Unravel Cancer: Experiences with family battling cancer

The SpokenCoast Project -- The Invitation

2011-04-26T15:02:00.001-07:00

The last few weeks have been really on the go...

Mickey's Final Memorial
I went out to Colorado to store my remaining possessions at my dad's house, and also to attend the memorial service for my brother at Beaver Creek, CO, where he worked as a ski instructor for many years. It was much harder than I expected. Maybe it was because the weekend was the last of the ski season there. Maybe it was because all the folks in Mickey's community there were really choked up, and miss him greatly.

Who knows -- but I was far more emotional than expected. Getting hammered on the ski slopes dressed up as a "cougar-in-training" and not eating much might have had something to do with it...but, nah!

All the folks in Mickey's mountain community were just lovely! Such gracious & beautiful people there, who just adored my brother. They showed me a good time - we drank together, danced together, and grieved together. They are all very supportive of my project, and were happy to see me. Some I had met before, and others I just met that weekend. We hugged, we smiled, we laughed, we cried, and we wished each other well, not wanting to leave after last call, not wanting to see my pickup pull out of town, just for one moment clinging to that magical bond Mickey had over all of us, that bond of smiles & good times, of love & laughter.

As I pulled onto I-70 in a sleet storm, I switched on the audiobook on my iPod immediately. Hearing the lilt of the actor's voice helped me keep it together on the drive. It was final. That was it. There were no more events to be had, no more pint glasses to clink. He's gone, and that's all there is to it.

Mountaineering
The drive back through the deserts of Utah & Nevada were exactly what I needed. The wide expanse of sagebrush & dirt devils being whipped up in narrow valleys surrounded by bands of guards made of rock, keeping watch over coyotes and hawks, kept me sane. I didn't want to be around anybody, and that's exactly what happened. Thankfully.

All that space gave me room to breath, and just be. Back in Oakland, it was a whirlwind to zip up to Bear Valley for a mountaineering class, which was a ton of fun, and very educational. I learned all new techniques, and got banged up a bit on the self-arrest practice with the ice axe. It rained/snowed/sleeted the entire two days, but I didn't mind. I was outdoors all day making new friends, and learning things to keep me alive on the big peaks. What couldn't be perfect about that?

I also had a great leap on letting go of control. The person I carpooled with was late the first morning of class, and as I was rushing to get to the ski area from our lodges, lost control of the truck on the slick road. We fishtailed a bit, then slammed into a snowbank. All of us were ok: me, my carpoolmate, and Geena the pickup. A highway patrolman came a few minutes to check if we were alright. A tow truck came a few minutes after that. The tow truck driver said we were lucky because he had to come up there for another spinout an hour before. If he wasn't there, we would have waited an hour for him to drive up from the nearest town!

Because of this, we made it to the class on time! The instructors & other students were so gracious & concerned about our well-being. Something in what my companion said, made me realize I acted foolishly. Even though we were late, I used poor judgement on how fast I was going, and not engaging the 4WD. So, I apologized for that. I told my new friend I was sorry I put his life in danger by making poor choices. The entire morning, I didn't yell, I didn't point the finger of blame. I treated him like a human being that makes mistakes, just like me. Jeez - it's usually _me_ that's late all the time!

He was very touched by this. As a result, we had a wonderful heart-to-heart on the way back home Sunday night, and became friends. This is the flame of Mickey working through me. He was the one who was gracious, and treated people kindly when they messed up. It's sad that I'm learning this lesson from such a tragedy, but at least I'm learning it.

The SpokenCoast Project
The website is being built. The lead design guy just introduced me to a great PR guy who will help craft a marketing plan to promote the project. I'll be out of my apartment by the end of the week, and house sitting or couch surfing.

I'm in dire need of a lot of gear, and also a videographer to help me film the journey. But, at the moment, I'm focused on gathering up my remaining belongings into my truck, and making myself mobile. It's scary as hell, but the moment is here.

As I came across old papers to clean up, I found this poem that my dear friend Chelsea Griffie, my rock climbing mentor, gave to me. She often uses it in her wilderness training classes. It goes along with another poem, that she reads at the end of the journey. When my journey is over, I'll publish that one. But for now, here is the poem that starts the journey off:

The Invitation
--Oriah Mountain Dreamer (an Indian Elder)

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Fear: When your mind & body are not aligned

2011-04-08T09:28:00.000-07:00

After Monday's teeth-gnashing about climbing, etc., I decided to do something about the extremely intense emotions that were swirling around my head. I went to a get a psychic reading at a school in San Francisco.

A few weeks back I went for a "mini-read", where a lady scanned my belly because I've had a tremendous amount of stomach problems. The energy shifted was so strong, I could feel it! The next day my stomach felt great, and my legs which were sore from running felt totally healed. It was incredible.

So, I went back two night ago for a 2 hour session. What's great about this school is they don't tell you about your future or try to predict things, or give advice on your health. They just tell you what is being revealed in your aura, then help interpret the images.

Apparently, I've had many, many past lives. In many of these lives, I've come to a violent death. The fear of my body failing in a violent way was what I've been carrying with me. This could all be metaphor, mind you, but the fact is it put an image on the fear I've been holding.

I learned a lot of other things, like my fear of romantic relationships, and a very deep rejection of my body. The healing session was quite powerful, and when I left the room, and sat in their break room, my body began to spontaneously move & "unwind", especially in my neck & shoulders.

After hearing from the psychic people my rejection of my body in this lifetime, I felt guilty. I asked my body for forgiveness, and apologized to it.

Yesterday I went for a cranio-sacral massage with the lady I've been seeing for a few years. She was able to make tremendous progress on my left shoulder, and the sticky fascia there. I really _desired_ to be free, something the psychic panel who "read" me said also.

Yet here I am, after a very long night's sleep, struggling with the muscular habits in my shoulder & neck. I tried to limit my computer use yesterday, and also not carry my backpack hardly at all. I was trying to be gentle.

What I'm learning is there is a split between my conscious mind who is totally psyched and ready for my journey, and ready to conquer new things like this mountain climbing stuff. And then there's my unconscious mind, or aura, or whatever you want to call it, that is paralyzed & gripped with fear. This is what is showing up in my body.

So, I guess it's going to take a while for my body to catch up. It's hard to be patient.

During the start of the healing session, the panel of psychic people ask me to say my name to give them permission to heal me. When I did this, the lead lady was confused and asked me to say my name again. Was I resistant to these healings? Did I not really want to let go of the fear? Why? My body seems to be saying I didn't let go of it all.

This is causing me some pretty severe desperation. It almost seems like the fear is some other kind of entity that's hijacked my being, like it's a monkey on my back. How do I shake this? How do I get through this to keep moving forward with the trip? How do I keep up my training without injuring myself because my body is resistant?

Piano, piano...

If I can find a way to be gentle, accept my body for where it's at, then maybe it'll be less scared. Today I plan to take it easy, just pack up stuff for storage and prep for tomorrow's yard sale. Maybe run an errand or too. And, I allowed myself to sleep in, even though I woke up exhausted. The reason? My dreams were full of fearful scenes...

Mountains reveal desperation, grief

2011-04-06T08:54:00.000-07:00

Mountaineering

The last week has been a whirlwind. I've learned a lot about what it takes to climb a mountain. My physical limitations have hit me smack in the face. My pal & I tried to summit Mt. Tallac last Thursday & failed because we both got so wiped out. Then I hiked out to Little Round Top at Carson Pass, but, didn't go all the way because of weather & stamina.

