2015: Discovery, Chemo, Radiation
What's Happening Now — January 26, 2015
Dear Friends and Family,
I want to fill you in on what’s been going on with me, as things have become clearer this last week. The most important news is that it is possible to cure my cancer. However, my journey from where I am now to the point where I am cured is very difficult.
Last week Mad and I went to Portland for more definitive testing and then a meeting with the surgeon. I viewed that meeting as a final judgement… and the verdict, rendered by Dr. Hunter, is a good one, that my cancer is possible to cure.
Many life and death uncertainties have kept me on an emotional roller coaster since the cancer was first diagnosed. Now many of the important questions have been answered. Now that I know a cure is possible, the general course of the rough voyage I am embarking upon is clear.
I am grateful for all the love, support and caring energy that has come my way over the last several weeks. I have discovered many things during this time as I face a new reality… and I’ll expound upon some of them as time progresses. One particular surprise is how many of you want to be “kept in the loop” as to how my struggle against cancer is progressing. Therefore, l will blog on Caring Bridge and explain as best I can how the process is going for me. Whatever you want to offer in response is welcome and be assured I will pay attention.
Dear Friends and Family,
I want to fill you in on what’s been going on with me, as things have become clearer this last week. The most important news is that it is possible to cure my cancer. However, my journey from where I am now to the point where I am cured is very difficult.
Last week Mad and I went to Portland for more definitive testing and then a meeting with the surgeon. I viewed that meeting as a final judgement… and the verdict, rendered by Dr. Hunter, is a good one, that my cancer is possible to cure.
Many life and death uncertainties have kept me on an emotional roller coaster since the cancer was first diagnosed. Now many of the important questions have been answered. Now that I know a cure is possible, the general course of the rough voyage I am embarking upon is clear.
I am grateful for all the love, support and caring energy that has come my way over the last several weeks. I have discovered many things during this time as I face a new reality… and I’ll expound upon some of them as time progresses. One particular surprise is how many of you want to be “kept in the loop” as to how my struggle against cancer is progressing. Therefore, l will blog on Caring Bridge and explain as best I can how the process is going for me. Whatever you want to offer in response is welcome and be assured I will pay attention.
Chomper, my cancer fighting piranha.
Visualization — Jan 27, 2015
I believe that visualizing an outcome can be of great help, whether it is competing in a swimming race or striving against cancer. My mind is pretty fertile in this regard.
Let me introduce you to one of my cancer fighting icons, "Chomper" the piranha. I visualize a school of about 50 tiny Chompers in a feeding frenzy attacking my tumor. They shred it with their sharp teeth, blood all over the place. Then a school of tiny dolphin come along and clean up the mess. Pretty weird, eh?
Thanks to artist and good friend John Simpkins for creating the image for me.
I believe that visualizing an outcome can be of great help, whether it is competing in a swimming race or striving against cancer. My mind is pretty fertile in this regard.
Let me introduce you to one of my cancer fighting icons, "Chomper" the piranha. I visualize a school of about 50 tiny Chompers in a feeding frenzy attacking my tumor. They shred it with their sharp teeth, blood all over the place. Then a school of tiny dolphin come along and clean up the mess. Pretty weird, eh?
Thanks to artist and good friend John Simpkins for creating the image for me.
Looking Back: 1/14/15... Letter to family shortly after my diagnosis
Dear Brooke and Hayden,
Dear Betty Sue, Sally and Wayne,
I am writing you this from Maui. Mad and I came here on a short, impromptu trip. We are flying back home to Central Oregon today. We came to have some fun, and to process some very bad news.
Last week, after a battery of tests that covered a few weeks, I received the shocking news that I have esophageal cancer. I won't sugarcoat it. This is a bad cancer that has fairly low survivability rates. Tomorrow I have an oncology appointment after which I hope to have a clearer picture as to what the future holds for me.
Physically, at the moment, I feel great. But, as you can imagine, I am on an emotional roller coaster trying to come to grips with a new reality. I will keep you informed in more detail as time goes along as to what is happening in my fight against the disease and what my prospects are.
I love you all so very much, a fact that is brought into brilliant focus by recent developments.
Love, love, love,
Dad/Tom
Dear Brooke and Hayden,
Dear Betty Sue, Sally and Wayne,
I am writing you this from Maui. Mad and I came here on a short, impromptu trip. We are flying back home to Central Oregon today. We came to have some fun, and to process some very bad news.
Last week, after a battery of tests that covered a few weeks, I received the shocking news that I have esophageal cancer. I won't sugarcoat it. This is a bad cancer that has fairly low survivability rates. Tomorrow I have an oncology appointment after which I hope to have a clearer picture as to what the future holds for me.
Physically, at the moment, I feel great. But, as you can imagine, I am on an emotional roller coaster trying to come to grips with a new reality. I will keep you informed in more detail as time goes along as to what is happening in my fight against the disease and what my prospects are.
I love you all so very much, a fact that is brought into brilliant focus by recent developments.
Love, love, love,
Dad/Tom
Looking Back: 1/15/15... Letter to family after first oncology visit
Everyone:
I regret that I have to communicate all of this via email. I wish I could talk to each of you separately. Frankly, though, it's just too hard to repeat it over and over again.
Esophageal cancer is bad. However, after my first oncology consultation this morning I'm not quite as pessimistic as I was when I wrote you from Hawaii. There are a few rays of hope that I can grasp. Of course, more tests are necessary to determine whether or not the tumor can be removed and whether or not cancer has spread to other parts of my body. Monday I go for a PET scan which will look for other occurrences of cancer. Early next week I'll go up to Portland for an endoscopic ultrasound which will give the doctors a clearer picture of the tumor. If the specialists in Portland like what they see, then I will become a candidate for removal of the tumor. This entails a very serious and very complicated surgery. Prior to the surgery I'm in for several weeks of radiation therapy and chemotherapy.
So, I am not looking death in the face just yet, but the road to recovery will be long, arduous, uncertain and dangerous. All your love and support will help me immeasurably as I strive to overcome this.
Sally wanted to know what symptoms led me to seek a diagnosis. Some time ago, maybe a few weeks before Thanksgiving I started feeling a barely perceptible pressure in my upper abdomen beneath my sternum. By the time I returned home from Chico, it had become more painful, but still only vaguely noticeable. Night sweats have been another consistent symptom. I was also experiencing some difficulty swallowing. Not because it was so painful, but because it had persisted for so long, I consulted with my doctor. First she tested me for ulcers, which took a few weeks. When that proved inconclusive she sent me for an ultrasound of my gall bladder, again negative. Finally she sent me for an upper endoscope, basically a camera down my throat into my stomach. They decided to get me from the other end, too, to rule out colon cancer, so I had a colonoscopy at the same time. Woo, fun!
