What Now?

Thank you all for your generous support and feedback! I am feeling so well-nourished by your heartfelt responses, as well as safe and secure. I know when the time comes to cross over, I will have to go alone, but I find my fear of that moment diminishing. I am reminded of the 17 year old Barbara leaving for college, the 19 year old leaving for Europe, and the 21 year old leaving for a whole new life of marriage, all with a mixture of fear and excitement, all with loved ones left in their grief, happiness and a little relief, waving good-by. What I know now, that I was not consciously aware of then, is that the separation was eased for me by all the caring and love that I had unwittingly absorbed from that community of friends and family. The adjustment afterwards for me was fraught with the difficulties and resistances of growing up, and I don't know what I have waiting for me in this instance. What I have learned from all the sturm und drang of my life is that I do better when I can stay focused on what is right here to do now.

Thanks especially to those of you who have been questioning me. Some of you are asking ,”Where is the fight,” as in Lawrence LeShan's well-received book of many years ago, You Can Fight For Your Life. “Are you just accepting it?” Others are wondering if I've given any thought to the emotional, psychological, personal relationship to my cancer. Hasn't much of my life been devoted to the search for understanding those connections? Yes, but has it been too much in the service or desire to control the lives of others without enough regard to my own life and process? Sweet Courtney gently says, “You know, you worry a lot about others...” And I am asking myself, “Is this another opportunity to confront lifelong issues of avoidance and boundaries?”

My internal response to “are you fighting” is a mixture of contemplating the philosophy of aikido, which I find attractive but actually know very little about; realizing that I may have accepted the diagnosis, but not really the prognosis; determining with the force of a fight to stay conscious and actively live in every minute. The question of psychosomatics is knottier for me. I have spent a lifetime exploring this terrain, beginning with my childhood in Christian Science. My family left the church when I was still quite young, but not before I had learned how to disempower illness and bodily discomfort. Much of my early professional work centered on incorporating practices of the mind-body connection into western medical settings. Yet, should I be asking myself, “How did I invite this cancer to grow inside me? Am I doing everything I can to keep it from flourishing?”

I'm not sure there are certain answers to these questions. I certainly don't know. What I do know is that we are all powerless over the forces of nature, not helpless, but powerless. How I treasure the hours spent in the garden with Jeff gently demonstrating this truth over and over again ( I am NOT a quick study in this regard). “We'll plant it at the right time in good dirt, where we know it might be likely to grow; we'll give it the right amount of water and food; then we'll see what happens.” Sometimes, although we tended them well, the plants did not flourish; sometimes they died.

So far, my pondering leads me to invoke the prayer that says it all:

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

Results

I can't remember a day in my life that was harder than today, unless it was yesterday. Everything in me resists causing others pain or discomfort. One of my life's lessons is learning to bear the suffering of others, but to be the agent of pain feels unendurable. Yet, here I am enduring it. Yesterday's news was not what we had hoped it would be. Like a weed popping up in other spots in the garden, the cancer is spreading. The good news is that I will have time, perhaps a year, perhaps more, hopefully not less, in which, with consciousness, to soak up all the blessings of my beloved relationships, the comforts of the music I love, the numinosity of nature. I plan to continue my life as it is, continuing to watch it unfold as it will, but making choices in consideration of an ending that may come sooner than I had planned.

Much more research must be done before treatment of lung cancer can be as effective as that of some other cancers, but I am grateful for the huge gains in pain management. As symptoms develop, chemotherapy is an option to reduce pain by shrinking tumors, but it's efficacy in prolonging life is limited. Except for the pain of having to be the bearer of these tidings, I am feeling so good that there is a screen of denial protecting me from what I know in my mind is an excruciating reality. I can see through the screen, but what I see is hazy, muted. My benevolent inner guide is holding me in the moment, a difficult moment though it is... I think I will go take a walk before continuing.

Back now, with the residue of my thoughts while walking still on my mind. I was thinking about how well-timed our road trip was, including, as it did, so many people dear to me, so much natural beauty, and the satisfaction of feeling a part of it all. I left you (a blog or two ago) driving across the Canadian prairies, listening to country music. After a long day's drive, delayed at the border by the rather sour border patrol (no fooling around since 9/11), crossing the more populated, seemingly less expansive North Dakota prairie lands, we came into northern Minnesota, to Grand Rapids, and finally to our destination, Twin Lakes. The community there of family and friends epitomize the warmth, inclusiveness, and hospitality I associate with life in Minnesota. It crossed my mind that this might be the last time I would visit the cabin, hear the soulful, lonely cry of the loon, swim in the fresh, clear water of the lake (don't have the strength to swim across anymore), rest in the gracious acceptance of that family – my family. In China, when a girl marries, she leaves her people to become a part of her husband's family. Often she feels isolated, unaccepted, bereft. Young, insecure, spoiled, and prideful, without having to give up my own, I married into Van's family, one of the gifts of my charmed life. Reading the cabin log book, I realized how many times over the years we had been to Twin Lakes and recovered memories spanning the whole 57 years of our marriage. Memories of the tough times were there, too, but mellowed and sweetened by the passage of time.