Both situations humbled me deeply, and I began to question whether I could climb Denali in 2011. I now accept that I can't.

But, during that Carson Pass trip, I came to a place of great acceptance & enjoyed & delighted the situation & the scenery, even though a big snowstorm blew in.

So, I'm trying to reconcile in my own mind & heart whether I can climb mountains. I'm trying to not beat myself up for moving Denali to 2012. This entire last month of training has taught me that I'm incredibly hard on myself. I knew this already to some degree, but this is a new version revealed.

What do I do now?

Grief

Last night some folks from my yoga class went out for a drink & bite to eat. One really great gal ended up talking with me at length, as she lost her mother last summer & was still coming out of it. She mentioned to me that my life is my own to live, and that nothing I do will bring my brother back.

I stink at hiking and mountaineering. My ankles & feet are bad. My brother's atheletic ability was beyond human it seemed. Just look at this photo of Mickey & his buddy Nick at the top of a Peruvian peak:

Mickey, on the right, looks like he just stepped out of a spa. He's happy, smiling, raising his axe high, his cheeks are flushed with a great color, etc, etc. His pal Nick, on the left, is barely raising his axe, still has his pack on because he probably only just got up to the summit where Mickey was waiting, and looks a little more peckish & not great coloring. (Saying this with love, Nick!)

The point is, Mickey was a flipping mountain goat. High altitudes & long hikes made his body feel good. He was excellent at this kind of activity. My body doesn't like this activity.

But, will I let him, and all his buddies at the services, down, if I don't climb the peaks on the list?

More grief

The whole situation with what it'll take to climb Denali, the courses, the fitness commitment, the training, the practice hikes, etc. burns my gut. I've actually been quite pissed off these last few days. I'm angry because this isn't happening as smoothly as I had hoped. Glacier classes for Rainier are full up, causing schedule crunches, & are way expensive. Other Shasta glacier classes are interfering with the WFR I want to take.

The whole endeavor has just become a giant hassle. Trying to fit in all this training AND prep for "my" trip (the interviews) has been super insanity inducing.

But, something is compelling me to do this. Something tells me I _have_ to. If I don't complete the climbing list, then I'll be letting my brother down, I'll be a chicken, and the whole community of people I talked to at the services will think I'm lame - right?

Internal stuff

What might be also happening here is that I'm changing. My ability to handle the snowstorm on Carson Pass even surprised me. I'm going with the "flow" more, as previously noted, and great things are happening. Is my desire to not climb these peaks a way to stop myself from the changes that will come as a result?

What I said to the yoga class friend last night was that two things will happen if I go through with these climbs:
1) My mind will completely change; my outlook on life & attitude will be transformed
2) I'll face the fear of my own death.

These are not bad things. I sense my anger is a resistance to these 2 things. It could be that creeping adder called Fear, too, that's trying to put the breaks on. But, on the same token, all this training, these classes, are a lot. And, more to the point, I'm not living my life the way I want. I'm totally stressed about "fitting in" all this stuff before I launch on the trip, and "getting done" these climbs/classes/etc. It doesn't feel fun. This is not what I want my trip to look like or feel like.

So, I'm at a crossroads, and there's a tremendous amount of guilt welling up. I just don't know what to do. But, my ankles have totally rebelled from all this training. I mildly sprained my left ankle on the very first training run 3 weeks ago, and have been in denial of it. Then my right inner arch sprain was re-ativated after my training walk on the stairs on Monday. My body is saying "no", and I'm pissed because my mind & heart are saying "yes" to all this.

I simply don't know what to do. More will be revealed, I guess. But, one thing is I don't want to force myself into a Rainier course on April 23rd. It's too soon, I don't have any of the gear, and I have to be out of my apartment at the end of the month. This leaves me only between today & leaving for CO on Wed to vacate. It's too much.

I'm trying to learn how to care for myself through all this. I'm not very good at that either. How is all this gonna work? Right now it just feels overwhelming & scary.

No solutions in today's post, folks. Sure wish there was...

More on cancer grief: letting go, being in the "flow"

2011-03-27T21:45:00.000-07:00

I can't begin to describe how amazing my life has become in such a short time. The death of my brother, while hard, has lead to incredible things manifesting in my life.

Truth be told, I forgot to mention in my last post that I felt a lot of loneliness this last week. It was that familiar old "woe is me" despair from the last two years. I'd often feel it after returning from a visit with my mom or my brother. It was me trying to fill a "god-sized hole" with another person, to take the emptiness & loss away.

After a couple days, I realized this, and took steps to get my mind out of that whirlpool, primarily by attending 12-step meetings. It worked, as it always does.

Meanwhile, yesterday was my best running day in 2 years! Or even ever!!

I increased the Cleveland Cascade stairs from 4 laps to 6, with jumping 2-steps on every other lap. Then, I ran up the Merritt Ave. hill _four_ times! Previously I could only do 2 laps. I didn't have to wait as long to recover in between hill laps, and my stamina lasted longer for more of the run up. In 2 weeks time, my body has improved drastically. Mountains - here I come!

But the _best_ was today:

1) Went on a fabulous hike with my mountaineering pals, & got amazing new good advice on the trip. Plus no rain, spectacular views of the ocean from our Santa Cruz mountain trail, and abundant laughter.

2) THEN - I met a lady who answered my ad for needing a housesitter. We talked for an hour & a half because of the amazing serendipity of our lives. She is also getting back into outdoor life with climbing, skiing, and back country stuff. She is _also_ an aspiring writer. AND! She _also_ wants to do a project where she travels a long distance & interviews people for a book...JUST LIKE I'M DOING. We nearly fell off our chairs at the amazing connection. She turned me on to CouchSurfing.org, a place to meet locals while traveling- JUST the thing I need for my trip, as well as, the last 2 months of my time in the bay. Unbelievable.

But it gets better...

3) I just saw in my mailbox a letter from my new neighbors across the driveway. They rented the apartment my old roommate & I recently vacated. (I now live in the building next door). I told them about still getting mail there, & where to stick it. The letter contained my _driver's license_ that I dropped JUST THE DAY BEFORE, while on my run up & down the stairs!!! Can you believe it? I was so heartbroken that I dropped it, and spent 45 minutes retracing my run, scanning the ground like a mad fool.

Blessings to the angel who returned my ID.
Blessings to my new neighbors who stuck it in my mailbox.
Blessings to the housesitting lady who turned me on to the couch surfing community.
Blessings to the three ladies who creatively collaborated with my project while sharing great times in the woods.
Blessings to the heavens for sparing us rain for 6 glorious hours.
Blessings to the cop who didn't stop me while speeding to get on the San Mateo bridge this morning.
Blessings to my old neighbor for inspiring me to step into the universal flow.
Blessings to all people who make this eclectic, incredible, amazing, hectic, beautiful world a place to enjoy!

Onward ho's! (Our new Girl Power Shasta Extravaganza lead-off!)

Post-death grief ruminations & life happenings

2011-03-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

Life is so rich & full when you're not working. Wow, am I lucky.