From that first subtle pressure beneath my sternum until the cancer was discovered during the endoscopy last week was about six weeks. Something that is weird is that right now as I write this I do not feel any symptoms at all, no pain whatsoever.
We are on an emotional roller coaster as Madeleine and I deal with this new reality. Sometimes we feel great and as you can expect, other times we get pretty depressed. Mad has the added ongoing stress of dealing with her mother's dementia. In my eyes she is a tower of strength.
That's it for now. I love you all and I will keep you up-to-date on what's going on as time passes.
Love,
Dad/Tom
Everyone:
I regret that I have to communicate all of this via email. I wish I could talk to each of you separately. Frankly, though, it's just too hard to repeat it over and over again.
Esophageal cancer is bad. However, after my first oncology consultation this morning I'm not quite as pessimistic as I was when I wrote you from Hawaii. There are a few rays of hope that I can grasp. Of course, more tests are necessary to determine whether or not the tumor can be removed and whether or not cancer has spread to other parts of my body. Monday I go for a PET scan which will look for other occurrences of cancer. Early next week I'll go up to Portland for an endoscopic ultrasound which will give the doctors a clearer picture of the tumor. If the specialists in Portland like what they see, then I will become a candidate for removal of the tumor. This entails a very serious and very complicated surgery. Prior to the surgery I'm in for several weeks of radiation therapy and chemotherapy.
So, I am not looking death in the face just yet, but the road to recovery will be long, arduous, uncertain and dangerous. All your love and support will help me immeasurably as I strive to overcome this.
Sally wanted to know what symptoms led me to seek a diagnosis. Some time ago, maybe a few weeks before Thanksgiving I started feeling a barely perceptible pressure in my upper abdomen beneath my sternum. By the time I returned home from Chico, it had become more painful, but still only vaguely noticeable. Night sweats have been another consistent symptom. I was also experiencing some difficulty swallowing. Not because it was so painful, but because it had persisted for so long, I consulted with my doctor. First she tested me for ulcers, which took a few weeks. When that proved inconclusive she sent me for an ultrasound of my gall bladder, again negative. Finally she sent me for an upper endoscope, basically a camera down my throat into my stomach. They decided to get me from the other end, too, to rule out colon cancer, so I had a colonoscopy at the same time. Woo, fun!
From that first subtle pressure beneath my sternum until the cancer was discovered during the endoscopy last week was about six weeks. Something that is weird is that right now as I write this I do not feel any symptoms at all, no pain whatsoever.
We are on an emotional roller coaster as Madeleine and I deal with this new reality. Sometimes we feel great and as you can expect, other times we get pretty depressed. Mad has the added ongoing stress of dealing with her mother's dementia. In my eyes she is a tower of strength.
That's it for now. I love you all and I will keep you up-to-date on what's going on as time passes.
Love,
Dad/Tom
Mt. Everest beckons — Jan 28, 2015
Climibing Mt. Everest is an analogy I use to characterize my struggle against cancer. Sometime in the future, probably about three months from now, I will have surgery to remove the malignant tumor from my esophagus. Well, actually, they will remove much of the esophagus, too. That is my summit. The route to the summit is long and tough, step by painful step. Once I reach the summit there is a difficult and dangerous descent that is almost as bad. Six months from now, though, I should be striding in to Kathmandu, ready for more adventures.
Tomorrow I start the trek. I'm on my way to Nepal (figuratively). I meet with the radiation oncologist at St. Charles Cancer Center in Bend to map out my radiation treatment. Friday I have consultation regarding the chemotherapy I will undergo along with the radiation. Sometime next week I will start treatment. I view that, using the Everest analogy, as starting on the trail to base camp. I already know much of the trail from a previous trip to the Himalaya. Every step along the way becomes increasingly difficult. I'm used to difficult trails and physical challenges, though, so I'm ready for this one.
I know that the analogy is not completely apt, but this is the only way I can get my mind around what's ahead of me. I would be lying if I said that I am not daunted by what's ahead, but I am optimistic that, with the support of my family and friends, I have the physical and mental toughness to succeed.
Climibing Mt. Everest is an analogy I use to characterize my struggle against cancer. Sometime in the future, probably about three months from now, I will have surgery to remove the malignant tumor from my esophagus. Well, actually, they will remove much of the esophagus, too. That is my summit. The route to the summit is long and tough, step by painful step. Once I reach the summit there is a difficult and dangerous descent that is almost as bad. Six months from now, though, I should be striding in to Kathmandu, ready for more adventures.
Tomorrow I start the trek. I'm on my way to Nepal (figuratively). I meet with the radiation oncologist at St. Charles Cancer Center in Bend to map out my radiation treatment. Friday I have consultation regarding the chemotherapy I will undergo along with the radiation. Sometime next week I will start treatment. I view that, using the Everest analogy, as starting on the trail to base camp. I already know much of the trail from a previous trip to the Himalaya. Every step along the way becomes increasingly difficult. I'm used to difficult trails and physical challenges, though, so I'm ready for this one.
I know that the analogy is not completely apt, but this is the only way I can get my mind around what's ahead of me. I would be lying if I said that I am not daunted by what's ahead, but I am optimistic that, with the support of my family and friends, I have the physical and mental toughness to succeed.
"Hour Swim" — Feb 1, 2015
Saturday I did my hour swim. This is a national "postal" event where swimmers from all over the country do the event in their home pools and then mail in the results. Last year there were almost 1,200 entrants. I did 3,950 yards, which is 300 yards short of what I did last year. I was hoping to do 4,000, but considering how little training I have been able to do lately, I'm happy. I felt strong throughout the swim, especially at the end. Last year I came in second; 3,950 would have placed me third (behind myself?).
This may be my last competition for quite some time, although I do hope to keep racing after I recover. My doctors tell me I may permanently lose a significant amount of lung capacity through treatment and surgery. For a distance specialist like me, that may be a critical loss. Oh well, it's the competition that counts, not necessarily how fast I can swim, so I'm not going to fret about it.
Saturday I did my hour swim. This is a national "postal" event where swimmers from all over the country do the event in their home pools and then mail in the results. Last year there were almost 1,200 entrants. I did 3,950 yards, which is 300 yards short of what I did last year. I was hoping to do 4,000, but considering how little training I have been able to do lately, I'm happy. I felt strong throughout the swim, especially at the end. Last year I came in second; 3,950 would have placed me third (behind myself?).
This may be my last competition for quite some time, although I do hope to keep racing after I recover. My doctors tell me I may permanently lose a significant amount of lung capacity through treatment and surgery. For a distance specialist like me, that may be a critical loss. Oh well, it's the competition that counts, not necessarily how fast I can swim, so I'm not going to fret about it.
