Managing the "Stay-at-Home" Life

Illy and Munro abiding by NM's stay-at-home order

What a moment for the world!  The whole COVID 19 virus has me feeling conflicted.  How can I help?  In normal times, the (so I thought) invincible being of me would be physically involved in assisting the most vulnerable among us.  On our Unexpected Journey, that diversion is unthinkable.  Since starting chemo in September, we've avoided large crowds, let our gym membership expire and terminated travel of more than 65 miles from our home to Albuquerque -- and then only for medical appointments.  It seems we've been practicing for our Governor's stay-at-home order for half a year.

So, maybe an overview of how we have coped with relative isolation for the past eight months -- and continue to cope -- can be helpful to others.  This morning I heard Jon Bon Jovi say, "If you can't do what you do, do what you can."  This we can:

• Reading.  Since my August diagnosis, by my accounting I've read about 50 books (both digital and hardback).  People have asked for my reading list, and quite honestly I wouldn't recommend every book I've read, but I'll give you my top ten list from my reading since early August:
1. One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow, Olivia Hawker  (Fiction: Set in Wyoming, late 1800s, a spirited story of two women and their children overcoming challenges and thriving in the natural world -- carries a significant message about accepting the continuum of being).
2. Chasing the Invisible, Thomas Grogan, MD (Nonfiction: The subtitle of this book is "A Doctor's Quest to Abolish the Last Unseen Cancer Cell." Truly a book that covers the spectrum of the cancer fight (from research, to business, big pharma, international coordination and the hearts of amazing doctors, researchers and techs leading the charge).  I wouldn't have read this book if (1) I didn't have my diagnosis and (2) a friend (and fellow cancer survivor) who knows Grogan hadn't recommended it.  What I understand now: According to the American Cancer Society's, Cancer Facts and Figures 2020: "A total of 1,806,590 new cancer cases and 606,520 deaths are expected in the US in 2020, which is about 4,950 new cases and more than 1,600 deaths each day."  This disease, the research and race for the cure matter TO ALL OF US -- this books helps us to understand how and why.
3. A Pilgrimage to Eternity, Timothy Egan (Nonfiction: An incredibly well researched and delightfully written book of the author's (Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and NYT Op Ed columnist) personal pilgrimage on the Via Francigena.  
4. The Starless Sea, Erin Morgenstern (Fiction for bibliophiles: A fantastical journey in a land where books are everything).
5. I'm Fine and Neither are You, Camille Pagan (Fiction: An honest, humorous look at one contemporary relationship -- tumultuous, lively and ultimately uplifting).
6. Once Night Falls, Roland Merullo (Historical fiction.  This was a hard pick for me  because my reading list is packed with many goods books on WW1 and WW2.  I am ever inspired by the bravery, selflessness and compassion of the amazing people (military and civilians) who lived (and died) during these wars.  This particular book takes a very human dive onto the Italian experience of WW2).
7. The "Tour Series" by Jean Grainger: This is a collection of five books.  (Easy reading Fiction:  Lovable characters, page-turning plots, all set in Ireland -- need an Irish gal say more?). 
8. The Salt Path, Raynor Winn (Nonfiction.  A long-distance walking chronicle of grief, determination, and healing on the path -- a book that spoke directly to my trekker heart).
9. Eat to Beat Disease, Dr. W. Li (Nonfiction.  I've written about this book before on this blog -- Get it. Read it. Live it).
10. The Giver of Stars, Jojo Moyes (Historical fiction. The tale of a team of five horse-riding female "librarians" who go to amazing lengths to get books in the hands of disparate readers living in remote Kentucky during the Great Depression).
• Working on puzzles.  The standard jigsaw puzzle has zoomed back into popularity as an

  

  3,000 pieces!