On Grief
The grieving process has been relatively smooth. I say that with a bit of tongue in cheek but not much. After losing 2 grandparents in 2008, then the on-going serious of emotional losses with my mom & brother's cancer, this grieving process feels pretty comfortable. On a hike the other day, I told my pal I was becoming a "black belt in letting go". What else can I do at this point? Certainly I don't want to remain miserable.

Another pal who recently lost her mom to cancer, said she went to a grief group at a hospice place in San Francisco. The leader said if your emotions were bouncing around all over the place, you were in a "normal" state of grief. If your emotions got stuck on one in particular, that was a bad sign.

So, my grief is "normal" - woo! Something going my way for a change. The ups & downs have been significant. Many people have offered words of support. Even just going to a poetry reading was supportive. One reader had many poems about her dad getting Alzheimer's. These touched me deeply.

One gal at a get-together I went to last week, mentioned how the grief would get better when I was able to let go of my brother's horrific suffering, and just remember him when he was healthy. She said it might take a long time. This insight was so comforting. When I left the party, I could barely get back to my car before the waterworks hit. It was the first time since I came home from the services where I felt "seen", with all that I brought to the table. That moment was a gift from the heavens.

So, all in all, it's been good. Everything is good, even the tough moments.

Moving on
Meanwhile, I'm full bore into this project to climb several peaks in my brother's honor. I'm been training heavily the last 2 weeks. This helps to elevate my mood, and is giving me a sense of accomplishment.

Part of the trip is interviewing people for their stories of transformation that inspire hope. When I did my first interview the other day, it was like coming home. The delight & joy & honor I felt at witnessing my friend tell her amazing story was overwhelming. Finally, I've moved past having a "career", and into a "calling". I can't begin to describe how lucky I feel.

I'm so thankful that I listened to those primal voices inside urging me to do what was best for me, and the universe opened up to welcome this manifestation.

So stay tuned for more on this project. The webpage will be up in a couple weeks. I'll also be hopefully getting a kickstarter page for the fundraising. It's gonna be fantastic!

Now, off to hike 3 hours in the beautiful Santa Cruz mountains. My mountaineering pal who's been on Denali told me, "Embrace suffering. Get used to it. Invite it in, bathe in it." I've already had so much emotional suffering, that physical suffering is a welcome change of pace.

Nordho.

Paradise in a Chevy Malibu

2011-03-15T23:33:00.000-07:00

The clearly overdressed woman glided down to the second floor baggage claim on the escalator, and saw a man holding a welcome sign with her Twitter handle. She smiled at the perfectness of it all.

Stripping off her hat & scarf in the muggy Orlando airport, they hugged.

"You brought the good weather with you," he said.

"I know. Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make that happen? You're welcome anyway." the woman replied flashing a smile that said mischief, charm, & grace all at once.

And thus began my journey to visit @bbryon (Bryon Beck) in Orlando after my brother passed away. We became internet friends last summer during the Stanley Cup for Cancer project. Until my arrival at the airport, we had never met face to face before.

Despite this, and the great mileage between us, Bryon has been a dear friend, a great support, and a stalwart hockey buddy through the last 9 months. As much as modern internet technology can keep a person alone at their desk, tapping away, it didn't work in this case. It was just wonderful to have a real, live face to put with the voice on the phone I heard for so many months.

Bryon was a gracious host. He could see the shellshocked look on my face when I arrived. He just let me be. Giving me space was exactly what I needed. The first morning I simply couldn't wake up. I was simply exhausted. We sat around a lot & watched movies & ate nachos. Finally, we made it to the beach, late Sunday afternoon after a debilitating trip to Walmart for an emergency swimsuit for me. Walmart is bad enough, but adding bathing suit shopping on top of it is agony.

At the beach, I ate crappy bar food then learned how to body surf. I did yoga on the sand, & sat & meditated to the sound of the waves. The salty ocean water in my hair felt great. The never-ending sandy crust on my skin was divine. Bryon even let me convince him to play putt-putt golf at the gator petting zoo place! Yes, I held a baby gator, and it didn't pee on me. I'm gifted with animals.

Other highlights included watching lots of hockey on an HD TV (it was pretty fantastic, I must admit), going to the Tampa Bay v Devils game (see photo above), and riding the Islands of Adventure rides to the point of nearly puking. The Dueling Dragons rollercoasters were our favorite. We agreed the blue one was best in the back, and the red one was best up front.

Bryon is not shy with his words, and neither am I so we did a lot of talking. This was actually the real highlight for me. We talked about life, about loss, about relationships, about guns, about work, about character, about integrity, and even about boogers. Well, it was mostly me that talked about boogers. It comes up a lot for me because I have a ton of them.

The weather was warm & sunny. The sky was light blue with big cotton ball clouds cruising all over the sky, absorbing & splitting off like feather-weight bumper cars. Despite Bryon's _insistence_ so, there was some truth to the paradise cliche.

The leather, saggy flesh of the retirees in his complex, shattered that notion, however. C'est la vie. One can't have it _all_, truly, now can one?

All kidding aside, it wasn't the weather or the rollercoasters, or the gator wrangling or the hockey that made it paradise. It was the friendship. It was being able to bounce something off someone & get a fresh perspective. It was being held in a calm & serene space without even having to be touched. It was knowing I had a shoulder to cry on, if I needed it. It was knowing we weren't going to talk about my woeful misfortune the whole dang time, but actually talk about fun stuff. It was delighting that someone was excited to show me around his neighborhood. It was the horrible puns & silly jokes we tossed at each other.

As I put my feet on the dash of Bryon's white Chevy Malibu hardtop ("I like to blend in", says Bryon), on our way to Tampa Bay for live hockey, I knew I really was in paradise. Thank you, @bbryon!

Michael Joseph Krupa (August 4th, 1968 - February 17th, 2011)

2011-02-28T16:40:00.000-08:00

After a tremendous battle against cancer, and horrific pain, my brother Mickey passed away. Below is the eulogy I gave at his memorial services on February 21st, 2011. There was easily 150 people there, filling the room and beyond with love & good cheer, despite the sadness. I was lucky enough to hear stories about my brother that painted an even more prolific picture of him in my mind. Now, I can only hope that I can carry this bright spark in my heart to all those I meet, just like he did. He would have wanted me to live up to my potential in this way. Thank you, Mickey.

--Your Little Sister

First, a few announcements:

1) My mom sends her regrets that she was unable to come. But I know your attendance and outpouring of support for Mickey & his family would touch her greatly. Thank you for that.

2) I'd like to talk next about the sheet with markers at the table. I'm going to be travelling on a long trip, starting this summer. I asked Mickey what peaks he would climb if he was still able. We agreed on a list of 11 peaks, throughout the Pacific Coast of both North & South America. So, leave a message to Mickey on the sheet, and it'll be cut into 11 pieces. I'll leave a piece at the summit of each peak. As many of us can attest, sometimes the people that inspire us the most, are our next door neighbors, our football coaches, our siblings, or our ski instructors. So, thanks in advance for participating in this journey, dedicated to Mickey, and my luckiness to have him as brother.

From there, I'd like to add, as I grew older, I was able to appreciate my brother, Mickey. He was the one who wasn't afraid to break away, and carve out a really fantastic life for himself. He showed me how to live a life of joy, and share that with a community. This gave me confidence to strike out on my own path.

That's not to say every moment was great. There were many farts in the face, destroyed forts, and tickle torture sessions, to be sure.