Update: — Feb 1, 2015
Last week, on Thursday and Friday, I had my orientation sessions for radiation and chemotherapy. For six weeks, starting Monday, February 9th, I will be doing chemo once a week and radiation five days a week. Then I have a six to eight week recovery period before I have surgery. I'll keep this journal up to date as to how I'm doing as time progresses.
It's common for patients to lose weight during cancer treatment, so I am presently pigging out, trying to pile in as many calories as possible.
I view the upcoming week as a reprieve of sorts, in that I feel so good right now. I know things will go down hill once I start radiation and chemo. Mad and I thought of taking another exotic trip, but have opted to stick around home this time. After all, we did our big splurge by going to Hawaii after I was first diagnosed. So, I'll be around if anyone wants to call, FaceTime or visit.
Last week, on Thursday and Friday, I had my orientation sessions for radiation and chemotherapy. For six weeks, starting Monday, February 9th, I will be doing chemo once a week and radiation five days a week. Then I have a six to eight week recovery period before I have surgery. I'll keep this journal up to date as to how I'm doing as time progresses.
It's common for patients to lose weight during cancer treatment, so I am presently pigging out, trying to pile in as many calories as possible.
I view the upcoming week as a reprieve of sorts, in that I feel so good right now. I know things will go down hill once I start radiation and chemo. Mad and I thought of taking another exotic trip, but have opted to stick around home this time. After all, we did our big splurge by going to Hawaii after I was first diagnosed. So, I'll be around if anyone wants to call, FaceTime or visit.
Calibrating me for radiation therapy. I'm laughing, not grimacing.
Grieving? — Feb 8, 2015
Shortly after I awoke this morning I started weeping. “What’s with this?” I asked myself?
After my cancer diagnosis I was on an emotional roller coaster that caused me a lot of emotional upwelling, but lately, since it became clear that a cure is possible, I have been on a pretty even keel.
Madeleine moved into my arms and we shed some tears together. “You’re grieving,” she declared. That resonated with me.
This week I have been feeling so good, strong, fit. It’s hard to believe I have cancer, but subtle symptoms tell me it is so, that there is an alien presence in my esophagus. Not starting treatment for a week has been a nice respite of feeling good before I start the real striving. I guess feeling so good, but knowing that this striving will change my life forever makes me grieve for the life I have had. At least this is my best stab at understanding the emotions I am feeling today.
My life has been so good. I know it will be good once again after I get through the long difficult process that starts tomorrow. But it will never be the same… and today I’m grieving over that fact. It’s not necessarily bad grief, so do not feel sorry for me. It is just looking back at what has been with the prospect of so many unknowns in my future.
Thank you, thank you, everyone... for being so supportive, so loving, so caring, for helping me keep my spirits up, for telling me how much better I am than I suppose myself to be. I start the process tomorrow with chemo and radiation. I have no secrets, nothing to hide. So many of you have asked to share in my journey that I will with diligence keep you informed every step along the way what's happening with me. Now, dammit, I'm weeping again, thinking of all of you out there caring. Talk to you tomorrow....
Day 1: Here we go! — Feb 10, 2015
First day of chemo and radiation is over. I'm home and I feel great! I know things will go down hill eventually, but the first day was, well, kinda boring. They stuck an IV in me and I sat around for five hours while various chemicals were administered. Prep for chemo chemicals then the chemo. I had no adverse reactions and even now, seven hours after the last drop traveled into my vein, I feel no symptoms. Mad went along with me and that was comforting. More boring for her than for me, I'm sure. I took books and games and food and just sort of hung out. She got the oil changed in her car, knit and read. One of the prep chemicals they give is benedryl, which made me drowsy, so I slept for I don't know how long.
Then we went over to the brand new cancer treatment building for the radiation therapy. They had prepped me for this last week, so all they had to do was put me on the $5 million machine, align my tattoos with the lasers and turn it on, which evidently gets my tumor from nine different directions. This only took about 20 minutes. I went to sleep, but they said my twitching did not take me out of alignment. The chemo prepares the way for the radiation. The radiation is killing the tumor and has to zap it from different directions since it is deep in there among all my other vital organs. We had a nice chat with Dr. Omizo, the radiation oncologist, who is in charge of making sure the radiation goes to the right place in the right doses. He is very personable and we have developed confidence in him.
Afterward we went in Costco to stock up on delicious bland food for home and then in to downtown Bend for a last spicy Thai meal. And here we are. I just ate about 1000 calories worth of ice cream and tapioca pudding for dessert. This part, trying to keep weight on while I can still enjoy food, is fun! I must admit that it is a pleasant surprise that there are no side effects at all so far, but I know it is just a matter of time. One day 's climb up the mountain, 29 to go.
My attitude is upbeat. Yesterday I was grieving what was. Today I woke up with resolve to strive in whatever ways are necessary to cure my cancer. With all your support and caring I'm confident I can maintain that resolve through tough days to come. Thank you everyone for your thoughts and love. It really, really helps. I want to be able to laugh when things get more difficult, so send some jokes, okay? If they are posted on here, we can all laugh together. I send loving thoughts your way.
First day of chemo and radiation is over. I'm home and I feel great! I know things will go down hill eventually, but the first day was, well, kinda boring. They stuck an IV in me and I sat around for five hours while various chemicals were administered. Prep for chemo chemicals then the chemo. I had no adverse reactions and even now, seven hours after the last drop traveled into my vein, I feel no symptoms. Mad went along with me and that was comforting. More boring for her than for me, I'm sure. I took books and games and food and just sort of hung out. She got the oil changed in her car, knit and read. One of the prep chemicals they give is benedryl, which made me drowsy, so I slept for I don't know how long.
Then we went over to the brand new cancer treatment building for the radiation therapy. They had prepped me for this last week, so all they had to do was put me on the $5 million machine, align my tattoos with the lasers and turn it on, which evidently gets my tumor from nine different directions. This only took about 20 minutes. I went to sleep, but they said my twitching did not take me out of alignment. The chemo prepares the way for the radiation. The radiation is killing the tumor and has to zap it from different directions since it is deep in there among all my other vital organs. We had a nice chat with Dr. Omizo, the radiation oncologist, who is in charge of making sure the radiation goes to the right place in the right doses. He is very personable and we have developed confidence in him.
Afterward we went in Costco to stock up on delicious bland food for home and then in to downtown Bend for a last spicy Thai meal. And here we are. I just ate about 1000 calories worth of ice cream and tapioca pudding for dessert. This part, trying to keep weight on while I can still enjoy food, is fun! I must admit that it is a pleasant surprise that there are no side effects at all so far, but I know it is just a matter of time. One day 's climb up the mountain, 29 to go.
