warrior Jacket) and finished reading Where the Crawdads Sing.  This morning, I'm feeling a smooth calm energy that signals I've hit that luscious trail rhythm that soothes my soul and buoys my spirit.  And yes, I did dance to U2's Miracle at the end of my tread workout today!

Quote of the Day:

 "So far we've survived one hundred percent of our worst days.  We're doing great!"

                                                                             ~Unknown

Progress Report:

• TACE was a success.  The follow-up procedure (to eliminate whatever is left of the single lesion) is scheduled for 5 November.
• The Panitumumab skin reaction is fading -- fingers crossed next treatment doesn't wake it up again.  And if it does, my eyes will be smiling above my mask.
• 
  My liquid biopsy showed zero circulating tumor cells (signaling no ongoing metastasis).  This along with no colon cancer maker readings for six months and a strong basophil count (strong immune system) all point to a good prognosis.  (yay!)
  
• I'm on a 26-week Peloton streak. 
  
• The renno/remodel project continues . . . Granite install has been a major slowdown.  Hoping now to be done by Thanksgiving.
• Christmas puppy adjustment:  Unfortunately, there was no autumn Brussels Griffon litter with our
  breeder.  We're hoping now for a December birth and spring adoption.  AND, yours truly, who believes in puppy magic, now has a backup plan.  We're wait listed for another puppy (Papitese) with a local breeder.  Worst case now, two new pups.  In other words, there is no worst case!
•  Winter came early to Santa Fe this week with a snowstorm on Monday.  Illy is Snoopy-Dance happy!
  

 

VIA FRANCIGENA!

October Surprise

OK, since we're in a (heated) election year, I really couldn't resist today's blog title.  Still, I can promise you that all that follows is apolitical . . . 

Behold, the black rhino!

The surprise: 

It may seem that after 426 days on the trail, a trekker would have little left to encounter that could be surprising.  The Unexpected Journey, though, is chock full of unexpectedness -- and so, when running alongside the zebras, there appeared this week a rare black rhinoceros, we were surprised and curious.  We found her to be far less scary than one may expect.  Our black rhino sparked great interest, expanded options and created a sense of hopefulness and (as I explained to one tireless warrior) an undeniable ebullience that put a real pop into my tread hikes and HIITS!

How we found the elusive, stunning (though threatened) survivor: 

Saturday (3 October) was another scan to get a look at what is going on with my cancer (the alternative to my cellophane body musings).  Since the scan was on a Saturday, this time around (for the first time), I wouldn't be able preview the results before meeting with Dr. Rixe.  So on Monday (our only Cancer Center visit that absolutely precluded Cliff's presence in the room), Dr. Rixe shared with me face-to-face (and with Cliff on speaker phone) my latest scan results:

Dr. Rixe laid out the results as a “glass half empty / glass half full” finding (his French application of typically American metaphors can be comical).  But I digress . . .

Here’s what we learned: The remaining “appearance” on my liver did not wash away, rather it grew.  Bottomline: It was not necrotic tissue (in the glass half empty realm, I suppose we otherwise might identify this as the bad news).  It is, however, the only detectable lesion — there being no other signs of disease progression and nothing detectable beyond the liver (this being the glass half full / good news perspective).  Why something (a lot of?) what I am doing seems to be working and yet this lesion is able to stand its rhino ground (and grow) is at this point a mystery. So what to do?

Following the three-toed tracks:

To solve the mystery and extinguish the lesion ("with only one stone, we can get two birds," (another Rixe-ified metaphor . . .)), Dr. Rixe laid out a plan to take a local focus on this lesion with an interventional radiology (IR) approach.  Of course, he had started his day at 7:00 a.m. in consultation with radiology to review my Saturday results, discuss options, examine risks and benefits and coordinate a schedule to streamline action (same-day IR consult, next week procedure).  Again, I am so thankful for our shamanic, genius, seemingly indefatigable oncologist! 

The way ahead is to undergo two interventional radiology procedures over the course of the next month to eliminate the lesion (and simultaneously get a tissue biopsy).  The procedures both will be performed percutaneously (no open surgery, yay!) and are considered relatively low risk.  And best of all, in cases where there is no disease progression, the procedures can be curative!  I frankly never expected to hear that word again in relation to my cancer -- hence my jubilation.  Oh yeah, I'm a glass-half-full gal who still believes in miracles!

And we're trekking on:

Next Monday morning at 8:00 a.m., I’ll undergo the first of the two procedures to be performed by Dr. Shelby Bennett (click here for Bennett Bio): a transarterial chemoembolization (TACE), to shrink and dis-empower (my word) the resistant lesion.  About two weeks later, I'll have a microwave ablation (MWA) to zap the shrunken remains.  In the meantime, I’ll continue on all of my therapies (targeted and alternatives) exercising our “something is working” mindset.