But, no matter what, I feel the same as most of you feel: Mickey always wanted the best for everyone. I didn't just lose a brother; like you, I lost a friend. A friend that knew me my whole life!

As someone looking from outside this community in, I sincerely want to thank you all for being such great friends to Mickey, and encouraging him through this difficult battle, just like he encouraged you. Thanks for enriching his life, just like he enriched yours.

With that, I leave you with Mickey's last thoughts on Legacy. When asked what legacy meant to him, Mickey responded with these 4 things that make up a positive legacy. Thanks to Cassie for being scribe:

Legacy: What is legacy?
It means something left behind. What do you want that to be?
1. The Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It seems so simple, but very few people live by that, though we all want to.
2. Have fun! People shouldn't deny themselves of having fun. Make sure it's a part of your life.
3. Be kind, both to people and animals. It's very important to be kind to animals.
4. Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken. Think of me in this regard, particularly the unbelievable climbing trips to Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia. We're all afraid to die, but to do those kinds of things, you have to be willing to defy death.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

With that I'd like to propose a toast, “Long Live Mickey, in our hearts always.”

*clink*

Change for Life

2011-02-04T00:51:00.000-08:00

Buddhists say change is the only constant in this world. They aren't kidding.

The Last Month
Almost two weeks ago, I lost my job. It wasn't exactly expected. However, looking back it really was the best thing that could have happened. For the moment, I'm financially ok, and now I have the time & space to be with myself, and be with my family.

That doesn't mean I'm not scared or worried about the future. I feel like I've just been cut loose from the doc, lost my moorings, and have no anchor to set down someplace else. In other words: floating.

But, the Universe works in mysterious ways. I was miserable at that job for the last year. Almost exactly a year ago to the day of the lay off, I was considering quitting. My desperation was so high, I prayed like a mad fool. I asked the Cosmos: How do you live a peaceful life? Why am I not living a peaceful life? How can I accomplish this?

Within days, I had my answer: go do the things you love. I asked myself: “Self, what do you love most?”. My reply: “Writing, backcountry skiing, rock climbing, traveling.” Within days of this conversation, (Please dear readers don't think I'm nutso crazy. All inspired artists have these conversations in their head. Picasso would concur.) the idea for my current project leapt into my brain, and my heart, like a bullet. The concept took my breath away, literally. Butterflies were in my stomach.

Amazingly, just like 1 year ago, I had a moment of desperation at work 2 weeks ago where I was on my knees crying & praying like a worshipper at the Wailing Wall. The very next day a flukey circumstance at my job lead to being let go several days later. Clearly there is a greater purpose for me. These things don't just happen randomly for no reason. Destiny is real, and it has conked me on the head twice in 12 months. I'm a slow learner...

Sadly, the removal of my stressful office job has not lead to a peaceful life. I was really hoping it would. Instead, the “high alert mode” of every change in temperature around my brother & mother has worn me down to the ground. With no high-adrenaline corporate overlord peering over my shoulder, pressing his boney finger into the back of my neck, inching my nose closer to the grindstone, I can finally feel just how worn out I really am. But, it's a good thing: now that I know this, and have time & space, I can work towards self-care & healing.

Today
What I've learned so far: it's really hard for me to relax. Despite my best efforts at personal growth over the last 15 years, I'm still a pretty high-strung, Type-A person. Now's my chance to try on a new pair of shoes, in the stress department. Something fashionable, but comfortable enough to go long distances. No high heels.

So, getting let go was truly a blessing. In a matter of weeks, I'll be headed to Denver to assist my brother with a series of transitions. Things have gone quite haywire with his spouse, and now my oldest brother & I are blessed with the chance to pick up the slack. We will stick together, us 3 siblings, no matter what. It is an honor to serve my brother & my family in this way. No matter how gut-wrenching and painful it also is, it is an honor. It can be both at the same time. This is the joyous & mysterious wonder of Life.

The Future (for the moment)
In the meantime, I'm plowing ahead full-steam on this adventure-travel storytelling project extravaganza. The web design team I hired is top-notch, but also top-heart. Truly I'm blessed to know these people. They've taken the concept & boiled it into a kernel that is cool, hip, but also heart-felt. I can't wait to see the initial web pages!

A quick abstract to whet your appetite: the project will focus on transforming personal tragedies into hope & courage for others. Extraordinary stories from everyday people will be collected, and my travel journey along the way will be documented. There will be lots of alpine & rock climbing. Heck yes.

Also, I'm learning how to have no schedule, and arrive to places on time. I'm learning to set a more relaxed schedule for myself. I'm learning to feel all my feelings, now that I don't have to shove them in my pocket every time I walk into the office. I'm slowly accepting this weird but cool feeling that I never have to deal with all the people I worked with ever again. Ever. It's a strange feeling.

As promised to some, here is the other piece on grief I wrote for my writing class last fall. It was very popular, and my teacher's favorite out of all I wrote:

This Lonesome Wind
(after Terrance Hayes' “Wind In A Box”)

This blood. This loss. This lonesome wind. This canyon.
This rain. This wind blowing the rain. This mud.
This rain pelts my face. This rain pelts his body.
This rain pelts the cloudy glass of the window.
When will the rain end? When will we stand, stand
Together under the blue sky? This canyon.
This wall of mud. This flow. This destructive
Grace. At my feet, at my knees, my hips, my
Shoulders, your shoulders, your eyes, and-- over.
Until this moment, I didn't know you.
This box. This body in a box. This blood
In the body. This wind in a box.
This rain. This mud. This canyon fills in.
This box floats to the sky. Now I know you.

When love can be too much

2011-01-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

Maybe I've had this grief thing all wrong.

Maybe the Daughter of Cancer blogger had it right all along. All her crying, whining, wallowing, and carrying-on; maybe that's it. Maybe that's how to deal with grief.

The alternative seems to be killing me, or at least that's how it feels today.

While waiting at the bus stop Thursday on my way to work, my neck & left shoulder spasmed severely, to the point where I felt my head jerk.

Immediately I called my acupuncture lady, and met her at her office as she was coming in for the day. She stuck me full of holes, cupped my upper back & shoulders to the point where it looked like I'd been beaten, and told me to stay home.

Gol dang it.

Seeing my brother over the holidays clearly had an impact. Seeing him always does. It's the same with my mom. This whole situation feels like an addiction. Literally, I can't control my body's reactions after returning from a visit. My mind seems to be ok, but my body is not following along with my mind. No matter how I try to accept the horror unfolding before me, no matter how hard I try to let them both go, my body says Eff You.

When can love be too much? When can love hurt?

In this case, it's me who's getting hurt. There are many great things I have going for me, like the trip I'm planning. Just Saturday at the Sierra Club snowcamping orientation, I met a great adventure videographer lady who's trying to get her career started. Woohoo! Even if we don't end up working together, it's an in, a lead.

But, when I return from a visit, my body goes kaflooie, my mind gets way-layed in depression, and I take everything personally. This is not a good recipe for trip-planning. Already I'm way behind on what I need to deliver to the web design consultant. Hopefully I can pull it out of my butt tomorrow night after work.