My attitude is upbeat. Yesterday I was grieving what was. Today I woke up with resolve to strive in whatever ways are necessary to cure my cancer. With all your support and caring I'm confident I can maintain that resolve through tough days to come. Thank you everyone for your thoughts and love. It really, really helps. I want to be able to laugh when things get more difficult, so send some jokes, okay? If they are posted on here, we can all laugh together. I send loving thoughts your way.
Calorie loading with Tapioca Pudding
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In "Infusion Room", Chemotherapy chemicals dripping into IV in my arm.
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Day two of my climb of Mt. Cancer — Feb 10, 2015
An uneventful day on the whole. Weather is great. I feel great. No symptoms from yesterday's chemotherapy. Mad and I did a nice yoga class with Jane in the morning and then she drove me to Bend for my radiation appointment. I could be doing it solo, but it's nice to have her concerned companionship. Radiation therapy is going to get pretty routine. Friendly radiation therapists load me on a horizontal slab, it lifts and moves me between the CT scanners and under the big round ray gun. They line my tattoos up with green laser light beams and admonish me to stay as still as possible. Then the machine does it's thing circling around me and beaming rays into the tumor from 9 different angles. 20 or 30 minutes and I am outta there. I know... this doesn't make for very exciting reading. But that's a good thing. Hopefully, for me, it will remain so boring.
Hi everyone, Madeleine here. Since I have been editing some of Tom's posts, I'm coming out now with my first venture into blogdom. I didn't want to wonder what the radiation machine that we are spending six long weeks commuting back and forth to looked like, so the very nice women therapists gave me a quick tour inside the inner chamber today. Wow, it is impressive! I didn't get to see it actually doing its thing but they simulated it for me. I was very happy to learn that here in the boondocks of Bend, Tom is getting IMRT, Intensity-modulated radiation therapy.
[definition: It is an advanced type of radiation therapy used to treat cancer and noncancerous tumors. IMRT uses advanced technology to manipulate beams of radiation to conform to the shape of a tumor. IMRT uses multiple small radiation beams of varying intensities to precisely radiate a tumor. The radiation intensity of each beam is controlled, and the beam shape changes throughout each treatment. The goal of IMRT is to bend the radiation dose to avoid or reduce exposure of healthy tissue and limit the side effects of treatment.]
Simplistically as we understand it, they take continuous scans of him as the Flash Gordon style ray gun (old fart reference he says) circles all around him. They can let the machine aim the beams, or manually adjust them to stay within the 3-D field of the tumor. We'll ask the doc to show us a scan of how they see him next Monday. I'd had some second thoughts about not looking far and wide for the latest and best treatments but after seeing this and learning how it works, it already makes the commute have much more meaning. Now it seems a short way to go compared to moving to somewhere like Texas or southern California or even Portland for the same thing. I feel much gratitude for that and for all of you who have reached out and sent loving support to both of us. :)
An uneventful day on the whole. Weather is great. I feel great. No symptoms from yesterday's chemotherapy. Mad and I did a nice yoga class with Jane in the morning and then she drove me to Bend for my radiation appointment. I could be doing it solo, but it's nice to have her concerned companionship. Radiation therapy is going to get pretty routine. Friendly radiation therapists load me on a horizontal slab, it lifts and moves me between the CT scanners and under the big round ray gun. They line my tattoos up with green laser light beams and admonish me to stay as still as possible. Then the machine does it's thing circling around me and beaming rays into the tumor from 9 different angles. 20 or 30 minutes and I am outta there. I know... this doesn't make for very exciting reading. But that's a good thing. Hopefully, for me, it will remain so boring.
Hi everyone, Madeleine here. Since I have been editing some of Tom's posts, I'm coming out now with my first venture into blogdom. I didn't want to wonder what the radiation machine that we are spending six long weeks commuting back and forth to looked like, so the very nice women therapists gave me a quick tour inside the inner chamber today. Wow, it is impressive! I didn't get to see it actually doing its thing but they simulated it for me. I was very happy to learn that here in the boondocks of Bend, Tom is getting IMRT, Intensity-modulated radiation therapy.
[definition: It is an advanced type of radiation therapy used to treat cancer and noncancerous tumors. IMRT uses advanced technology to manipulate beams of radiation to conform to the shape of a tumor. IMRT uses multiple small radiation beams of varying intensities to precisely radiate a tumor. The radiation intensity of each beam is controlled, and the beam shape changes throughout each treatment. The goal of IMRT is to bend the radiation dose to avoid or reduce exposure of healthy tissue and limit the side effects of treatment.]
Simplistically as we understand it, they take continuous scans of him as the Flash Gordon style ray gun (old fart reference he says) circles all around him. They can let the machine aim the beams, or manually adjust them to stay within the 3-D field of the tumor. We'll ask the doc to show us a scan of how they see him next Monday. I'd had some second thoughts about not looking far and wide for the latest and best treatments but after seeing this and learning how it works, it already makes the commute have much more meaning. Now it seems a short way to go compared to moving to somewhere like Texas or southern California or even Portland for the same thing. I feel much gratitude for that and for all of you who have reached out and sent loving support to both of us. :)
Hugging all of nature — Feb 13, 2015
A diagnosis of cancer was always an abstract thing to me. Now that it is personal, I know that it’s bad, really bad. Having said that, there are good things, too.
Every day becomes more precious.
People who care come out of the woodwork; they were there all along, you just didn’t realize it.
Relationships become more meaningful.
Nature becomes more vivid.
And more…
The third day after the first chemo treatment is supposed to be when the anti nausea drugs wear off and I start feeling bad. I feel great! So, for the moment I’m one of the lucky ones.
Mad and I went for a short hike along the river yesterday. We came to a particular ponderosa pine that she loves. “Hug the tree” she suggests. At first I demur, then put my arms around the tree. I have hugged trees before, but never with a feeling of… love. At this moment, in this setting, the sound of the river surging close by, I feel an emotional connection to that tree, an emotional connection to nature like never before. As I hug the tree, my arms become the tree, my feet feel like roots, fused to the ground, connected to the earth, a part of nature. I am nature.
I have always been a nature lover, as everyone knows. Somehow, faced with my own mortality, striving to overcome cancer, this connection to things wild becomes more vivid. Sharing this with my life companion makes it even more meaningful.
Oh. Well, then we took the long drive to Bend for my third radiation treatment. We are still scrambling each day to get food and drinks and devices and papers together and on the road in time for the commute. Hopefully next week we can refine our routine.
