It's Just a Zebra . . .

You know by now that to celebrate our retirement from the army, Cliff and I decided to climb Kilimanjaro.  Having set that target years before we retired, we built out our dream as the time grew near.  In the end, we decided to take an animal viewing safari at the completion of the climb . . . hence the zebras.  Safari is fun and exciting, and after many hours/days looking for wildlife, the thrill becomes seeing what is NEW to the terrain.  Zebras, as it turned out in late 2006 Tanzania, were numerous.  Each day we saw many zebras.  And fascinating though they were, we were keen to spot some lions and leopards, hippos and hyenas, or warthogs and wildebeests instead.  You get the idea -- after about five days yet another zebra sighting was greeted with the tired refrain, "It's just a zebra."

And if you've noticed I am posting my blog less frequently, I'm afraid it's because we've reached a bit of a "zebra" phase.  We are looking for some exciting news . . . yet in the absence of the next scan, we just keep seeing zebras.  So many zebras,  in fact, that it is difficult to tell one from the other.  It's a steady and wondrous journey, that simply has hit a certain rhythm as we bump along eager for change.

So, when I am asked, "Can you tell a difference with the mistletoe?"  I think: Maybe, but it's slow change, so no lions here.  And, "How is the IVC going?"  I suppose I feel an energy boost after each infusion, but it's no warthog crashing through the bush.  Or, "What about the targeted therapy?"  Well, I can tell you that the side effects are cumulative, but without cellophane skin, I'm sighting no hippos of difference.

It's times like these, when on safari and surrounded by zebras, that mind shifts reveal an oasis of
sorts.  Mind shifts seem prime to follow flamingo flight, lifting from the water's edge, and teasing changes of perspective by degrees of ascent.  Two weeks ago, a member of my amazing warrior pro-team delivered just such a mind shift . . .

I was lamenting that I am approaching the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis.  My lamentation was built on the challenges of the past year . . . tests, surgeries, drugs, poking, probing, and all that goes along with lacing up one's hiking boots (Every. Single. Day.) on this particular journey.  In my expression of the passing of time, though, he heard something completely different -- progress.  His response, "Congratulations!" The unspoken reminder: Celebrate the constant of the zebras.

And I'll take that congratulations.  I have beat some pretty scary odds so far.  I'm still here, still eating, exercising, connecting, gardening, cooking, sewing and thriving in the midst of this disease.  Another beautiful warrior team member told me, in fact, that she doesn't think of me as a survivor, rather as a thriver.  I love that.  I am reminded, as David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD writes in Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life, that statistics are information not confirmation.  While the 5-year survival rate is just 12.5% for my diagnosis, my job, is to find myself in that 12.5% -- and then to move beyond even that!  And you know what, I still believe I can!

Yesterday, I had to go for an EKG.  The tech was asking questions around why I needed the test.  Did I have other labs scheduled?  Was I getting ready for surgery?  Finally, I shared my diagnosis (something I was loathe to share with anyone beyond close friends and family for a long time).  Then I added, that I was coming up on my one-year anniversary of that diagnosis.  She stopped and took a long look at me (still wearing my shorts and shoes from my morning hike) standing tall and smiling; and smiled back, "Just proves miracles do happen!"  You bet they do!  Every. Single. Day. When we choose to celebrate every single zebra.  When we embrace avian mind shifts, and on lifted wing choose to focus on the living we have yet to do, MIRACLES DO HAPPEN.

Quote of the day: 

It is the obvious which is so difficult to see most of the time. People say 'It's as plain as the nose on your face.' But how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you?

                                                                                 ~Isaac Asimov
Progress Update:

• I'm in Week Two of targeted treatment number seven.
• One year ago tomorrow, we returned from our 200-mile walk along Offa's Dyke, in Wales (a week later, I was in the hospital and the Unexpected Journey began . . . )
• I've completed a month of IVC (2 x week) and two months of mistletoe therapy.  Cliff is getting so good at those mistletoe shots, that I hardly felt the last one.
• My next scan is coming up -- fingers crossed.  In lieu of cellophane skin and being able to peek inside oneself, this is our only true indicator of disease status.
• I feel good most days -- but there's no doubt some drug toxicity starts to build after a year of chemo and targeted therapies.  
• I'm still up every morning around 5:00 a.m., bopping to my musical alarms Cliff sets.  I am happy to see every new day and have ideas and plans for the hours ahead.  I am connected, busy and optimistic.  And I am grateful.  
• And maybe the most exciting news: I've reserved a Brussels Griffon puppy from a litter due in September!  We should be able to bring him home in December.  What is happier than a Christmas puppy?  Life is good.

VIA FRANCIGENA!