The fact is, all this crap has been going on for almost 2 years now. My symptoms are getting worse & worse. The spasm this week was so scary, what with numb pinky fingers & all, that I decided to seek medical help from Western doctors. My current GP blew me off. I have the name of another lady my pal recommended. My yoga teacher & I agreed I should get a full-on physical, with ob-gyn, and hopefully a spinal x-ray, etc. of some areas. He thinks we should eliminate any major issues (like tumors) and then go from there, if it's simply a matter of stress reduction.

Yes, I wrote tumors. The physical reaction my body had this week just seemed so extreme, that I'm now terrified some other major thing is wrong. Maybe it's my heart, which is why the contracting muscles are all on the left side. Maybe it's my thyroid (runs in the family). Maybe it's a low-grade infection (lymph nodes are hurting). Maybe it's skin cancer (bumps on my neck for 5 weeks).

As you can see, dear readers, I'm coming apart at the seams. That's exactly how I feel. The stress of hearing about my mom's emergency surgery on Christmas Eve (3rd tumor), and not being able to be there, was a lot. Add that on top of my brother's ridiculous condition in the wheelchair, and that's triple a lot.

So, I pray & ask for the answer to balance how much I care, how much I love them, the survivor guilt I have, and the rest of Life, including my super stressful job, and generally active lifestyle. Clearly, these ingredients are making a sour stew. They are not balanced and it's causing some severe physical reactions that are uncomfortable & scary. Truly Thursday & Friday were deeply scary days. Now I know a little bit what it must have been like for my mom & brother to visit the doctor's after their diagnoses, and wonder if the treatments really worked. Terrifying.

Today, I managed to cry a bit. It was really helpful, but my body still seems sore, and overall I feel exhausted. Grieving is hard work. It's uncomfortable. It makes me feel vulnerable. I don't like it. Apparently, that's a big part of the problem.

So, we'll see. All I can do is take steps to learn more about what's going on. Knowledge is power. And, I'm thankful that amongst all the unconscious redirection of stress to my body, a part of me _did_ wake up & realize it was too much.

Meanwhile, I bought some snowcamping gear this weekend @ REI and Yakima, and a little somethin' somethin' from Vickie's Secret. I'm feeling better.

AND, I listed to most of the Islanders vs Blackhawks game, where the Hawks spanked the Isles, 5-0. That felt great! It was so awesome, I share it with you here:

Even though my body is cracking, there's something worth celebrating: Go Blackhawks!

Writings on Cancer: The Visit

2011-01-04T00:05:00.000-08:00

Author's note: The following is a work of short fiction I wrote in a creative writing class I took at my local community college. It was inspired by my trip to visit my brother in October. I've since seen him over the New Year holiday, and he is much worse. Hope you enjoy the story.

The Visit

His face was bloated. Red burn scars swept over his bare skull. Stubble remained where once long blond strands fell to his shoulders. He was Sampson, then: lean, tall, with the rugged face athletes and laborers have from spending long days outdoors.

Twenty-five minutes were spent trying to get the pickup as close to the kids' football field as possible. Two large men hooked my brother's arms, carrying him to the folding chair. The sky was wide, blue, and cloudless. Parched hills pock-marked with brittle shrubs hung nearby, emotionless. They had no opinion about the goings-on atop their sides.

My brother collapsed into his seat with a smile on his face. Boys in silver and gray clumped around a man with a silver & gray baseball cap. My brother's son was there. Eventually, the sun announced itself on our skin. My brother's dry scalp yawned with joy when I rubbed in the shea-butter cream. Then came the sunblock.

The parents and friends along the sidelines shouted and cheered, my brother's face glowed. The boys scored. My brother's smile puffed his cheeks out, like a squirrel. His arms flapped awkwardly as he attempted to clap. Parents from the team strolled by often to see how he was doing. Their questions and chit-chat attempted to be supportive, but couldn't hide the awkward pity & fear of their own demise that his presence represented.

I was there the day it happened, later that week. I saw my brother cry when the wheelchair was pulled out of the truck. I heard the sigh weighted with sorrow, anger, and despair slip through his thin lips. He brushed away the tears when the boys voices echoed from the upstairs porch. The friend said there were black-handled levers to lock the wheels on each side.

“I can't believe it's come to this”, my brother said.

His sons tumbled down the deck stairs to where we were standing, their rounded faces arranged into slackened jaws. They ran behind the chair and began to push. Their stubby legs strained against the driveway. They fussed over who could hold which handle. My brother became dad again, delivering orders and encouragement. The chair got wheeled to the edge of the driveway, overlooking the steep hill. Half-gold, half-green aspen leaves wavered in the afternoon breeze, cueing Autumn's approach.

The kids twirled my brother around through sun and shade patches scattered on the driveway. With his instructions, they quickly collaborated on how to pop wheelies. We all seemed to release unknown clenched breaths at the same time. As quickly as they ran down, the boys shot upstairs to get some item he had forgotten. Or maybe it was his gentle way to get them out of the scene, so he could take his own turn at moving the oversized wheels of the chair. He looked up at all of us. His cheeks puffed out in a smile. It was going to be alright. For today at least, it was going to be alright.

Stanley Cup for Cancer: Everything Update

2010-12-16T08:16:00.000-08:00

Holy moly! Long time..er, no blog? Uh, chat? Whatever.

From before Halloween til now it's been non-stop Life, primarily my creative writing class (now completed), and a nutso crazy workload.

The Deep Stuff
Currently, my brother is now a complete quadripeligic. His left arm is completely a dead weight, and he only has 5% mobility in his right arm. After 7 weeks at acute rehab, he's back home in an electric wheelchair. He's unable to transfer himself to & from the chair.

Needless to say, it's hit him pretty hard. He's unsure about how much longer he can hold on, and we're desperately trying to get my mom out to see him.

My mom's cancer came back; we found out Monday. She also has Parkinson's disease, officially. She's also in a rehab facility, and is scheduled to be moved to a sub-acute facility on the 28th. It's unclear whether she'll ever be able to move back with my oldest brother. He has steep stairs and stuff, and she may not have the strength or mobility to handle that environment.

The horrible part (like the other stuff isn't bad enough), is if my mom leaves any of these facilities to visit my brother in Denver, she will lose her insurance. The insurance companies say, if she's healthy enough to travel, she doesn't need rehab.

This is such a horrible thing to face. Insurance companies clearly don't plan for a tsunami of illness like the kind that hit my family. As far as we can tell, there is no exception for when a person has a child who is dying, and they want to see them.

Insurance companies are about making money, not saving people's lives. They're about the bottom line, not the pulse line. Life does not fit easily into spreadsheets and revenue numbers. The entire US health care system does not accommodate "exception". The system then traps doctors and nurses, like a fly in a spiderweb, who likely have good intentions to help people. But, they too, have to play the game that is the US healthcare insurance market. I don't say "system" because it truly is a "market" when money is to be made, exactly what the insurance companies are doing, goaded by Wall Street. It just plain sucks.

Meanwhile, I could whine about a lot of things, like my manipulative boss at work who is not very compassionate. But instead, I'll just write about my experiences.

The Dreamtime Stuff
Been having a lot of very intense dreams over the last 2 months. Mostly they are about falling. Several times I've dreamt about falling down stairs, and then woken up from the fright as my face approaches the ground. One time I had a very realistic dream about flying. I was attacked by armed forces for my superpower. I think I had escaped from a secret lab or something. Several times I "fell" in that dream: once out of a window, once out of a plane, & a few other times. That dream was neat because as I came closer to the ground, I remembered I could fly & stopped myself before being flattened on the ground, because I was no longer scared.