Today, day four, I feel great. We went in early for me to have a 90 minute iron infusion. It seems that blood tests show I am anemic. Wow! Who’d a thunk it? Then over to the radiation area for my fourth zapping and home on a beautiful 63F day. The only good thing about this drought and heat wave is that the driving is safe and easy.
Hard Swimming — Feb 13, 2015 After almost a week of treatment I decided to get in the pool again and see how my bod is doing. 1,000 yards warmup... necessary because of muscle stiffness since I had not been in the water for a week. A pretty hard main set. Volume not that high, but a lot of sprinting. I had intended to take it easy, but all the guys were there, so could not hold back. I was stunned that, after one round of chemo and 4 blasts of radiation, I felt no diminishment of energy or strength. Times were a little off because I have not been training regularly, but I felt strong throughout. I am very very pleased, though I know it is too much to hope for that I will get through the next five weeks of treatment without weakening significantly.
After practice we traveled the long road into Bend for my last radiation session of the week. 1 week down, 5 to go!
In the mail I received a care package from daughter Brooke. English Toffee! Hers is the BEST. I'm supposed to go easy on chocolate, but this stuff is irresistible. Also in the package is 8 year old granddaughter Skye's rendition of Chomper, my cancer fighting piranha.
Weekend ahead. Mad and I are going to a Valentine's dance Saturday night at the Belfry here in Sisters. The Notables are playing, an old farts big band that we love to swing dance to. The dance floor is big with polished wood and the vibe is nice. Hard to believe since Mad was driving around with the sunroof open today, that a year ago when we went to the same dance, we had to wear our snow boots through knee deep snow and slush to the half buried car, then change into our dancing shoes in town.
After practice we traveled the long road into Bend for my last radiation session of the week. 1 week down, 5 to go!
In the mail I received a care package from daughter Brooke. English Toffee! Hers is the BEST. I'm supposed to go easy on chocolate, but this stuff is irresistible. Also in the package is 8 year old granddaughter Skye's rendition of Chomper, my cancer fighting piranha.
Weekend ahead. Mad and I are going to a Valentine's dance Saturday night at the Belfry here in Sisters. The Notables are playing, an old farts big band that we love to swing dance to. The dance floor is big with polished wood and the vibe is nice. Hard to believe since Mad was driving around with the sunroof open today, that a year ago when we went to the same dance, we had to wear our snow boots through knee deep snow and slush to the half buried car, then change into our dancing shoes in town.
Second Week Begins — Feb 17, 2015
We had a fun weekend! We celebrated finishing my first week of treatment with the Valentine's dance at the Belfry, dancing for two hours to great music and seeing friends. Mad did a lot of 'self care' with yoga and hiking on the Butte and river.
I’m writing on Tuesday. Yesterday I had my second chemo and sixth radiation zap. Today just radiation. The two hour commute for a 25 minute radiation session is already starting to get old. But, we use the time to make phone calls, I read to Mad or we listen to various things on radio or podcasts. Yesterday on the way home the excitement was a big quad ORV fell off the trailer in front of us and landed in the middle of our lane, but we were back far enough to be able to swerve around it, whew!
Chemo is four hours of sitting in a comfy chair while five different chemicals drip, drip, drip intravenously. I pass the time by reading, playing games, snacking, maybe napping and chatting with other cancer patients.
The two guys sitting nearby in the infusion room are in pretty bad shape. One has stage four lung cancer, doing chemo to get a few more months of life. The other is on the same schedule as I am, same disease, same age, same therapy, but he is suffering weakness, nausea and already has to be fed through a stomach tube. I feel a little guilty that I still feel so good and could eat the veggie pizza and pecan pie Mad brought from a nearby restaurant. Frank, the guy who has esophageal cancer (EC) like me, watched wistfully as I ate an apple yesterday. I’ve got to attribute my feeling so good to the fact that I’ve kept my body in top shape into middle age. Swimming is a life saver and life extender.
Today Mad and I had a good yoga class before we drove in for my radiation. Tomorrow I get a massage afterward (free service of the cancer center).
We had a fun weekend! We celebrated finishing my first week of treatment with the Valentine's dance at the Belfry, dancing for two hours to great music and seeing friends. Mad did a lot of 'self care' with yoga and hiking on the Butte and river.
I’m writing on Tuesday. Yesterday I had my second chemo and sixth radiation zap. Today just radiation. The two hour commute for a 25 minute radiation session is already starting to get old. But, we use the time to make phone calls, I read to Mad or we listen to various things on radio or podcasts. Yesterday on the way home the excitement was a big quad ORV fell off the trailer in front of us and landed in the middle of our lane, but we were back far enough to be able to swerve around it, whew!
Chemo is four hours of sitting in a comfy chair while five different chemicals drip, drip, drip intravenously. I pass the time by reading, playing games, snacking, maybe napping and chatting with other cancer patients.
The two guys sitting nearby in the infusion room are in pretty bad shape. One has stage four lung cancer, doing chemo to get a few more months of life. The other is on the same schedule as I am, same disease, same age, same therapy, but he is suffering weakness, nausea and already has to be fed through a stomach tube. I feel a little guilty that I still feel so good and could eat the veggie pizza and pecan pie Mad brought from a nearby restaurant. Frank, the guy who has esophageal cancer (EC) like me, watched wistfully as I ate an apple yesterday. I’ve got to attribute my feeling so good to the fact that I’ve kept my body in top shape into middle age. Swimming is a life saver and life extender.
Today Mad and I had a good yoga class before we drove in for my radiation. Tomorrow I get a massage afterward (free service of the cancer center).
Weekend play, third week begins — Feb 23, 2015
I'm writing this on Sunday and I still feel great. We had a wonderful weekend. We went across the mountains to visit friends in Eugene. Friday night we stayed with dear friends (and great dancers) originally from our jazz festival world, Sue and Doug. They have a beautiful, peaceful home deep in the forest just outside of town. It was great to catch up with them, eat Thai food, ice cream and frittata, walk in the woods and meet their new puppies. Saturday we visited Scott, another old friend and his new love Sylvie in their unique timber frame home. We took a walk in nearby Hendricks park to marvel at the gorgeous blooming tulip trees and other month-early blossoming plants, then had a sumptuous dinner at Marche. At home more Coconut Bliss was consumed.
Today Scott treated me to great seats at the Oregon vs. Utah basketball game, which I thoroughly enjoyed, especially since Oregon was victorious. Sylvie took Mad to a Nia dance class which she reports was, as always, a really fun workout that she wishes was offered in Sisters. A facial massage with luscious essential oils rounded out her relaxing sunny afternoon during my time at the game. A hot tub under the brilliant stars tonight made a good ending to our restful weekend.
