No Weather Delays

It's snowing in Santa Fe this morning.  Swirling flakes coming down so fast on ground so cold that we're actually seeing accumulation in this first real storm of the season.  Still this afternoon, the forecast is for sunny skies and calm winds.  I love this weather . . . all weather really.  The dramatic changes create a stir of excitement for me.  And posting the words I drafted last week, but got too busy to review and post, seems particularly fitting today . . .

Date written: 24 October:

• Day 80 since my cancer diagnosis
• Day Seven, Cycle Three (the last day of Week 1, this treatment cycle)

As I consider my trekker's heart today, I am recalling one tiny piece of how I evolved to become this lover of mountains, challenging ascents and long-distance pursuits.  This post pays homage to the   southern girl who came from a world of perpetual summer and eventually landed on this unexpected journey of unpredictable climes.  The memory of younger days ultimately reminds me that opportunities and gifts reside in the full environment along any path any of us may walk.  We need only set forth regardless of the weather . . .

When I was young, newly commissioned and newly married (yes, there was such a time, some 37 years ago), I joined my newly-minted husband (only slightly older and less-newly commissioned than I) at our first home on assignment in Schweinfurt, Germany.  A Florida girl who had just endured four years at West Point -- a colder (gasp, it snows here) and far less sunny spot than my deep south peninsular home (unless it was an endlessly steamy summer day at the academy, even then with no cooling shoreline in sight . . . ), I was disappointed to find more cool and damp weather in Germany.

On duty days, weather was "nothing but a thing," (We used to say things like that, ha!).  Soldiering was soldiering.  I never blinked at any kind of weather through predawn physical training, firing ranges or extended field exercises.  But the weekends?  Really, this country couldn't offer up a warm and sunny weekend day?  In truth, ever-so-seldom the weather was delightful in Schweinfurt, but mostly not.  My choices seemed either to become an off-duty (wimpy) recluse who shrank from drab, drizzly days or (quite simply) to don rain gear and live my whole life -- experiencing the thrill of living in a foreign country as a newlywed with a rewarding career in service to my nation, and oh-so-few cares in the world (in retrospect, really oh-so-few cares).

This new (for young me) concept of accepting the weather (all weather) as a condition, versus a mandate; for action, versus inaction, would help propel me from Florida Girl to global citizen.  Whatever the conditions, my mission would continue.  Whether on duty or off, environmental circumstances enriched my life without tempering it.  I missed nothing.  I never waited for rain to abate or winds to calm (in both the literal and the figurative sense).  And in this practice, I marveled in the magic of the rain: Leaving glistening streets and grateful flowers (needing the rain as much as the sun to thrive); and of the snow: The heart-pumping goodness of exploring a silent wood on snowshoes or cross-country skis; and of the winds: Whistling music that gave rise to the shimmying dance of trees.  Eventually, that acceptance would help shape my trekking perspective: Stepping out not in spite but in awareness of the weather as a gift! 

No matter what the journey, against the backdrop of history, life is short, with wholly unpredictable weather (cancer, me?).  No amount of grousing, complaining or waiting for the perfect day will add stability, reduce unpredictability or extend my time on earth.  What I can do is choose to live my whole life embracing my appreciation of how external conditions empower the open mind and heart to move forward (perhaps with adjustments), to explore, to learn, to grow, to see more and become more grateful along the way -- to become more resilient and more capable of taking on the next thing (and there always will be next things) life throws. 

These days, I often am asked if I am getting enough rest, and the answer is yes.  I rest when my body signals the need.  But mostly this body remains a body in motion.  I don't want to sleep through these days.  There is so much to learn from the uncertainty of the process.  I am encouraged by my awareness that I will emerge from this unexpected journey more-tested and stronger than ever before.  So every day, I put on the right-minded gear for each moment and move along this unknowable path curious and determined.

And while  I rarely get a (figuratively) funky-weather-free day, I remain mindful of my choice to step into the present -- whatever micro-climate exists -- to live fully, joyfully, gratefully.  It's my choice (yours too).  Every.  Single.  Day.

Progress:  Week One of Cycle Three is over.  Each cycle, I better manage my mind, body and spirit through immediate post-treatment days -- wobbly, nauseated and ever aware of the transitory nature of the phase.  Reliably, I am supported by my amazing partner who has mastered an attitude of dignified and kind care partnering in our determination to live Week One -- no matter the rugged terrain and crazy weather -- and arrive at Week Two ready to rebuild and soldier on.  So this week, I'll get in my long walk and two, one-hour Peloton sessions, you can be sure.  In fact, I'm walking this afternoon . . . in any weather 😁.  Next chemo: 4 November.  And last night's dance tune?  Movin' Right Along! (All hail the Muppets!)

Quote of the Day:

Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.

                                                                                                       ~John Ruskin

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Dances With Dogs . . .

So I had a thought to blog from a chemo treatment.

Blogging from chemo

And here I am (blogging) in Chemo Three  -- after a ten-day chemo vacation to give my white blood cells a chance to rebound from treatments so far.   And I just want to follow up on a promise from my last blog that I would dedicate a blog to our dancing ritual.

