We'd Rather Be Walking: 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.