The Terrain is Always Changing

Over the past 15 months on this metaphorical Unexpected Journey, I've written about summit goals and en route trail objectives.  I've written about breathtaking views and in-progress pull-out dance parties.  I've written about the rewarding joy of presence along the path of awareness and the bounties of gratitude and learning.  

By my count, this is the longest break I've taken in posting a blog since I started.  It seems for the most part that I've covered the expansiveness of the Journey's terrain (and then some) in the last 49 posts.  Then I get a stretch like this last one that just goes to show, the terrain is always changing . . .

 Base Camp:

The week of the TACE (trans-arterial chemo-embolization) procedure, I spent most days in base camp.  Although my post-embolization syndrome symptoms were mild -- some nausea from the slug of Doxorubicin (the "C" of TACE), some referred pain from the procedure itself and a doctor-imposed break from workouts beyond easy walking (something about the femoral artery intervention . . . ) -- it still took some time and an intentional healing pause before I was ready to resume the trek.  

Back on the Trail (with a dose of humility):

And in my resumption, I was reminded that this Unexpected Journey includes the visually stunning and motivating grandeur of the trail ahead, AND the (rather in-my-face) hard work that every present moment of trekking across an ever-changing landscape requires.  Trekking, lest I romantically have colored it as less, can present some breath-sucking, limb-numbing challenges that demand an engaged, determined, unflinching mindset of progress.  It's on some of those hunched-shoulder, head-down, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other approaches -- when this climber is drenched in humility -- that I hail the mountain for her greatness and respect she will not yield to my steps.  There will be rugged terrain to navigate and confounding obstacles to negotiate.  The work is mine to do.  This journey -- unbounded by geography, prescribed routes or clearly delineated timelines -- chastens and champions this climber as surely as alpine spires, western hoodoos, Himalayan high ground and crags and cliffs on the Dark Continent.  It is my job to stay alert.  Stay present.  Stay the course with grace and curiosity.  And when things get really weird, to keep a sense of humor, let go and get over myself.

Such skill and mindfulness were essential in the week after the TACE, when I resumed the trek (to include my targeted therapy), and immediately noticed a root-y path underfoot:  For the first time since starting targeted therapy, I suffered the skin reactions of Panitumumab.  Who knows if it was somehow exacerbated by TACE, or if it was just a "thirteenth time's a charm" thing (I've now had as many rounds of targeted therapy as of chemo), but acneform dermatitis colored a stripe down my face from hairline to chin.  I know my reaction was pure vanity; still, I cannot tell you how happy I've been to be able to hide out under hats and masks!  Head down, watching the trail for these roots, I simultaneously was assaulted by a profusion of trail-choking limbs hellbent on pummeling my shoulders to submission (courtesy of my other targeted therapy drug, Encorafenib).  These days it takes two Boltz to get my shirts on and off as lifting my arms above my head is pretty much out of the question.  Chastened, but not broken, we can shake it off, smile, vote early and carry on.  What else are we gonna do?

My Trekker Rhythm Returns (Dale gets her groove back):

This week, I'm back on an unobstructed path across rolling terrain.  On Sunday I had a fabulous long walk on the tread -- virtually accompanying Cliff and our friend Marty on the loop hike.  On Monday, I turned in a nice HIIT power walk.  On Tuesday I resumed one of my sewing projects (this time it's Cliff's Warrior Jacket) and finished reading Where the Crawdads Sing.  This morning, I'm feeling a smooth calm energy that signals I've hit that luscious trail rhythm that soothes my soul and buoys my spirit.  And yes, I did dance to U2's Miracle at the end of my tread workout today!

Quote of the Day:

 "So far we've survived one hundred percent of our worst days.  We're doing great!"

                                                                             ~Unknown

Progress Report:

• TACE was a success.  The follow-up procedure (to eliminate whatever is left of the single lesion) is scheduled for 5 November.
• The Panitumumab skin reaction is fading -- fingers crossed next treatment doesn't wake it up again.  And if it does, my eyes will be smiling above my mask.
• 
  My liquid biopsy showed zero circulating tumor cells (signaling no ongoing metastasis).  This along with no colon cancer maker readings for six months and a strong basophil count (strong immune system) all point to a good prognosis.  (yay!)
  
• I'm on a 26-week Peloton streak. 
  