Next, we drove south with daughter Elizabeth (Betsey), and grandchildren Joe (15) and Jesse (12) to Faribault. Their home sits in the beautiful rolling farmland characteristic of southern Minnesota. A gift of Betsey's husband, Bill, was his love of the land. He devoted some of their land to the restoration of the prairie, put in 1200 plants to create habitat, and cut a path through the woodland for me to walk. Betsey has a huge garden, from which she provides food, preserved, frozen, canned for the winter. She is a true Minnesotan! The weather in the north had been spectacularly beautiful, typical of the best in my memory. The weather in the south was too hot to do anything outside – Van didn't even go out to play golf. The day we left, the heat lifted, reminding me of how lovely it can be, especially in the fresh, clean air of the country.

The last chapter is our drive home, a route we have taken many times - through South Dakota , sharing the road with lots of Harley motorcycles returning from the famous rally in Sturgis; into Montana, where we visited Steve, Hilary, and baby Chase, who hadn't been able to join us at the lake; down to Yellowstone, with suggestions from Hilary, a bearologist, who lived there while studying the resident grizzlys. She said we'd be likely to see more animals on the east side instead of taking the more familiar road on the west. Very soon, we spotted a magnificent elk, further on a pronghorned elk, herds of bison grazing in the grasses and sporting in the river, and finally, a bear! The drive out of Yellowstone was a little tedious, but rewarded by the Grand Tetons, rising suddenly out of the plains.

Forgoing the expense of staying in Jackson, we went on to Twin Falls, Idaho, and the next day, into Nevada. On one of our former drives through Nevada, we had discovered a pottery studio and workshop in the tiny (only 14 year-round residents), remote town of Tuscarora. We were surprised to find that the artist was a Stanford graduate, whose family had relocated to Tuscarora and established the workshop in this little artist's colony. We decided to see if the shop was still there, which indeed it was,and, to our delight, so was the artist, Ben Parks. After buying another souvenir to match the one we had purchased before, Van was willing to continue on the remote, unimproved road, leading eventually back to the highway. The last time we had taken this road, we did not have an appropriate vehicle, which made Van very nervous. It is not in my stubborn, determined nature to question the wisdom of such a venture, which is why being married to Van is another example of my good fortune - as is, that time,making it safely back to the highway! This time, however, we had our all-wheel drive new car, the only risk being that we would be covered with dust. Along the way is the reward for the effort – a beautiful reservoir, solitary in the midst of the astonishing silence of this high desert. Only walking in the snow through Betsey's property, or maybe above the treeline in the Sierra, have I experienced such quiet. We ate our picnic lunch without talking, taking it all in. Back to the highway, on to Reno, down, down to the flats of Sacramento, stopping to see son Peter in Vallejo, across the Bay Bridge, down #280, and home.

Many years ago, in her 80's, musing about her life, Van's mother said, “Oh, but I have my memories...” As I approach 80, I'm beginning to understand what she meant. Memories are the riches of the old, sustenance for the soul. Our trip awakened old memories and created new ones. I am feeling very wealthy and well-nourished, ready for the continuing adventure.

Interim Report

When I returned from work Tuesday evening, there was a message that Dr Gillis had called and would call back the next morning at 8AM. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't expected to hear about Monday's scan so soon. At first, I was thinking that maybe she wanted to let me know quickly that the radiation had shrunk the tumors, and all was well, but Van said, no, in fact she had indicated that there were some areas of concern. Disturbing dreams; wide awake at 5AM; dressed and ready for the call which came at 8:10. The good news that, indeed the original tumors were greatly reduced was overshadowed by the “areas of concern:” several new spots of cancer, one on the pelvis, one on the rib, and two more above the heart, all small, but nevertheless, indicating that the cancer is spreading. Hard to hear; glad Van was listening in - I've had to keep asking, now what exactly did she say? She did go on to say that there are treatments, and that Dr. Canales will be prepared to outline the possibilities at my appointment with her on September 10^th.

Helen, with whom I was supposed to meet that morning, was waiting for my call to say what time I'd be ready. “I might as well go on with my day as usual...I'll be there abut 9:15.” So that's what I'm doing – going on with my life as usual – so strange, everything's changed and nothing's changed. The last two days I've spent getting used to being a person with a chronic illness. I'm sure there will be treatments, lasting one, two, maybe more, years. I'll let you know what I find out about that next week – that's why this is “an interim report.” I'll also continue with the other three chapters of our wonderful trip, since several of you have been asking. My thoughts are full right now of all the things I want to do, a kind of bucket list, I guess. Not a bad thing, having time to indulge in the gifts of life, with full knowledge that it is going to end. Already, the sights as I ride my bike to work are more vivid, the people I meet are dearer, the experience of it all, sweeter. I don't know if this heightened awareness can last – I'll keep you posted...