Dances With Wolves? Big Deal.

First of all, let me be clear: Kevin Costner's got nothing on us.  We Dance With Dogs -- Every. Single. Day!🐶

It's true, our joyful dancing includes our pups, Munro and Illy.  Munro (for anyone who doesn't already know) is our seven-year-old Pomeranian and Illy is our two-year-old Spinone Italiano.  To memorialize our joy, we videoed an evening dance session, and captured a few mirthful frames for the blog:

 

I find a joyous mindset (and a little silliness) can fuel me for most any challenge.  On a long uphill (against the wind and in the rain) on the Pennine Way, Cliff and I repeatedly sang Jim Croce's "Leroy Brown" (or what we could remember of it) to cascades of laughter that had the effect of washing away the drudgery of the climb.  Because of our joy in the moment, that memory still is among my most vibrant of our 270-mile trek along the ridge of England and into Scotland (rain, wind, elevation notwithstanding).

And yes. I still record our dance music choices.  A sample from our recent string of hits:

• Some Nights (Because we all have them (and who can resist music by a band named Fun?))
• After Midnight (Although it was well before midnight, Eric Clapton is Cliff's favorite)
• Hot and Cold (Yep, chemo can affect thermo regulation, and Katie Perry can make us laugh about it)
• Heart-to-Heart ('Cause this battle takes two and Kenny Loggins, my favorite, recorded this song in 1982 (the year TeamBoltz became official))
• Alive and Kickin' (Kenny Loggins again -- and yes I am!)
• I'm Still Standing (We all can use a little Sir Elton John inspiration)
• So What (Thanks, Pink.  We ARE still rock stars)
• I'm Alive (If you think you are detecting a trend here, it's true - and a little Michael Franti is the perfect vibe to celebrate life!)

So my intent for today -- as we joyously resumed chemo is to share a little laughter, a little silliness and a tremendous breath of gratitude for staying the chemo course.

Not at all surprising (to us) is that my superhero oncologist met us at the chemo suite this morning  before 8:00 a.m., anticipating the results of my morning blood test, WBC count being the threshold for my chemo today.  And when the results came in, he was back to deliver the good news in person with a big thumbs up and a winning smile.  Once again, we are so grateful for Dr. Rixe.

Progress: After this treatment (still a couple of hours to go) of chemo (FOLFOX) and targeted therapy (Avastin), I'll get a Neulasta injection when the Fluorouracil pump comes off on Sunday (to boost my WBC for future treatments).  And it looks like Dr. Rixe is going to redo my scans after treatment five (so we'll know progress before Christmas -- yay!).

Quote for the Day:

Find out where joy resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing.  For to miss joy is to miss all.                                                        ~Robert Louis Stevenson 

At home with Munro and Illy

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Rest Days

Essential to every journey, is a plan for rest.  At high altitude, rest days are essential for acclimatization.  On long treks (>100 miles) rest days are all about doing laundry.  We can carry less, if we can bulk launder (versus sink launder and air dry) a time or two along the way.  Sometimes rests are engineered to spend time with pals, extend the pleasure of a stunning vista,  or enable "We may never pass this way again," cultural experiences.  And sometimes, rests are extemporaneous celebrations of life on the trail.  Regardless, rest happens.  Rest is good.  And rested, we resume our journeys with balanced bodies and minds (and definitely less stinky packs 😉). 

This week we gained awareness that this unexpected journey, like its well-planned and trained for counterparts, will include some rest days.  Upon review of my routine pre-treatment blood tests on Wednesday, Dr. Rixe mandated a chemo rest.  While my blood tests remained astoundingly normal overall, my white blood cell count had ebbed to a point (pretty normal for chemo patients on Flouracil, among other treatments) that prompted a chemo vacation of one week to allow those blood cells time to rebound.

A chemo vacation!  I simultaneously felt a surge of relief and a pounding curiosity around how this impacts my progress.  My resolution of these somewhat conflicted feelings arrived mid-stride (where else?).  Chemo is not about chemo.  Chemo is about getting 100% well (versus feeling 98% well).  While this may seem intuitive to the reader, from the perspective of this being who is going through treatment, the cure often feels worse than the cancer. 

Putting it in perspective: It is pretty natural, in anyone's development of goals (in my case, beating cancer), to get focused on one's measurable objectives (in this instance, successful chemo progress) as a way to gauge strategic achievement.  Aha (my mid-stride brain elbows me), this unexpected journey proceeds on a path paved with objectives -- to include 12 treatment cycles.  And these objectives, which move me toward my goal of  beating cancer and hitting the Via Francigena healthful and joyful, are where the give and take, the acclimatization, the laundering and opportunities for expansion live.  They are the flex for success.  They happen and they are good.

Surviving chemo is not my goal, surviving cancer is.  Keeping my greater focus on my triumphant end state is hugely motivating and grounding.  In this way, while the treatment cycles are no less onerous,  I find it easier to keep them in context.  Visualizing my big picture sightline,  I am filled with purpose and fired by potential.  After all, I've never traveled any trail (even those previously trod) knowing beforehand every inch of terrain and premniscient of every turn of the weather.  I feel powered by each present-moment step that confirms, yes I can -- and with that, I can do more!

