Victorious

The doctor says my PET Scan results are inconsistent with the activity level of malignant cells. What does that mean? It appears I have won the battle against cancer. This victory makes that hurdle race I won in high school look insignificant.

Only after getting this fantastic news, did I realize how much underlying tension was associated with the scan results. If the cancer persisted, it would have meant more chemo, more radiation, or both. After coming out the other side of that experience, I really didn't want to re-enter the dark cavern of cancer treatment. My prognosis was good, so the results weren't surprising. Still, an underlying threat that can kill you, creates a great disturbance to one's soul.

Driving home, I felt like I had escaped from a pressure chamber. Life was beautiful again, and never more so when driving through the Sonoma Valley. Drifts of fog were coming over the mountains from the ocean. They wrapped the mountains giving our favorite Hood Mountain a veiled appearance. The setting sun was beginning to create pink and red colors on the top of the fog banks. On Kenwood's Sugarloaf Mountain, a round cloud covered it's peak looking a giant ice cream cone dipped in raspberry sauce. Wonders never cease!

I am not a particularly religious person. Last fall, however, we had a religious experience in the great cathedral in Cologne, Germany. The light passing through the stained glass windows lit sculptures high on towering columns. For centuries, people experienced the same sense of the unexplainable. Hallelujah!

A PET Scan Sounds So Friendly...

Tomorrow morning I will receive my second PET Scan. The first one measured the size and exact location of my tumors. This one will show if the tumors are gone. I'm thinking positively as the thought of more chemo or radiation is too depressing.

I was not really prepared for the length of time my full recovery would take. I don't know if the medical staff hesitates to fully explain this to cancer patients or if it's just that I was always very healthy. Mostly, I feel pretty good, but my body is still battling back. The hair on one side of my chest hasn't starting growing back yet. Viola says it looks a little like Victor/Victoria when I have my shirt off. My mouth burns a little all the time and I wear down by the end of the day. But I am constantly grateful to be alive.

I notice natural beauty more now. Riding home on the bus, I saw the most spectacular cloud formations as we dropped down into Sausalito heading north. There were three distinct layers- a high fog wrapping over the mountains, above it was a layer of clouds that looked like cotton balls, and up high was a wind-blown layer of whispy clouds that looked they had been created by the hand of a Japanese brush painter. I stared in awe at the wonder of weather. What could be better than to simply view this out of the window of my bus? Next to me a young man was glued to his cell phone engaged in an argument over nothing as important as the view out the window. His loud voice really didn't bother me, but I wanted to tell him to turn off his phone and look at what he was missing. You are alive -- appreciate it!

I am still getting a grasp on this huge event in my life. What it means to be a cancer survivor, knowing that each day I enjoy and witness things I might have never experienced.

Walking Ghosts

I love the author John Berger. In his latest book, From A to X, he writes:

It's the small things which frighten us. The immense things, which can kill, make us brave.

Many people say I've been brave. Maybe so, but I was given an immense thing. I look at others going through chemo and radiation and admire their strength and courage. I was initiated into that club and remain a surviving member. It is quite an adventure on a long road. One of the many interesting people I've met during this experience was a woman who often waited in the radiation treatment room with me. She didn't need chemotherapy and had never been to that area of the clinic. She was afraid of the chemo infusion room. "The people there are like walking ghosts" she said.

I felt ghost-like at times. Straddling between two worlds. Lately, I have been gradually re-entering the land of the living each day. Two days ago, I took my first bicycle ride in over six months. It felt great even though I only rode a fraction of the distance I did last summer. Tomorrow morning, our daughter Susanne has invited me on an early morning hike. I work at home tomorrow and hike before work sounds much better than a bus ride. We'll hike the Lawndale trail pictured below.

Everyone says I look great now but I don't always feel that way. My mouth still burns and tastes metallic all the time. It has been nearly two months and the hair on the radiated side of my body still hasn't started growing back. No wonder I get fatigued with my damaged body still actively repairing itself. In two weeks I will receive a PET scan to look for any remnants of the tumors. Six months after that another one to make sure the cancer hasn't returned. I keep my fingers crossed and try to make every day special.

Goodbye Susan!

My friend, Susan , lost her battle with cancer this week. She was always active-- full of life. Twenty years ago, my wife, Barbara, noted amazing similarities between Susan's astrological chart and mine. When Barbara passed away suddenly, Susan was a loyal friend who always made sure I was getting back into living. Perhaps our most unusual intersection in life occurred when Susan was diagnosed with cancer less than a week before I discovered mine. We both had blood cancers, only Susan's was a form of leukemia difficult to treat. As you might imagine, I have been thinking about Susan a lot. Susan accomplished something the rest of us should aspire to: a life well-lived. Her life's book is closed while we still have chapters to write.