• The renno/remodel project continues . . . Granite install has been a major slowdown.  Hoping now to be done by Thanksgiving.
• Christmas puppy adjustment:  Unfortunately, there was no autumn Brussels Griffon litter with our
  breeder.  We're hoping now for a December birth and spring adoption.  AND, yours truly, who believes in puppy magic, now has a backup plan.  We're wait listed for another puppy (Papitese) with a local breeder.  Worst case now, two new pups.  In other words, there is no worst case!
•  Winter came early to Santa Fe this week with a snowstorm on Monday.  Illy is Snoopy-Dance happy!
  

 

VIA FRANCIGENA!

October Surprise

OK, since we're in a (heated) election year, I really couldn't resist today's blog title.  Still, I can promise you that all that follows is apolitical . . . 

Behold, the black rhino!

The surprise: 

It may seem that after 426 days on the trail, a trekker would have little left to encounter that could be surprising.  The Unexpected Journey, though, is chock full of unexpectedness -- and so, when running alongside the zebras, there appeared this week a rare black rhinoceros, we were surprised and curious.  We found her to be far less scary than one may expect.  Our black rhino sparked great interest, expanded options and created a sense of hopefulness and (as I explained to one tireless warrior) an undeniable ebullience that put a real pop into my tread hikes and HIITS!

How we found the elusive, stunning (though threatened) survivor: 

Saturday (3 October) was another scan to get a look at what is going on with my cancer (the alternative to my cellophane body musings).  Since the scan was on a Saturday, this time around (for the first time), I wouldn't be able preview the results before meeting with Dr. Rixe.  So on Monday (our only Cancer Center visit that absolutely precluded Cliff's presence in the room), Dr. Rixe shared with me face-to-face (and with Cliff on speaker phone) my latest scan results:

Dr. Rixe laid out the results as a “glass half empty / glass half full” finding (his French application of typically American metaphors can be comical).  But I digress . . .

Here’s what we learned: The remaining “appearance” on my liver did not wash away, rather it grew.  Bottomline: It was not necrotic tissue (in the glass half empty realm, I suppose we otherwise might identify this as the bad news).  It is, however, the only detectable lesion — there being no other signs of disease progression and nothing detectable beyond the liver (this being the glass half full / good news perspective).  Why something (a lot of?) what I am doing seems to be working and yet this lesion is able to stand its rhino ground (and grow) is at this point a mystery. So what to do?

Following the three-toed tracks:

To solve the mystery and extinguish the lesion ("with only one stone, we can get two birds," (another Rixe-ified metaphor . . .)), Dr. Rixe laid out a plan to take a local focus on this lesion with an interventional radiology (IR) approach.  Of course, he had started his day at 7:00 a.m. in consultation with radiology to review my Saturday results, discuss options, examine risks and benefits and coordinate a schedule to streamline action (same-day IR consult, next week procedure).  Again, I am so thankful for our shamanic, genius, seemingly indefatigable oncologist! 

The way ahead is to undergo two interventional radiology procedures over the course of the next month to eliminate the lesion (and simultaneously get a tissue biopsy).  The procedures both will be performed percutaneously (no open surgery, yay!) and are considered relatively low risk.  And best of all, in cases where there is no disease progression, the procedures can be curative!  I frankly never expected to hear that word again in relation to my cancer -- hence my jubilation.  Oh yeah, I'm a glass-half-full gal who still believes in miracles!

And we're trekking on:

Next Monday morning at 8:00 a.m., I’ll undergo the first of the two procedures to be performed by Dr. Shelby Bennett (click here for Bennett Bio): a transarterial chemoembolization (TACE), to shrink and dis-empower (my word) the resistant lesion.  About two weeks later, I'll have a microwave ablation (MWA) to zap the shrunken remains.  In the meantime, I’ll continue on all of my therapies (targeted and alternatives) exercising our “something is working” mindset.

So how am I feeling?  Positive, encouraged, supported, blessed and oh-so grateful.

Happily greeting the rhino!

Quote of the Day:

Don’t quit before the miracle! 

                                         Mom of Peloton Coach, Robin Arzon'

 Progress Report:

• My new energy boost is dancing on my tread at the end of workouts to U2's "The Miracle."
• Home reno continues apace -- we're hoping to be able to move back into our suite by Halloween.
• Plants are flourishing as the apricots are now inside and out, the poinsettias have retired to a less sunny spot (building their energetic holiday magic) and one lovely orchid remains in bloom.
• Got in only one pool session last week (hard to do with contractor comings and goings) -- love that neoprene jacket! 
• Have completed three months of twice weekly IV Vitamin C, starting once weekly IVs this week.
• KETO continues (ugh) as does mistletoe (ouch) -- but hey, something is working!
  
• And the medical stuff . . . well, I think you're on caught up on that! 
• Happy Hump Day!

 

VIA FRANCIGENA!