The Hamster Wheel

If you've ever watched a hamster run on a suspended wheel, you are familiar with the rodent's perpetual uphill surge, followed by the descending lag as the little critter races to nowhere.

The steady ups and downs that our first major trek (in 1998) delivered  led me to dub it the hamster-wheel trek.  The difference being that -- unlike the stuck-in-place rodent -- our ups and downs powered us across more than 100 miles through the Langtang National Park in Nepal back to Kathmandu.  That is, we got somewhere. 

On that trek (undertaken with maps, a GPS and an idea) -- I carried a back pack roughly 1/3 of my body weight at high altitude (14,370 feet along the shoreline of Lake Gosainkunda).  I'd no more than catch my breath on each mini summit along the spiky terrain, before I'd be heading downhill again . . . and looking up the next rise.  We passed our days walking up rhododendron-lined paths (and eventually across scree fields and rocky moonscapes at peak elevations) and down yak trails in complete solitude.  And over time the ups and downs hit a certain harmony for me.  My ascents became less labored.  The descents less knee-wrenching.  And by the time we headed over the pass itself, I had settled into a comfortable confidence and hardy optimism of the trail and my ability.  As life's stressors external to the trek faded away, my awareness in the present moment sharpened.  I increasingly became more happy, present, peaceful, calm and confident.  I didn't worry about tomorrow's terrain or weather.  We savored dalbhat and rotis with yak cheese at tea houses along our route.  We laughed at unexpected snow.  We reveled in our togetherness without the inevitable midnight call for an MP battalion commander.  That darned hamster wheel rocked me into a peaceful state of recognizing what my body could achieve.  And because I believed I could, I did.

At the tail end of 2019, I found myself back on the hamster wheel of ups and downs -- this time toward achieving a cure in the face of Stage Four Cancer.  And it took some work to recall the harmony of the motion, and all of its goodness . . .

At the end of November we saw the remarkable MRI that showed my cancer in retreat.  At the beginning of December, we celebrated cancer markers in rapid decline (an 80% reduction).  Then we got the unexpected good news that I was a surgical candidate to remove what seemed to be the only remaining tumor (located on the left lobe of my liver).  Through three treatments in December, Dr. Rixe progressively winnowed my treatment meds to prepare my body for surgery.  We followed the path up, up, up with vigor and excitement.

Then, just as 2020 was peeking over the horizon of our latest ascent, we hit a downhill slide of elevating cancer markers and I struggled to stay balanced.  Trudging through the fog of fear that my surgery would be canceled, I started to see a rocky descent. 

Fearing the potential for some knee wrenching steps ahead (that quite frankly made for some long, sleepless nights), I determined to work steadily on releasing that marker-induced anxiety (along with a couple of other ineffectual thought patterns) by focusing instead on the coming rise: The incredible opportunity of the surgery.  I started energy work with a calm and experienced practitioner, who in presence alone creates safe space for our work.  I doubled down on my nutrition plan (Please sir, may I have some more?  Anti-angiogenetic food, that is!).  I meditated.  I walked.  I danced.  And at some point, I found myself in a full and liberating release (neither up nor down) as I let go those old patterns and trusted the universe would keep me safe while restoring my natural order of health and well being.

So it was in relative stasis that I traveled last week.  On Monday morning the news was good, by sunset that day, we were facing more challenges.  On Wednesday, despite elevated markers, my oncologist and surgeon agreed the surgery would proceed as scheduled.  My vitals, liver function and blood test results are superb (excepting the markers).  A new MRI confirmed the single tumor with no disease progression.  My markers (though still high) even crept down a tad. 

The hamster wheel rhythm of the unexpected journey is "the way".  It is living life in the present -- and managing my thoughts to support my healing.  I've been listening to Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" (from my old gym track) on a near loop: Dancing on my treadmill, juggling Munro on my hip, rejoicing in the sunrise.  It's become my anthem of sorts.  "'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me!" 

For an uplifitng moment, click on the video below to hear "Fight Song".  

Progress:

Dinner with Marty and Mariko

• Last week was so busy, I failed to blog. That says something for my Stage Four status! 
• In Week Two of Cycle Nine, I'm now treatment free until after surgery -- just two weeks from today!
• Friday through today, our dear friends Marty and Mariko visited from Pasadena, CA.
• I exceeded my 21s for Cycle Eight (logged 23 miles).
• I remain focused on strength and weight gain, embracing my blueprint for health, and living fully present in each blessed moment.

Because I believe I can, I will!

Quote for the Day:

It's not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.