My massage lady suggested it was a good thing, that it meant I was letting go. Fox knows there's a ton to let go of at the moment. A pal suggested the other day that I was mellowing out. A couple friends at Thanksgiving said the same thing, pals I hadn't seen in about a year.

When people you love are dying, breaking your cell phone, getting cut off, slow-ass grannie drivers, crap bosses, and lousy roommates really don't matter as much. It offers a perspective. I just hope I can carry this relaxed perspective with me the rest of my life. My life & my whole being is better for it.

The New Stuff
Been making great progress on a new project I'm launching, hopefully next year. It will also be cancer related, but more epic. I've hired a web design/brand team, and will hopefully polish off my business plan over the holiday.

The more I write, the more I spend time with writers, the better I feel. The final class recital for my creative writing class was really great. People liked what I wrote! That was quite a thrill. My heart is telling me exactly where to go, and there's no stopping me now!

The Learning Stuff
Sometimes still the self-pity & wallowing come. When I feel like crying, I just try to let myself cry. But, I try not to wallow. A good friend in a far-away land told me about his dad. He said that when his dad would feel like a wreck about something, he would drive someplace quiet & pull over. Then he'd let himself cry for exactly 15 minutes. After that, he'd turn on the car, put it in gear, and keep going.

This was such an inspiring story. I have to be careful not to keep things all bottled up. But, if it's 15 minutes or 1 hour, at least I know there will be a limit on the crying. From there, I pray for strength to put one foot in front of the other. I pray for what the next step should be in that moment. I pray for the ability to let all this go.

The Body Stuff
Meanwhile, my body is not at its best, despite my head being better. I still have tremendous stress reactions. My ribcage is not responding well. There is tremendous overgripping in the left shoulder area. My pelvis is still often out of alignment. These are all way old patterns from when I was a kid. They were developed in times of great stress in my family environment, which was pretty much all the time.

I have no idea what to do about this. Other than regular acupuncture, massage, & yoga, it's a total mystery to me. Clearly the deeper aspects of grief, anxiety, fear, etc. are entering into my body unconsciously. So, how does a person become conscious of it? I can only think of just breathing, and paying attention to the aches & pains that arise. Anybody else have ideas on how to protect one's body from stress & heavy emotions?

Anyway, more posts to follow with some of my writings on grief & being present. Thanks for reading - enjoy your holidays, tell your spouse/partner you love them, buy a bunch of flowers for your table while you're at the grocery store, give a doggie a scratch behind his ear, and enjoy being alive. Happy Holidays to you & yours.

Stanley Cup for Cancer: Family Update

2010-10-23T23:08:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a week. My brother went in for a shunt to drain his excess spinal fluid into his stomach. Word from his wife is all went well, he's awake out of pain (mostly), and itching to go home. The little one ran the last TD in for his team this afternoon, even though they didn't make the playoffs. The oldest won his game & is headed for playoff-ville. Life continues on & all are doing well given the situation.

Two weeks ago marked my 10-day visit to Denver and the whole crew. We had a really great time. It was a shock to see my brother's mobility so compromised. There were several occasions where he fell & I had to pick him up. Thankfully, I was strong enough.

But, all in all spirits were high. Mickey cracked jokes & complained about politics in his usual manner. He really enjoyed any & all time spent with the kids. He pushed himself quite hard to get up & help take them to school. He can't drive anymore, so he would be a passenger while I drove.

The end of the week was topped off by a hockey game. It was the season opener for the Colorado Avalanche, and the beat the Chicago Blackhawks. Mickey & I were in Blackhawks regalia, and the kids cheers for the Aves. They also had the 1998 Avalanche Stanley Cup winning team come on the ice for a reunion ceremony. It was really cool! The lady next to us said it was the first time they had a sellout crowd in a long time though. That's a shame.

What made it so much fun was we played dress up:

The kids especially enjoyed this. The oldest is in 6th grade and already trying to be "cool". So, it was a chance for them both to be just kids & be silly.

It seemed the struggle was mostly on me this week. My emotions fell into a low spot once I began to fight off a cold on the weekend. I didn't take good care of myself & got worse & worse. Several acupuncture visits and herbs seemed to not make a dent. Finally, my back went out Friday night, as I was trying to put air in one of my car tires.

Needless to say, I was pissed. It's one thing if I was climbing, or doing yoga or whatever - but filling air in my tires?! And, all week was spent in bed because I was so sick. I wasn't kicking up my heels around town every night.

It's really a mirror for my frustration. Since leaving Denver, it just seems like my brother has gotten worse & worse. My fear is he's on the "slippery slope" to the end. Maybe now with this shunt procedure, he'll feel better, gain some mobility and energy back. Somehow, though, things feel ominous to me. I just can't seem to shake it.

This feeling lead to survival guilt, in full force. The survivor guilt hasn't come around in a long time, but it sure did this week. I began to feel somehow responsible, or was getting hard on myself for not fixing the situation.

But, what I can focus on is I showed up the best way I could that week. Despite a rental car setback (Note to self: you can't rent a car on an expired license), I truly did the best I could, and the whole family appreciated it. I helped Mickey with many chores & errands that have now become very time consuming because he can't use his arms & legs well anymore. I helped take the kids to school, fill prescriptions, wash windows, do laundry, and offer the ear of comfort to my sister-in-law. Mickey & I had some great talks tooling around in his BMW convertible sports car, nicknamed "Mood Elevator". Truly you can't drive the thing without a big grin on your face.

The Lesson:
Take care of myself. This is the umpteenth time my love, care, and wish for another reality has cascaded me down the canyon of despair, illness, and crankiness. I'm no fun to be around, and I'm unable to live my live, get my job done, get chores done, and do things for me, like write. It's no good all around.

My new commitment is to radical self-care, not evidenced by the fact it's 11:45PM and I'm still writing this post. But, I can start over at any time, even in 5 minutes.

A new pledge to my sleep, food, hygiene, work, and career transition has dawned. Starting...tomorrow. No sincerely, it's started right now, even before I wrote this. Already today I've done many things to care for me, like not going to a friend's party because I was too wiped out, etc. Every new step in this direction, no matter how big or small, is a step towards healing & growth. People keep telling me I can't be of service to anyone in my family if I"m a blubbering cranky mess.

The survival guilt is very strong though. It tells me I shouldn't be happy or live my life, because of what's going on with my brother. Somehow, I must sacrifice happiness and "a life" because he is losing his. No, it doesn't make any sense, but that's what's happening. Hopefully by writing about it sharing, reaching out to friends & family, talking about it, getting body work & sleep & eating well, I can overcome this guilt & continue to live my life in the best possible way. My brother would want it that way.

I leave you with beautiful fun images of nighttime at Black Rock City, from Burning Man.

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life — It goes on.

ROBERT FROST, as quoted in William Nichols' A New Treasury of Words to Live By

Stanley Cup 4 Cancer Update: How do you spell relief? D-U-S-T

2010-09-27T23:07:00.000-07:00

How do I begin to describe Burning Man?
Well, DUST was the biggest factor. Dust factored into everything. I had never experienced so much dust in my entire life. My roommate warned me about the dust storms, but my imagination couldn't conceive of what they were really like. It was like "the nothing" in "The Neverending Story".