I finished my second week of treatment on Friday. Everything is going okay so far. I had strong swim workouts on Wednesday and Friday but I've cut back on the volume because my radiation oncologist said not to push it too hard. Now my main set is 1000 yards instead of 2000. I counsel the people I guide into the wilderness, "Prepare for the worst and hope for the best." So far everything is going as well as I could have hoped. Tomorrow I start the third week of chemo/radiation; it will be great if I feel as good next weekend as I do today. Stay tuned.
Visualization — Feb 24, 2015
My body is an aquarium. No bones nor organs, just a humanoid shape filled with sea water. Fish swimming around. The tumor is floating right in the middle, about where my sternum would be. It’s an ugly reddish brown amorphous mass.
Chomper, my cancer fighting piranha icon swims around the tumor expectantly. From down by my feet two dolphin come racing. At full speed they slam into the tumor (dolphin actually kill sharks this way). As they butt the tumor a white “C” squirts out of it. Chomper goes crazy and devours the “C’s” in short order. This happens over and over, my aquatic friends attacking, weakening my cancer.
I had a great restorative yoga class today with Jane. The long, easy poses were very conducive to visualization.
Feeling Crappy — Mar 3, 2015
After a great last week, I took a sudden dive. I sailed through the first three weeks of Chemo with none of the many possible side affects. Pretty smug. I had a bit of a down day on Thursday, but felt strong in my swimming workout on Friday. That afternoon, after I got home from treatment I started to feel incredibly weak. I went right to bed and stayed mostly prone all weekend. So, the roller coaster heads into a trough. At the hospital they hammer home the message that we have weakend immune systems and must practice stringent hygiene. Apparently I may not have been as careful as I should have been (in spite of Mad putting cleansers in my hands all the time). Chemo doesn't cause whatever malady I have, but it does indirectly, because it lowers my immune response so much. Hopefully rest and antibiotics will bring me quickly back to full health. I didn't even get chemo today, just two liters of saline, a chest x-ray (which was clear), and radiation. Not nauseous, but not interested in much food--even the tapioca, ice cream & other sweets I usually love, so I lost 5 pounds over the weekend!
Mad here. As if there was not enough going on, Thursday I had De Quervain's tenosynovitis release surgery on my left wrist. It was planned to be on March 12 but then I got a call asking "can you do it tomorrow"? Uh, yes! It has been bugging me since last August in Chico when I slept on it wrong while moving my mom out of her house of 45 years to assisted living. (stress!) A lot of pain, 2 splints and 3 cortisone shots took me to the end of the road. It is supposed to be 'easy' so now seemed like a good time to do it, before life gets more uncertain. So I was a bit surprised to wake up after the short trip to the O.R. and see my bodacious bandage with hidden cast! Its awkward to do much, and finding clothes with bell bottom sleeves is challenging. But, its done. Tom says he got to dote on me for one day before he went down. Fortunately I can still walk if I keep my hand above my heart so had two sunny walks last weekend; 3 miles around Suttle Lake and a 6 mile loop on the lower Metolius. Ahh friends and nature.
When Tom got a temp of 101* Saturday afternoon I did as the chemo protocol said and called the on-call oncologist. Admittedly I was a bit freaked out when he said I should take Tom to the ER if he gets worse! Whaaa...??? But temp went down, all seemed fine, we slept. Dear neighbor Dean drove in to Bend Sunday morning and picked up the antibiotics for us. (Sisters' two pharms close on Sundays) . But, my midnight meditation had me second guessing our decision because suddenly things were serious and unpredictable again. It is a wild ride. Heartfelt thanks to friends who brought food, the ice machine (though this cast defies all attempts to chilling) did errands, cleaned house & listened--we are so grateful!
Sam makes a house call
ever the nurse, brings yummies
and stool softeners
Today a friend drove me to my One Breath Poets haiku group meeting while Tom was getting hydrated. It was great fun to be back. So, the roller coaster climbs up again...
After a great last week, I took a sudden dive. I sailed through the first three weeks of Chemo with none of the many possible side affects. Pretty smug. I had a bit of a down day on Thursday, but felt strong in my swimming workout on Friday. That afternoon, after I got home from treatment I started to feel incredibly weak. I went right to bed and stayed mostly prone all weekend. So, the roller coaster heads into a trough. At the hospital they hammer home the message that we have weakend immune systems and must practice stringent hygiene. Apparently I may not have been as careful as I should have been (in spite of Mad putting cleansers in my hands all the time). Chemo doesn't cause whatever malady I have, but it does indirectly, because it lowers my immune response so much. Hopefully rest and antibiotics will bring me quickly back to full health. I didn't even get chemo today, just two liters of saline, a chest x-ray (which was clear), and radiation. Not nauseous, but not interested in much food--even the tapioca, ice cream & other sweets I usually love, so I lost 5 pounds over the weekend!
Mad here. As if there was not enough going on, Thursday I had De Quervain's tenosynovitis release surgery on my left wrist. It was planned to be on March 12 but then I got a call asking "can you do it tomorrow"? Uh, yes! It has been bugging me since last August in Chico when I slept on it wrong while moving my mom out of her house of 45 years to assisted living. (stress!) A lot of pain, 2 splints and 3 cortisone shots took me to the end of the road. It is supposed to be 'easy' so now seemed like a good time to do it, before life gets more uncertain. So I was a bit surprised to wake up after the short trip to the O.R. and see my bodacious bandage with hidden cast! Its awkward to do much, and finding clothes with bell bottom sleeves is challenging. But, its done. Tom says he got to dote on me for one day before he went down. Fortunately I can still walk if I keep my hand above my heart so had two sunny walks last weekend; 3 miles around Suttle Lake and a 6 mile loop on the lower Metolius. Ahh friends and nature.
When Tom got a temp of 101* Saturday afternoon I did as the chemo protocol said and called the on-call oncologist. Admittedly I was a bit freaked out when he said I should take Tom to the ER if he gets worse! Whaaa...??? But temp went down, all seemed fine, we slept. Dear neighbor Dean drove in to Bend Sunday morning and picked up the antibiotics for us. (Sisters' two pharms close on Sundays) . But, my midnight meditation had me second guessing our decision because suddenly things were serious and unpredictable again. It is a wild ride. Heartfelt thanks to friends who brought food, the ice machine (though this cast defies all attempts to chilling) did errands, cleaned house & listened--we are so grateful!
Sam makes a house call
ever the nurse, brings yummies
and stool softeners
Today a friend drove me to my One Breath Poets haiku group meeting while Tom was getting hydrated. It was great fun to be back. So, the roller coaster climbs up again...
25 years ago today... — Mar 3, 2015
We got married at Breitenbush Hot Springs. It was pretty groovy; the ceremony was in a pyramidal sanctuary deep in the ancient forest an hour west of here. Friends, hot springs, cake and champagne, laughter, tears of joy, love... Happy to say we're still celebrating!