  American pastime since COVID19.  Our current distraction is a 3,000-piece puzzle based on the Beatles' 100 Greatest Hits (and yes, our gal Illy already found one dropped puzzle piece on the floor  -- we figure her teeth prints will add a bit of history to our finished product).
• Binge-watching a great TV series.  This is a to-each-his/her own viewer selection.  We currently are loving "Homeland."  Can anything be wrong with a high-speed, suspense series that includes actor Mandy Patinkin in its cast?
• Working out at home.  Lucky for us, in the fall of 2017, we purchased our Peloton Bike. Peloton has a fitness video library of cycling, running, walking,
  
  
  strength training, yoga, meditation, boot camp and cardiovascular workouts.  We love the system and the coaches.  Peloton -- just one of many workout-at-home offerings -- is a paid subscription.  A number of online offerings are free.  Just keep moving and stay strong (good for the body & mind).
• Staying connected with family and  friends.  From the beginning of my self-isolation, I've connected with friends and family regularly via phone, text, email, letters and FaceTime.  I never feel alone and I don't think my family and pals do either! 

 Quote of the Day:

“If we are preoccupied with the fear and despair in us, we can’t help remove the suffering of others. There is an art of suffering well. If we know how to take care of our suffering, we not only suffer much, much less, we also create more happiness around us and in the world.”

                                                              ~Thich Nhat Hanh

Progress (Week Two, Cycle 12):

• Week One remains tough.  I know people recognize my quiet during Week One.  Day Four remains the worst.  Lately I've begun describing the Week One, Day Four experience as being hurled off of Disney World's Mad Hatter Spinning Tea Cups ride into the path of a speeding eighteen wheeler (Ugh!).
• AND Week Two is always better!  This morning I did a Peloton dance cardio workout right after breakfast (I know I'm gonna feel my quads in the morning!!).
• BEST NEWS: My labs from this cycle included another CEA marker test -- and they continue to drop!  My latest labs identified my cancer marker at 0.5 ng (normal is 0.5 to 5.0).  
• Dr Rixe scheduled my next MRI (scan) for Friday, 3 April.
• Armed with information regarding my latest marker readings and the upcoming scan, we'll be discussing the way ahead on Monday, 6 April.  So far my super doc has continued with my very aggressive chemo + targeted therapy (hunting down my last, unseen cancer cell).  
• For the time being, I'm flying solo for chemo.  No "plus ones" at the Cancer Center due to COVID 19 restrictions.
• This summer's Via Francigena is postponed due to COVID 19.  Still saying Via Francigena, just dropping the "2020" for now. 
• So much still to look forward to.  Feeling positive, strong, determined and fierce -- Dance On!

Cliff and I are wishing you all health and engagement during this COVID19 crisis.  Stay safe, stay connected, and live in the present.  Know that thinking of the past and future are human nature.  Still, we live only in the present moment.  I find no good or productive energy in worry.  In this moment, we all can choose to act in the present, and to give ourselves grace along the way.  Together, we've all landed on this path -- our collective Unexpected Journey, if you will.  From here, we strike out: Heads up, shoulders back, bootlaces secured.  We are strong, resourceful and capable -- and regardless of isolation orders, we never walk alone.

 VIA FRANCIGENA!

Waking Up On A Glacier . . . at 18,500'

Top of Kilimanjaro, 2006

Through the years (and many treks) we have found that high altitude uniquely (with its crystal clear, near-forever views and profound quiet) can hush our inner-voices, and open our awareness in ways unique to the eminence.  We also have reached, on some climbs, that extreme elevation mark where the air thins to a deprived soup, and malaise begins to curl her reptilian claws along the seam between land and sky.  And just when it seems we'll hardly find the energy to break camp, we steer gratefully back to an oxygen-rich level -- the challenge having revived and steeled us for the next climb.

In the summer 2006, while on terminal leave from the army (as our actual retirement day approached), TeamBoltz embarked upon our first guided trek: To Summit Mount Kilimanjaro.  In Arusha, Tanzania, we joined nine other trekkers and soon headed east . . . to "De Mowntain".  The trek was not our first high altitude adventure (we naively had managed to stumble into that in Nepal in 1999) -- and it certainly was not our last; however, it remains to this day our greatest elevation achievement (though shortest actual time spent at peak elevation among high-altitude treks).