Forced to adapt to the dust quickly or perish in mouth-foaming madness, I adapted. It wasn't until day 4 that the baby wipes just didn't cut it, and I sought out a bath at the Human Car Wash. More on that later.

Numerous times I rode my bike through the windy dusty plains & pondered as my legs pushed against the wind, foot on pedal, and the dust gusts lifted my skirt painting my white undies grey, that if the apocalypse came, I'd be ready for it. "Bring it on!", I yelled.

The Flammable Stanley Cup
It was easy to forget about the dust when I had a flammable Stanley Cup in tow. It resided in a kiddie trailer on my bike.

On the one hand I was bedazzled by the amazing spectacle that was all around me. Art cars, glowing people, naked people, stilt walkers, jugglers (when there was no wind), and lots & lots of fire. There were vehicles that spurted fire, a tricked out set of organ pipes tied to a keyboard that spurted fire, a fire-spurting tuba in a marching band, and the list goes on. Fire twirlers at the club camps were especially talented.

On the other hand, sometimes FCS was a burden. It was heavy to pull around. Often my bike got stuck in the sand piles scattered on the desert floor. It was no fun. But there were several moments when people picked up the cup, hoisted it over their head, & kissed it, just like the real Stanley Cup! Unfortunately, none of those moments were on film, but trust me they really happened. All around town people called after me shouting "Lord Stanley's Cup!" or "Is that the Stanley Cup?", or "Stanley!", or whatever. Just getting that recognition alone was worth all the effort. For the first time in a long while, I felt acknowledged, seen, heard, and allowed to be in the place I had created for myself in the community. It was an incredible feeling, beyond words. To see the experience, view the video:

Burning stuff
Burning things is such a good idea. I've become a real fan. Of course there are inappropriate times & places to burn things. My brother who's battling cancer actually poured gasoline on his jeans & lit them on fire at 12 years of age. He was trying to be like the movie stuntmen. Very fortunately, he had the foresight to turn on the garden hose & have his buddy hold it nearby ready to douse him. I'm not sure how long he let it burn. What a character. Don't try that at home, kids.

However, when in a large flat area with nothing around for miles, like the desert, it's a great time & place to burn things. I'll get more to the burning of The Man in a later post, but for now I'll stick to the Temple of Flux. The temple was built in a very organic "bird's nest" kind of shape, with walls fit for scribbling on. Many people did, including me. It's also the place where the Flammable Stanley Cup met its timely end.

It took a long time to burn, but was a beautiful sight. The smoke tornados absolutely blew my mind. It sounds like I'm high on drugs in the video, but I can assure you I was completely sober. Truly it was that much of an awe-inspiring moment. The flames & smoke were powerfully transforming. It offered a cathartic release for me and many others.

Fire gives us an opportunity to start anew, wipe the proverbial slate clean and start fresh. That was definitely my experience of burning the FSC. I felt the burden of survivor guilt was lifted, the burden of worry, fear, & anxiety at seeing my loved ones struggle to stave off death, were cleansed when that temple burned. All the suffering, trauma, and agony of the people whose names were on the FSC were burned away too. It was liberating.

And back to dust
What really struck me though was the dust. It was the dusty wind that spun the smoke tornados into our section of the crowd. And more so than the fire, it was the dust that forced me to let go. The inevitability of it creeping into every crevice, nook, & cranny possible caused me to truly release expectations.

Letting go was the central theme to my entire experience. By giving myself & others a vehicle of expressing Life, we could let go of the inevitable Death that will come. The dust was a reminder that we are made of it, and will return to it one day. Having this reminder literally hit you in the face every day allowed me to live more fully, and be free-er at Burning Man. I didn't have the same heavy emotions. There was a tremendous release. I could truly be myself there, be the little girl who always wanted to play but got shut down by one family member or another.

It was almost challenging to accept the love, just like it was to accept the dust. After a day or two, I became the loving person I want to be. During a yoga class, my heart cracked open, and lying in shavasana I cried, as I felt held by some cosmic force with the gentleness of a momma cradling her baby. I didn't take anything personally, and I offered & received goodness, kindness, food, and help. The openness with which people not only offered things, but _themselves_ was remarkable. Add in all the crazy cool art, and it became an overwhelmingly delightful cuddle puddle.

Post mortem
I hesitated to use the phrase "post mortem" given that this is a blog about cancer, but what the heck - it's the right title for this last section.

Since the day I got back, my work has been off-the-hook crazy. I cruised on the acceptance of what I can't control gained from Burning Man for several weeks of it. Finally, last week, I had a meltdown. By the end of the week, I was so frustrated with my ass getting kicked so repeatedly by work that I lost my poop when someone did something that resulted in me not getting what I wanted. Wow, was I overgriped.

Four weeks out, and I'm back to my old ways. Harrumph. So why go through all this?

Well, my heart did shut down last week. That much is true, but I'm simply not the same person I was four weeks ago. No matter what, I keep showing up. Even in my exhaustion, my sleepiness, my frustration, my "I'm over it" mind, I keep showing up & doing the best I can.

My body has taken a drastic leap forward in healing as a result of Burning Man. I'll talk about that in a later post.

And, I'm not holding on to my grief, my anger, my resentments like before. Once I get angry or frustrated at the thing I can't control, it's just gone. Poof. All in all, I"m lighter, less heady, and more in the moment. I'm noticing my thought patterns more easily. I'm letting go of the past with much more grace & ease. Just today, after ruminating about a challenging convo at work, I was able to let it go & enjoy being in the pool while I swam. I focused on my breathing & on the cool sound of the water splashing around my ears with each stroke.

Even as I humbly admitted my over-griped-ness today, I didn't wallow in self-pity, but rather gave thanks for the opportunity to learn about myself.

I could go on & on but, the point is I just don't view the world through the same eyes. So, none of my experiences will be the same going forward. The dust corroded many old thought patterns that were no longer useful. The patterns are fighting their way back into my consciousness, but I see them! They are not welcome! Instead, I make more room on the kitchen shelf of my mind to store them for use at a later time.

I wrote this when it was late, and I was super pooped. Not sure if it makes any sense. So, I'll let the video speak for me, and offer a more coherent impression of Burning Man, post-temple burn.

Love to you all!
xo

Cancer: the meshing of art & athletics

2010-09-12T23:13:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your patience, dear readers, as I drop back into Earth's orbit after a wild & woolly ride to Black Rock City, NV for Burning Man 2010. I know everyone is feinting with anticipation at the photos & my thoughts. Rest assured, those thoughts are beginning to settle & will be downloaded for you in this here electronic forum very soon.

Meanwhile, the one that's fully baked was a blog post I didn't have time to write before I left. It'll be short & sweet, and worth it. Please read on...

Can art and athletics meet on common ground?
Yes, by golly! And cancer is what brought them there. Doing the Flammable Stanley Cup for Cancer Survivors project challenged me in ways I didn't expect. The setbacks, the length of time it took to get everything done. I didn't even have time to write the names on the Cup til I got to the playa!