We got married at Breitenbush Hot Springs. It was pretty groovy; the ceremony was in a pyramidal sanctuary deep in the ancient forest an hour west of here. Friends, hot springs, cake and champagne, laughter, tears of joy, love... Happy to say we're still celebrating!
First Week of Weakness — Mar 9, 2015
Week four is behind us now and good riddance. It’s the first week that I’ve felt bad. The bug I picked up last weekend gradually released its hold on me to the extent that, even though I’m still very weak, I’m feeling in pretty good spirits.
Wow, I lost about ten pounds, just like that. It’s weird what’s going on with my appetite. I find myself having none, no urge for food of any kind. I’m not nauseous, just no appetite. I must eat to keep up my weight, but I can’t force myself to eat. Enter medical marijuana. I am astounded at how my appetite goes from “none” to “full blown” while under the influence of weed. I’ve had “the munchies” many times, so I know that aspect of marijuana’s appetite enhancing properties. But this is different. This is needing to eat and using pot to stimulate my appetite to the point where I can eat a lot. Many thanks to Margie, Paula, Brooke, Marilyn, Jane, Dean, Sam, Kirk, Jim, Jeanne, Karen, Jon, Lindsay, Taylor for making, baking, bringing or sending food over the last month!
Speaking of eating, I am very glad to say that I’m still eating without any esophageal discomfort. They told me eating might become painful as radiation progressed. So far it’s not a problem.
Symptoms? There is this heavy presence beneath my sternum. It’s not painful. It’s just there, a constant reminder of something going on. Science fights my tumor in there and I can feel something happening.
Mad here. Tom got stronger every day after the fever but it was weird, then sad, to have him turn down all of his favorite foods. I found myself alone in the kitchen with a fridge full of food.
Bodacious got cut off, very unceremoniously, on Thursday. Underneath my wrist was an ugly pattern of green and purple and fairly stiff, but it already feels better. I do things like shower and dishes with freedom, then keep it safe from myself in the custom black splint I had made 5 months ago. Now that the worst is over I am hoping to skate ski at least once this winter, in a few weeks when Tom's treatment is done. I can already use my hiking poles hill bounding on the Butte, while dreaming of skiing.
We had a lovely warm sunny picnic (70!!) on the river today with dippers, Canada geese and mergansers flying and floating by. I forgot my camera but it was very relaxing.
four mergansers
diving under, wet brown heads
girl group goes fishing
Week four is behind us now and good riddance. It’s the first week that I’ve felt bad. The bug I picked up last weekend gradually released its hold on me to the extent that, even though I’m still very weak, I’m feeling in pretty good spirits.
Wow, I lost about ten pounds, just like that. It’s weird what’s going on with my appetite. I find myself having none, no urge for food of any kind. I’m not nauseous, just no appetite. I must eat to keep up my weight, but I can’t force myself to eat. Enter medical marijuana. I am astounded at how my appetite goes from “none” to “full blown” while under the influence of weed. I’ve had “the munchies” many times, so I know that aspect of marijuana’s appetite enhancing properties. But this is different. This is needing to eat and using pot to stimulate my appetite to the point where I can eat a lot. Many thanks to Margie, Paula, Brooke, Marilyn, Jane, Dean, Sam, Kirk, Jim, Jeanne, Karen, Jon, Lindsay, Taylor for making, baking, bringing or sending food over the last month!
Speaking of eating, I am very glad to say that I’m still eating without any esophageal discomfort. They told me eating might become painful as radiation progressed. So far it’s not a problem.
Symptoms? There is this heavy presence beneath my sternum. It’s not painful. It’s just there, a constant reminder of something going on. Science fights my tumor in there and I can feel something happening.
Mad here. Tom got stronger every day after the fever but it was weird, then sad, to have him turn down all of his favorite foods. I found myself alone in the kitchen with a fridge full of food.
Bodacious got cut off, very unceremoniously, on Thursday. Underneath my wrist was an ugly pattern of green and purple and fairly stiff, but it already feels better. I do things like shower and dishes with freedom, then keep it safe from myself in the custom black splint I had made 5 months ago. Now that the worst is over I am hoping to skate ski at least once this winter, in a few weeks when Tom's treatment is done. I can already use my hiking poles hill bounding on the Butte, while dreaming of skiing.
We had a lovely warm sunny picnic (70!!) on the river today with dippers, Canada geese and mergansers flying and floating by. I forgot my camera but it was very relaxing.
four mergansers
diving under, wet brown heads
girl group goes fishing
Week Five, weak again - March 15th
Today is Saturday. When I last talked to Dr. Omizo, my radiation oncologist, he indicated that my last day for radiation would be next Wednesday, the 18th. We had thought it would be Friday, so it feels like a 2 day bonus. That means one more chemo treatment on Monday, then three more radiation zaps next week. One more week of weakness, then I should start to feel better in preparation for surgery.
I’m feeling tired most of the time. I don’t feel that bad, just no energy. I’m sleeping a lot. My appetite is not very good, except when I stimulate it with marijuana. Then I can eat normally. I have no trouble swallowing. My weight is staying pretty steady, though still down since the week 3 fever. Overall, I think I’m still pretty strong and I’m confident that I will gain back energy and strength once the treatments are finished.
No date set for surgery yet. I hope we'll know soon. Six or eight weeks out, probably.
Attached is some art work from Hayden's kids. Sydney's shows me snorkeling beneath the waves, a lot of sea creatures, and Madeleine sitting on the beach under her umbrella having lunch. Melissa doesn't know what to say about Wyatt's, except that it is the most serene drawing he has ever done.
Mad here again. Hard to believe we'll be done with the six weeks of treatment next week! Whoosh, 2100 miles of driving on the new snow tires but they have touched nary a flake of snow. Suddenly we're not sure exactly what is next, but the doctors here, and hopefully at OHSU too, will let us know. Rest is the first word. I am starting to look into housing for myself near OHSU for the one to two weeks Tom could be in the hospital. After that, not sure when we'd make the drive back home over the mountains so we could be up there even longer. Lots of unknowns. It will all work out.
During this whole time of diagnosis and treatment there have been dramatic issues with my mom's dementia care running concurrently. Putting it mildly, it has been a bit crazy and stressful. So, hopefully when Tom gets the green light to travel, has had all the blood tests and scans, we can take a road trip to Chico in April. We'd like to visit my mom in her nice new home at a state of the art memory care place, and give my wonderful sister in law and brother a break. We would like to visit all the Landis's in the Bay Area too, and maybe even Truckee. Stay tuned, and thanks again for all the encouraging comments!