Without question, objectives are important milestones to progress.  Objective achievements award us with self-efficacy super powers.  Still, objectives are not all-consuming, must-have accomplishments in and of themselves.  This awareness helps me to make sense of my week-long chemo vacation; to enjoy fully these days of beautiful sunrises and sunsets, time with pals, space to move our home remodeling projects forward without the post-treatment malaise and yes, to continue dance.  Every. Single. Day.

On dancing: A friend asked me this week if we really are dancing, or if dancing is a metaphor for our way of being on the path.  Well, yep, we really are dancing -- Every. Single. Day.  In fact, my next blog will be all about the dancing.

Progress: Chemo vacay: One week.  Next appointment with Dr. Rixe, 16 October.  Expect to resume chemo, 17 October.

Quote of the day:

 Take a rest; a field that has rested gives a beautiful crop.

                                                                           ~ Ovid

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

With the Wind at My Back

More than once in my life I've been called a Pollyanna.  And, at times, I suppose I've been aggravated by the characterization.  Pollyanna, the title character of a series of books written by Eleanor Porter in the early 20th Century, is (to some readers) saccharine.  Now a days though, I relish the description -- thinking that the fictional orphaned character actually had a very strong practice of gratitude.  And on this path, gratitude is the strong and sustained wind this unexpected journey trekker needs at her back to push forward, one step, one day at a time.

Week Two, Cycle Two, was full of those amazing winds of positivity.  That's not to say Week Two was a snap, which I suppose made these winds -- from gentle breezes to full-blown gusts -- all the more powerful.  The contrast of the challenges, which begged a negativity bias to rule the day and my way of being, seemed for me to magnify the good.

 And what came in on the winds:

• Continued birthday wishes that made the "I suppose this wasn't the best birthday . . . " thoughts evaporate.  My Pollyanna said, "Hey, you're here!"  OK, really basic, but given the choice, damned good.   Every kind and healthful zephyr wish created an updraft -- lightening the load of my backpack, and moving me along with joy.

• The challenges of pals.  It's easy, I suppose, to begin to see a cancer fighter as too busy, too consumed in her fight, or (heaven forbid) too sick to continue to be a friend, confidant, sounding board or mentor.  Two of my delightfully amazing friends met tough challenges this week; and they came to me to be heard, to hold safe space, to weigh in with brainstorming and/or to advise.  That's a huge huff of propelling wind.  I double-tied my laces and headed up a rocky path knowing I am not my cancer.  I am me, there for you like always.

• The magic of a haircut.  What could have been a sad, torturous event was made wonderful by the authentic kindness of my hairstylist, Christopher, who came in two hours early to be with me and Cliff, shampoo and cut my (shedding) hair, not charge me (salon policy, no charge for clients in treatment (I didn't know)), and then present me with pampering gifts - topped with an Hermès scarf to cover and conceal my balding head.  And best of all was the lively, engaging and impassioned conversation between the three of us.  The near hurricane-force winds whipped up from that experience left my feet barely touching the path.  I double-checked my speed and distance, and skipped forward feeling loved, respected and yep, even a little bit beautiful.  

 Before

After (me and Christopher)

• The power of Guardian Spirits.  In 1992, Cliff and I began collecting the work of Western artist, Bev Doolittle.  Her watercolor design, embedded with "hidden" natural images spoke to our love of the out-of-doors and inspired our growing romance with the American West.  And as the universe brings so much good and powerful into our lives on every trail, in 2018 life's currents brought Marj and Bob into our lives.  Strong, good, kind friends with abundant spirits matching our love for art, the west and meaningful connection, this couple stirred the winds at our backs to typhoon strength this week when they gifted us Bev Doolittle's "Guardian Spirits" prints.  The images remind us we have the powerful protection of family and friends, the stamina to stay true to our path, the wisdom of many journeys past, the ferocity to tackle this trail and the vision to look forward to the next.

Progress:

So sure, Avastin (my targeted therapy) combined with my chemo in Cycle Two to accelerate hair loss, introduce a skull-pounding headache, accentuate nausea and prompt nose bleeds.  This cycle, Week One effects seemed to drag their nasty little feet into Week Two more than in Cycle One.  And I thought, there is a purpose to this process.  I summoned my subconscious reminder that "I can do this."  I remembered, "No mud, no lotus." I practiced gratitude for the new, the unknown and the less-than-comfortable, which served to remind me how blessed I am and how very much I love this life.

And yes, Cliff and I still danced (Every. Single. Day. -- and the week's hit list of songs really did include Hakuna Matata 😊).  I enjoyed each sunrise and sunset.  I am here, now  -- the only place and time in which any of us truly ever exist.  I am practicing my Pollyanna gratitude -- strengthened by the wind at my back.

Quote of the Day:

Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously.  And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.

                                                                                  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson 

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!