Rocks, Nettle and Scree

Presence is a gift.  Presence is a practice.  All too often, presence seems elusive.  And sometimes, uncomfortably, presence is just a tweak away --

In a flash, one's physical environment (no matter how far the adventurer's mind has galloped ahead of her feet) can deliver a corporeal focus that jerks her back to the present.  For a hiker, a mind skipping to thoughts of work instantly will be transported back to the trail with the stab of a rock in the boot.  For a cross-country walker breaking trail, a mind skipping to the end-of-day pub visit can be reeled in by a burning brush with a proliferation of stinging nettle braiding the path.  For a trekker -- mind blooming with summit visions -- nothing says "be here now" like the required traverse of a long, near-vertical scree field.  

Somatic signaling can be, I think, an opportunity to open awareness and an invitation to gratitude.  So when, upon our return to our Unexpected Journey after our two-week drug vacation, I encountered staggering drug side-effects, we got still and present.  We knew we weren't going to shake this rock from my boot in a single step, so we didn't try to "think" it away.  The figurative brush with nettle would take soothing baths and cooling ointments to calm the stinging, so my heroic hubby delivered kindness, tea, gentle caresses and compassion to soothe the burn.  The scree field demanded our attention -- and reminded us the present moment is blessed by past traverses that reassure us we can handle this too.  And in this way, we are grateful for the moment (even the uncomfortable ones).  We are appreciative of our shared determination.  We celebrate each sunrise for its unique beauty. 

Smoke-hazed red sunrise (from the El Medio fire)

 We are reminded to progress mindfully as our journey continues and the present becomes the future.

This treatment cycle began on the anniversary of my first treatment, entry to chemo, in 2019.  In pre-COVID-19 days, my sister was here with me for that first round (so was my hair 😆-- up in a twist):

Deb and me, Treatment #1, 2019

A year later, 8 September 2020, it was dogs optional* and masks required.  In recognition of the day, I wore the same outfit --and added the sister's necklace Deb made for me so she could be with me again.  *In all seriousness, dogs aren't permitted at the cancer center -- even Cliff hasn't been able to join me in the chemo suite since March. 

Munro and me, Treatment #23, 2020

Quote of the Day:

Even in the mud and scrum of things, something always, always sings.

                                                                         ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Progress Report:

• Life goes on in treatment cycle 23 (thirteen chemo + ten targeted therapy).
• Only one new tweak in process: I'm now intermittent fasting to "juice up" ketosis.  My fast is 16 hours fasting, then eating within an eight-hour window each day.  Cliff gamely has joined me in the craziness.  The idea behind the approach is to continue starving the cancer (Although Cliff says there's nothing left to starve).  Recommended by Dr. Hooper (integrative medicine doc)
  
• My Peloton streak continues unbroken and yes, I am now swimming in a neoprene jacket as the days get cooler . . . 
• I'm sewing again, this time Cliff's Warrior Jacket.  
• The next home project finally started today -- after multiple delays.  We've moved into our guestroom as our entire suite gets a face lift (the sound of demo is music to my ears -- good bye to black granite in the bathroom!).

VIA FRANCIGENA!