Orienting the Map

It's not been unusual, really, on any long-distance trek, for Cliff and me to have reason to pause and orient our map, adjust our bearings and confirm the way ahead.  I recall such a time when a clearly defined trail blended seamlessly with an animal path (yak trail in Nepal).  Or the many times a trail blaze (in the Rockies) or finger post (in the UK) was unclear or confusing.  And of course there's the case of  crazy weather obscuring the terrain and muddling GPS reception (ah, Scotland).  In any case, at some point in each of these instances, we became aware of our misdirection, paused, oriented our map to the terrain and rejoined our route -- easily finding our way back to our natural, fluid trail rhythm.

On this unexpected journey, too, we are becoming aware there will be opportunities for distraction, misdirection and occlusion.  And a little pause and orienting of the map can help us to true our course and regain our trekker's groove.

On Monday morning, before heading into my first chemo treatment, we were unaware of a gentle misdirect (in the form of overthinking) that was making us hyper-sensitive to the changing terrain -- and, as a result, pulling us mildly off course.  Having gone through chemo education, read all the proffered side-effect materials and listened to the wise counsel of those previously having trodden a similar (but all together different) path, Cliff and I combined our keen (and much-beloved) planning skills into the creation of a chart meant to double and triple check my chemo treatment experience.  We were looking toward sensitive change -- almost to the point of distraction (if you don't get your head out of that map or your eyes off the GPS, you will most certainly miss the truth of the journey).

Dr. Rixe responded to our chart monitoring plan with a soft and kind smile.  He shook his head and gave us the best trail advice ever (whatever the journey): "Live your life."  His words had an immediate re-framing effect for me.  In that instant I knew that in living with awareness (presence and purpose), I would see the yak prints and realize we were on a different trail without overly-anticipating a stinking pile of poo.  I also knew that I would notice a recurring landmark on a path and recognize a trekker's loop without keeping my eyes peeled for the error.  And yes, when things got so foggy and indecipherable, my trekker mind would say: "Slow down, orient the map, live fully into the day and opportunity."  So simple, and all at once so liberating.

It was a zoom back to the present -- and a reason I always remind friends (and former clients) that mindfulness is a practice.  It's not a perfect.  And back in the present, I became aware of all the best of the trail (not laser focused on changes in my physical manifestation, but opening myself to the whole experience on the path):

The re-framing effect was immediate and I flew through my three-plus hours in the chemo suite on Monday without a single issue.  Were things changing in my body?  Maybe, but not enough to register without the most sensitive of measuring devices.  Orienting the map to my present awareness, what I didn't miss along the way buoyed my spirit and expanded my space:

• The volunteers in the chemo suite were particularly warm and kind (both cancer survivors).
• My chemo nurse was skilled, calm and compassionate.
• The massage therapist (who somewhat magically appeared) was gentle, authentic and selfless.
• My chair before the window was a warm spot with a great view of the sidewalk (and activity) outside (on a crystalline Santa Fe day).
• My kind and attentive hubby blanketed me in love and kindness with a look and a gentle hand hold (walking right beside me, not cuing on the the most subtle, but opening to the whole experience and regaining our easy natural rhythm).
• And then your texts flooded in -- thank you for the well wishes and messages of support!

The bottom line is we have a tried and true approach to living our whole lives.  We open to opportunity -- learning every day.  We hear our coulds and turn them into cans -- living life without regrets.  And the big breakthrough (could-to-can) of chemo cycle one, day one?  We agreed that completing this unexpected journey will call for an EPIC celebration:  And so, we will take on the entire Via Francigena in one fell swoop.  A twelve-hundred mile celebration of life.  It will be our longest trek yet -- and for sure, we'll pause to orient our maps more than once along the way.  We'll take into the Via Francigena, all of the experiences of our past treks -- to include this one.  We will live our lives -- aware, curious and grateful.  Because we can.

Progress:  End of leg one, chemo.  While we'll let the process ride out for the full two-week cycle.  I'm doing ok.  Dealing with some nausea and queasiness, feel muscle sore all over, dull headache.  The drugs are clearly having some effect -- and doing their job.  My job is to eat, move, stay hydrated and smile -- and I'm all in.


Quote of the day:

A journey is like marriage.  The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.

                                                                                          ~ John Steinbeck

The much anticipated photo from the trail -- heading into the cancer center to have Super Thor (my take-home treatment) disconnected -- the official end of leg one, chemo

VIA FRANCIGENA!