So how am I feeling?  Positive, encouraged, supported, blessed and oh-so grateful.

Happily greeting the rhino!

Quote of the Day:

Don’t quit before the miracle! 

                                         Mom of Peloton Coach, Robin Arzon'

 Progress Report:

• My new energy boost is dancing on my tread at the end of workouts to U2's "The Miracle."
• Home reno continues apace -- we're hoping to be able to move back into our suite by Halloween.
• Plants are flourishing as the apricots are now inside and out, the poinsettias have retired to a less sunny spot (building their energetic holiday magic) and one lovely orchid remains in bloom.
• Got in only one pool session last week (hard to do with contractor comings and goings) -- love that neoprene jacket! 
• Have completed three months of twice weekly IV Vitamin C, starting once weekly IVs this week.
• KETO continues (ugh) as does mistletoe (ouch) -- but hey, something is working!
  
• And the medical stuff . . . well, I think you're on caught up on that! 
• Happy Hump Day!

 

VIA FRANCIGENA!

A Birthday Stroll

OK, so "The Stroll" as recorded by the Diamonds, predates my birthday by a couple of years. But it's too cute not to share for a Wednesday smile (check those bobby socks and penny loafers!). 

Strolling is on my mind because yesterday, when Cliff asked me what I wanted for my birthday (my second on the Unexpected Journey), I passed on a hike, preferring instead a stroll up Canyon Road -- a notable Santa Fe destination for fine art and dining.

For years we've walked up and down Canyon in all seasons (Christmas Eve on Canyon Road is down right magical), feasting on the shapes and colors that make "strolling a gallery" experience from start to finish. When we first moved to Santa Fe, I explained to Cliff that we would now buy less art, since we could get a walking immersion anytime we wanted, without impact on our wallets or home space (that sort of worked out . . . ).

So yesterday afternoon we celebrated my 61st birthday with a (purchase free) stroll up Canyon. It was a perfect autumn day framed by a crystal clear sky and floating on a crisp breeze. Weirdly, due to COVID, the normally congested Canyon Road was mostly quiet and still -- giving us the perfect opportunity to visit with one of our favorite Santa Fe artisans, silversmith John Rippel. In truth, I texted John before we headed up to make sure he would be in. It had been nearly a year since we'd visited and it was great to catch up. John made my concha belt in the photo.

Arts and the out of doors are just good healing medicine -- and we know we are blessed to live in Northern New Mexico. In the world of healing, we continue along the ups and downs of the trail -- AND we continue to show up (Every. Single. Day.) with our backpacks square on our shoulders and boots double-laced. We share an understanding that we can't choose the terrain, but we always can choose how we'll negotiate the obstacles and breathe deep the majestic views. That outlook is our formula for sustaining our healthy curiosity (versus creating boulders of fear, guilt or blame), flexing our growth mindset (seeing setbacks as learning opportunities versus pits of gloom and disappointment) and expressing deep gratitude (never taking for granted the joy of time shared and connections honored -- like our time with John yesterday). In many ways, our Unexpected Journey has allowed us to visualize a path of "deeper living," which grace our relationships with heartfelt patience, kindness and joy -- all experienced through words that never go unspoken, hugs that always meet willing arms and full attention to the little trials and celebrations that lace each day.  On days when the route is less clear, those are the margin notes true the path.

 Quote of the Day:

Patience is not the ability to wait. Patience is to be calm no matter what happens, constantly take action to turn it to positive growth opportunities, and have faith to believe that it will all work out in the end while you are waiting.”

                                                                                ~Roy T. Bennett 

Progress Report: 

• Last targeted treatment was not so bad -- just a little discomfort the day of treatment.  
• 23 unbroken Peloton Weeks -- I'm rockin' that tread!
• Still doing the 3.5 mile loop -- and tomorrow, I'll be joining Cliff and Illy for the Full Moon Walk!
• I recently found two new KETO cookbooks to jazz up my plan.  Eighteen weeks on the therapeutic ketogenic nutrition plan -- never out of ketosis.
• Our renovation project is moving right along.  The new uber-cool metallic gray tiles have replaced the black granite on one bathroom wall.  I keep going back into the construction zone just to relish the light!
• My latest CEA marker test was again below normal.  Continuing great news: Since my February surgery my markers never have risen above normal range!  Yay for that.
• A friend and fellow metastatic cancer warrior directed my attention to Cancer Commons, a non-profit dedicated to helping advanced cancer patient to learn about and access best treatment for the individual.  Cancer Commons's tailored approach and commitment to share information about what is being researched is incredible.  As a result of this organization, I now count a research scientist among my team of experts.   (www.cancercommons.org)

VIA FRANCIGENA!