                                                                                ~Sir Edmund Hillary

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Celebrating a Mini Hike

Kasha-Katuwe (Tent Rocks) Hike

Yesterday we enjoyed a mini hike.  And just doing it was a reminder of the hard work that goes into preparing for any journey.  I guess you could say that yesterday we took a training day within our Unexpected Journey.  Along the way, I focused on training belief, becoming stronger and building my way to wellness.  And I did it in the company of Buck Smith.

If you previously followed my Well Leaders blog, you may recall Ol' Buck.  Buck Smith was a memory my (then 85-year-old) father shared with me when he was recovering from a prolonged hospital stay early last decade.  My dad -- no longer with us as a physical manifestation -- is with me every day.  He was the world's best storyteller (and his characters, like Buck, are full of life lessons). . . 

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Buck Smith was my dad's childhood footrace rival.  For a number of early post-depression summers, dad and Buck pounded South Georgia's red clay trails in fierce competition:

Over a few sweltering summers in the late 1930s, my dad's frustration of losing race after race to Buck Smith grew.  Filled with an intense yearning to win, dad would toe the start line alongside Buck time and again, only to see Buck pull ahead and win.  The races were always close – so close that dad drew a crowd of believers who began to lay bets on his ability to beat Buck Smith.  A prophecy was growing and generating the energy of belief – and in its glow dad no longer only wanted to beat Buck Smith, he started to believe he could. 

As the wagers grew and my dad began to see himself the winner, he put more time and effort into becoming that winner.  He spent a school year developing drills and exercises to improve his start, his speed and his finish.  He ran everywhere he went that year.  He raced shoe-less around his small town on every errand and to each destination.  He was becoming that which he believed he could be.

Finally, at the end of the summer of 1937, my dad lined up toe to shoe with Buck Smith as he had so many times in the past.  But this time. belief replaced yearning.  He had put in the hard and persistent work of becoming the victor.  A small pack of grimy, pinched-faced, penny-ante schoolboy gamblers gathered  -- many to bet on the dark horse.   

So, with the nasally shout of Georgia half-pint, the race was on!  Dad got the start he had practiced and sped down the lane with the belief that he could beat Buck Smith.  With each powerful, practiced stride, he knew this was HIS RACE.  And to the cheers of juvenile bettors certain they would head home that afternoon with a few coins jingling in their pockets, my dad triumphed over Buck Smith.

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I think we all have our Buck Smiths.  They are the challenges that can feel big, overwhelming and insurmountable.  We do not have to surrender to our Bucks.  They are not our signal to give up. They are our signal to fight, and: 

My number one ally

• To believe: Dad's story reminds to believe in my ability to triumph over the demons and ghouls that seem often to border the trails along the Unexpected Journey.  I've faced tough before.  My path is lined with allies who maintain,  "We know you can beat this."  My conviction is fortified by the story of Kikkan Randall, who triumphed over her cancer.  From a place of deep belief I know, “I can do this!"

• To become: Dad's story also reminds me to STAY IN THE FIGHT.  Sometime it feels as though every day presents new information -- some invigorating, some discouraging.  In each instance I have to channel the energy of reaction into the dynamic, healthful action.  My heart has my back.  My thoughts are mine to control.  I'll run those clay tracks to realize my goal.

The boost of the mini hike

• To build: All the little wins along the way are my Power Bars of self-efficacy.  Success (of all sizes) creates power that propels me up the next hill with increased willingness to explore the unknown and accept the process of life. 

I think the story of Buck Smith appeared to my dad in his ICU room of blinking, beeping and chirping monitors to remind him that in this hospital challenge too, he could prevail.  So it came to pass that after five tough weeks in the hospital -- although in a wheelchair and bound for rehab -- my dad left the hospital that year, the week before Christmas.

So dad, today I'm facing down One Mean Son of an Ol' Buck.  And I just want you to know, you can for sure lay your money on me!

Progress:

• Cycle Eight, Week Two.  I'm feeling good and strong.  Meditating, practicing self-hypnosis, walking, dancing, eating healthfully, feeling blessed and grateful.
• Cliff and I hosted our pal, Suby, for dinner last evening.  What a soul-nourishing occasion!  The conversation was easy, lively, engaging and relevant.  We are so grateful to have her incredibly gracious and wise presence in our lives.
• Starting Source Point energy work with Bob Schrei today.
• Feeling connected and positive.  Thank you to Cindy for the smart resources!  I am incorporating much of Louise Hay's knowledge into my continuation and presence practice.  I especially love the reminder that every day we are new.
• Still dancing!  Best dance song this week:  Just Dance (Lady Gaga)

Quote of the Day:

Start where you are.  Use what you have.  Do what you can.

                                                                       ~ Arthur Ashe

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!