(July 2006) . . . Coming down from Uhuru Peak at 19,341 feet was a rush.  We'd made it!  We'd summitted the highest freestanding mountain in the world.  Well-trained and conditioned, we found our approach exhilarating and fun.  Waking up in a glacial crater camp fewer than 1,000' below the summit the following morning was . . . not quite so exhilarating, and really not so fun.  After a restless night when just turning over in our sleeping bags left us breathless, we were eager to leave the brain-fogging, nauseating heights in the shadow of our objective.  It was with relief and increasingly greater gulps of thickening air (and some childlike hooting and laughter) that we charged down a scree-field, notwithstanding over-the-shoulders glimpses of "Kili"

(March 2020 -- 224 days since my diagnosis)  This weekend, as I emerged from my second week of my post-surgery, adjuvant chemo therapy, I felt like I relived that transitional morning on the Roof of Africa.  Turns out, resuming chemo three weeks after a liver resection makes for a pretty steep climb.  While descending the heights of chemo happens not as rapidly as hiking/running/sliding down a scree field (with no real comparison to the jubilance), the start point feels startlingly similar (no doubt why I woke from a crater camp dream on Saturday morning).  Coming off another week of intense nausea and lassitude was a welcome relief . . . once I got away from that darned 18,500' glacier!

Out walking yesterday with Cliff, Illy and Munro

So today you catch me cruising into Week Two of Chemo Cycle Eleven.  The welcome respite of clearheaded breathing as the path extends before me is awesome.  And best of all, there by my side is my intrepid trekking partner (now of 40+ years) and my pups, of course!  How blessed am I?  The unexpected journey continues to unfold before us with each life-affirming  step.

(Years ago, when I finished my first marathon and pointedly described it as my last, a marathon veteran assured me I'd be back.  He was so right.  Whether he saw something innate in my being, or it was a predictable pattern for first-time marathoners, I'll never know.  I do know that I have a keen knack for heading into challenge after challenge.  I love the fight.  I love the recovery.  And I'm always heady with enthusiasm to begin again.  Today, I suspect that way of being is part of what is saving my life.)

Quote of the Day:

“On the other side of a storm is the strength that comes from having navigated through it. Raise your sail and begin.” 

                                                         ~Gregory S. Williams

Progress:

• This is colon cancer awareness month.: Wear blue. The "blue crew" below: My hero sister and her husband, Greg; Cliff and me (first time I'd worn jeans in 218 days (belly getting back to normal)); super pals Joshua and Malissa, trekking wunderkind, Beth; and the world's best roommate/pal forever Chip, with her son, Kenny
• Attach navy ribbon to your lapel.  
• Share some colon cancer facts (140,000+ Americans will be diagnosed with colon cancer this year, it is the second cause of cancer death among cancers that strike both men and women)
• Share my story.  
• Together, we can save a life.

• Still dancing.  Lots of 70's rock these days.   
• Chemo Cycle 12: 23 March (next Monday)
• Social-distancing times ten at our place.  Everyone stay safe! 

 Via Francigena, 2020!

Out of the Fog

Into the fog in Wales (Offa's Dyke Trek)

Long days of trekking ensure exposure to almost every weather event that you may imagine -- sometimes all on the same day!  One meteorological phenomenon that always seems guaranteed to change my perspective is fog.  Fog has the ability to confuse, confound, mystify and seduce the trekker.  It also has the ability to clear the chaos and deliver focus when we need it most.