On a lighter note, the first hummingbird made an appearance last week as well as the first frogs hopping across the road. They are now croaking loudly each night with the bit of rain. Both were 3 weeks early.
Today is Saturday. When I last talked to Dr. Omizo, my radiation oncologist, he indicated that my last day for radiation would be next Wednesday, the 18th. We had thought it would be Friday, so it feels like a 2 day bonus. That means one more chemo treatment on Monday, then three more radiation zaps next week. One more week of weakness, then I should start to feel better in preparation for surgery.
I’m feeling tired most of the time. I don’t feel that bad, just no energy. I’m sleeping a lot. My appetite is not very good, except when I stimulate it with marijuana. Then I can eat normally. I have no trouble swallowing. My weight is staying pretty steady, though still down since the week 3 fever. Overall, I think I’m still pretty strong and I’m confident that I will gain back energy and strength once the treatments are finished.
No date set for surgery yet. I hope we'll know soon. Six or eight weeks out, probably.
Attached is some art work from Hayden's kids. Sydney's shows me snorkeling beneath the waves, a lot of sea creatures, and Madeleine sitting on the beach under her umbrella having lunch. Melissa doesn't know what to say about Wyatt's, except that it is the most serene drawing he has ever done.
Mad here again. Hard to believe we'll be done with the six weeks of treatment next week! Whoosh, 2100 miles of driving on the new snow tires but they have touched nary a flake of snow. Suddenly we're not sure exactly what is next, but the doctors here, and hopefully at OHSU too, will let us know. Rest is the first word. I am starting to look into housing for myself near OHSU for the one to two weeks Tom could be in the hospital. After that, not sure when we'd make the drive back home over the mountains so we could be up there even longer. Lots of unknowns. It will all work out.
During this whole time of diagnosis and treatment there have been dramatic issues with my mom's dementia care running concurrently. Putting it mildly, it has been a bit crazy and stressful. So, hopefully when Tom gets the green light to travel, has had all the blood tests and scans, we can take a road trip to Chico in April. We'd like to visit my mom in her nice new home at a state of the art memory care place, and give my wonderful sister in law and brother a break. We would like to visit all the Landis's in the Bay Area too, and maybe even Truckee. Stay tuned, and thanks again for all the encouraging comments!
On a lighter note, the first hummingbird made an appearance last week as well as the first frogs hopping across the road. They are now croaking loudly each night with the bit of rain. Both were 3 weeks early.
Gratitude — Mar 17, 2015
First, for being finished with chemotherapy treatment, even though I will still be feeling the negative effects as this week unfolds.
Second, for all the cheerful nurses at the chemo infusion center. I saw a hand written sign, "Nurses are angels in comfortable shoes".
Third, to my team of doctors.
Fourth, and most important, to Madeleine, for dedicating so much to her cranky, weak, drudge of a husband. (my words not hers)
I can see the summit of the mountain, even though it is still a long way off.
Gratitude II — Mar 17, 2015
Yesterday I expressed how grateful I am that I'm finished with chemo, to the nurses and doctors and most of all to my wonderful Mad.
My gratitude would not be complete, however, without my heartfelt expression of thanks to all of you who have visited me on this site, providing so much support, encouragement and caring energy. I am deeply touched by how many friends and acquaintances from near and far have visited me here. If there is a positive side to having cancer, knowing you are all pulling for me is it! Thank you, thank you so much, everyone!!
Happy Vernal Equinox--Spring is climbing season — Mar 20, 2015 Monday was the last chemotherapy and Wednesday was my last day of radiation therapy. I was going to post but was too tired... and yesterday, as all previous Thursdays have been, was my nadir of low energy.
Following through with my previous analogy of climbing Mt. Everest, I am now at Camp IV (South Col). However, unlike camping in snow in a tiny tent in frigid temperatures and hurricane force winds, I lounged in bed all day napping and watching the NCAA basketball tournament. My next major challenge is climbing to the summit (surgery). I have been ferrying loads up and down the mountain for six weeks, which has had a major debilitating effect on my body. Now I need to go back to basecamp to rest and recover before the final summit attempt. Like climbers enjoy their natural mountain high and relatively rich oxygenated air there, I will enjoy hummingbirds at the feeder out my window and stimulate my appetite and attitude with medicinal weed. Just like climbers don't know when they'll be able to make the final summit attempt due to weather factors and the toll their bodies have taken, I must see how my body responds to rest, have two important scans in a month, and fit into the surgeons' schedules. If everything goes well, right now the soonest I think it could happen is the first week of May but I won't know for sure for at least another month. Is it a coincidence most Everest summit attempts occur between May 10-23...?
Mad here. Well, I had to drive into Bend one more time yesterday for a physical therapy appointment for my wrist. I'm glad I did as I got some little exercises for range of motion and breaking up the (small but painful) scar tissue. I took myself out for lunch at my favorite organic raw vegan cafe, Salud, then got some education and medicine for Tom at a dispensary. Next I bought a cart full of healthy food and two celebratory bouquets of lilies at Trader Joe's and got home in time for a lovely riverwalk with my friend Karen before dark. All in all, it was a good last full day of winter. Happy Spring everyone at 3:45 pm PDT!
Following through with my previous analogy of climbing Mt. Everest, I am now at Camp IV (South Col). However, unlike camping in snow in a tiny tent in frigid temperatures and hurricane force winds, I lounged in bed all day napping and watching the NCAA basketball tournament. My next major challenge is climbing to the summit (surgery). I have been ferrying loads up and down the mountain for six weeks, which has had a major debilitating effect on my body. Now I need to go back to basecamp to rest and recover before the final summit attempt. Like climbers enjoy their natural mountain high and relatively rich oxygenated air there, I will enjoy hummingbirds at the feeder out my window and stimulate my appetite and attitude with medicinal weed. Just like climbers don't know when they'll be able to make the final summit attempt due to weather factors and the toll their bodies have taken, I must see how my body responds to rest, have two important scans in a month, and fit into the surgeons' schedules. If everything goes well, right now the soonest I think it could happen is the first week of May but I won't know for sure for at least another month. Is it a coincidence most Everest summit attempts occur between May 10-23...?
Mad here. Well, I had to drive into Bend one more time yesterday for a physical therapy appointment for my wrist. I'm glad I did as I got some little exercises for range of motion and breaking up the (small but painful) scar tissue. I took myself out for lunch at my favorite organic raw vegan cafe, Salud, then got some education and medicine for Tom at a dispensary. Next I bought a cart full of healthy food and two celebratory bouquets of lilies at Trader Joe's and got home in time for a lovely riverwalk with my friend Karen before dark. All in all, it was a good last full day of winter. Happy Spring everyone at 3:45 pm PDT!