When I encounter fog on any trek, to include on this unexpected journey, I tend to recall a (leadership) metaphor used by a presenter at a workshop and coach training session I attended in Sonoma, CA, circa 2006 (the date is keen here, I think, as it is pre-iPhone with all the distractions of instant communication and information access/overload the device would herald).  The presenter led us in visualizing a driver approaching a foggy patch.  The fog-faced driver, we agreed, likely would turn off the car radio, put down that soft drink he or she may have been sipping, slow driving speed, lean into the windshield and focus straight ahead -- thereby enhancing the driver's ability to navigate the fog with deliberate and appropriate action for reaching a destination (read: goal).  A sensual narrowing was what he suggested has to happen for leaders (and we all are leaders in some aspect of our lives) to realize specific, well-defined goals. 

Fog in the Alps (Haute Route)

This fog-restricted view, I find, also can elevate our trekking experiences and true our journey.  In the presence of fog, we slow our progress.  We become aware of choirs of birds -- their songs lifted by accompaniment of percussive, wind-rattled tree limbs.  We breathe deeply the scent of a moss-covered path, wafting a sweet woodland perfume that settles into our amygdala holding safe the memories of the trek until again the scent arises (likely worlds or years away).  We become acutely aware of the ground beneath our auto-pilot feet, turning our restricted view to the lustrous rocks and shiny pebbles glistening on our dewy path. 

Trekking through a fog can promote a new levels of awareness and presence -- to say nothing of their renewal when at last we emerge from the fog. 

World's best trekking crew: Isle of Skye    

I know I definitely experienced some fog-focus on the unexpected journey in the weeks immediately before (in anticipation of) and after (for concentrated recovery from) my February surgery.  Fighting my cancer, which already felt like a full-time job for me between August and November, transformed into an all-consuming quest between the end of November (when my scans and markers indicated my curative surgery candidacy) and 3 February, when they rolled me into the surgical suite to remove my liver tumor.  Every present moment intensified: Tracking my vitals, recording my nutrition, preparing with an absolute focus to arrive for surgery as fit and strong as possible.  With the guidance of my pro-med/surg team and the support and love of my warrior network, this unique awareness and presence was soul-filling and strength-building.

And joy in the emergence from that fog?  Yes, yes, yes!

This week (Week Two, Treatment Cycle 10) finds me walking out of the fog with feelings of liberation, exhilaration and determination.  Suddenly I am charging down switchbacks with gusto -- plummeting toward the rushing Apurimac River in Peru; bounding across a grassy slope toward a reservoir in the center of England; descending a Scottish Munro in a knee-hammering tussock tumble -- all the while thrilled by my unrestricted views of wellness and health.

My gratitude is magnified.  I follow every energizing meditative inhalation with an abundant life-sharing exhalation that puts energy back into the universe.  The rhythm of the dance slides into my limbs without thought -- and produces a soul-rocking lullaby of healing.

Oh the fog!  Oh the release!

Quote of the Day:

“In nature, everything has a job. The job of the fog is to beautify further the existing beauties!”                                                  ~Mehmet Murat ildan

Progress:

On my treadmill at sunset

• Week One, Cycle Ten was rough ('nuff said).
• Working hard to manage chemo-induced neuropathy (for me, numbness) in my hands and feet (exercise, massage, warm bathes . . .)
•  I am back on the treadmill committed to rebuilding my strength and endurance.
• We are dancing to:  Tina Turner (Simply the Best -- my homage to Cliff), Michael Franti (I'm Alive -- of course!), Imagine Dragons (Top of the World - it's that won-the-lottery feeling set to music).  
• I'm still following my angiogenesis-defense nutrition plan to starve my cancer.  (I encourage you to check out Eat to Beat Disease, by Dr. William W. Li (MD)).  It's packed with fact-based research that clearly is explained and easily is applied in making everyday nutritional choices and plain in addressing how those choices can counter/battle illness to include cancer, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, cognitive decline and auto-immune diseases.
• Then I'm doubling down on starving cancer with fenbendazole (first dosage round, complete).
• While my surgical incision still is healing, I continue to meditate, practice self-hypnosis, read, cook, connect with pals, be joyful and optimistic in order to stay fit for the fight, whatever tomorrow brings.

Via Francigena, 2020!