Anyway, it was an exercise in patience, in accepting reality, versus my vision of it. And, it got me really humble in a hurry. If it wasn't for my buddy Mark coming to my construction rescue, the project wouldn't have happened, over 100 people would have been disappointed in me, and my goose would've been cooked. Here's Captain Table Saw in action:

But the point is, all the emotions - the setbacks, the frustration, the fears, the reminding myself to stay calm to get through it all - were the same ones when I'm on a rock wall. I'm no psychologist, but something tells me I pushed myself into this nutty adventure because I wasn't getting my fix climbing, due to so many injuries. Somehow, a catharsis was needed, and climbing wasn't an option anymore.

And catharsis I got. But more on that in my upcoming posts.

I'll leave you with this little ditty to brighten your day. When the going gets tough, the tough get an air banjo:

PS: I highly recommend developing an art project if you are a) in cancer treatment, b) are a helpless shlameel family member watching someone else die from cancer. Many people asked me why I don't fundraise or contribute some kind of research towards fighting cancer. I'm just not a scientist, I'm an artist. Engaging in the ritual of art heals many things, both for myself & others. Give it a try - you'll feel much better. Oh, and once you're done, burn it! Then you'll really feel great. Ta...

Stanley Cup for Cancer Project & family update

2010-08-12T22:35:00.000-07:00

Wowza. It's been such a jam-packed couple of weeks, I haven't had any time for a blogpost.

The Flammable Stanley Cup for Cancer project is going really well! So far, there are 78 names for the list. These folks are all cancer survivors who's names will be written on the paper mache cup. Then it'll be burned at the Burning Man festival.

Much of that success had to do w/ Greg Wyshynski & Crew at the hockey blog Puck Daddy. They featured my story in one of their blog posts. In a matter of days, my YouTube videos had hit over a few hundred views.

In addition to only having 4 hours sleep for most of the week while pounding away at cup building & video editing, I was hella nervous. Greg was really great, knew how to interview well, and steered me in the right direction.

Sadly, within days of the post hitting the wire, my brother took a turn for the worse. A week later, he was diagnosed with leptomeningial enhancement in his thorassic spinal cord. After a second spinal tap, the determined course of treatment is to radiate his entire brain, and his thorassic spine, for the next 4-5 weeks. On average, people with this condition plus treatment live another 6 months. It could be longer though, but still...

So, I carry on. I have a project to do. Some days are better than others. The last 2 days I was in a fog, could barely focus on work, and had no energy. Partly it was from the massive tension release I had after a massage on Tuesday. Seems my body was trying to clench my troubles away.

It's so hard to accept what's happening. It's so hard to hold the myriad of emotions. Sometimes I'm happy, sad, grateful, & lonely all at the same moment. It's hard to describe.

I keep coming back to what a program friend said to me several weeks ago. "You're in transition, everything's going to be ok. You'll be alright." Something about her voice, that day, the topic, everything, just brought a huge sense of peace to me. When my emotions flare up, my fears, my deep lonliness, my desire for a shoulder to cry on & a cuddle, I remember that conversation.

Having my story told with such grace by the Puck Daddy crew, and experiencing the incredible response really opened my heart to love (especially self-love) & vulnerability, which is something I had struggled with my whole life. It was like I had been seen, finally. Much of my fear about manifesting in my life, taking up space & owning my right to be here, has been removed. Ideas about my next project, and the next after that sprouted in my head during the week of the diagnosis. I'm no longer afraid to put myself out there, even if I fail. This was one of the promises of the 12-step group I attend.

As a result, I asked two other bloggers to post about my story, and they graciously did. What's cool is they're also lady hockey fans!

Psycho Lady Hockey
Hockey For The Ladies

These gals are both sweet, awesome, fun, smart, & generous. I sincerely thank them for their support of the project.

Plus, Ms. Sarah Spain from ESPN Chicago has been helping me out with tweets & Facebook. She's a rockstar, and has more cojones than most of her male colleagues. Keep rockin' your badass self, Sarah!

Meanwhile, I mix clay:

Before that, I paper mache'd:

In between, I watched this Blackhawks video drooling over the shots of Adam Burish's hunky nakedness. Whoa. There is a god:

Too bad Burr will be at the Dallas Stars this year, with all their ownership troubles, etc. Hopefully he can get a better starting position.

As the grief ebbs & flows, the sadness tide nipping at my heels is put at bay, once again, by hockey. Never did I think a sport or sporting event such as the Chicago Blackhawks becoming Stanley Cup Champions would foster so much mental & emotional relief, but it has.

Go Blackhawks.

Thoughts on Grief

2010-07-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

"Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We miscontstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be "healing". A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days. We imagine that the moment to most severely test us will be the funeral, after which this hypothetical healing will take place. When we anticipate the funeral we wonder about failing to "get through it", rise to the occasion, exhibit the "strength" that invariably gets mentioned as the correct response to death. We anticipate needing to steel ourselves for the moment: will I be able to greet people, will I be able to leave the scene will I be able even to get dressed that day? We have no way of knowing that this will not be the issue. We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself."

--Joan Didion, "The Year Of Magical Thinking"

My last post was joyous. The weekend spent with my brother & family in Denver was better than I could have imagined. Several days later, the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup for the first time in 49 years.

It was an incredible euphoria. I ran out into the streets screaming like a madwoman, waiving my Blackhawks jacket around. Watching the parade on the web and seeing the amazing support of my hometown city for this fantastically talented group of athletes made me so proud.

As the weeks carried on, I lamented not living in Chicago. Often I had thought about moving back, but as my roommate put it, Chicago is "geographically undesirable".

But in coming down off the high of the Cup win, my mind struggled. It was very difficult for me to be present. I was forgetful. I wasn't able to get good sleep.

It was grief. Still, although completing a large crying jag right after my Denver visit, grief was haunting me. Unconsciously I ran from it, terrified it would overwhelm me, drowning me in an abyss of nothingness.

My mind raced, hi-tailing it from reality in the hopes of staying 2-seconds ahead of the wall of nothingness that I feared. It was magical thinking.

Just like Joan Didion's book, and the quote above, my mind seemed to think the inevitable death of my brother wouldn't happen. Daydreams, fantasies, and the like twisted their way through my brain, concocting all manner of outcomes. In a way, the emotions I felt couldn't be tackled head-on, but instead my mind let them out slowly, like tipping the lid of a pressure-cooker every so often, to let out the steam & prevent an explosion.

When I read the passage above about a week ago, it hit the nail on the head. Every preconceived notion I had about grief, death, and dying has been flushed down the toilet of inexperience. Just as Joan Didion wrote, there were certain expectations that society, co-workers, and friends crafted in their interactions with me, that caused a slow insanity. I thought I was crazy for not feeling, thinking, or doing the things they expected. I thought something was wrong with me, for not behaving in the way I thought I knew grief to be.

Meanwhile, the part of me that was _able_ to be present, sincerely wished to partake in some of the Stanley Cup action in Chicago. Since I couldn't be there to get my picture with the cup, I decided to bring the cup a little closer to me.

Through much fear & uncertainty, I launched my Burning Man project: http://www.facebook.com/StanleyCup4Cancer

I'm building a paper mache replica of the Stanley Cup, and will throw it in the fire at the end of the Burning Man festival. But instead of writing names of hockey players on the cup, I'll be writing names of cancer survivors, and those fighting cancer right now. I created a new email address to collect the names for the cup: StanleyCup4Cancer@gmail.com

The intent is to honor my brother & mother who are _still alive_. My brain had wrapped itself around the axel of death, and was thumping along a dirt path relentlessly knocking my self-care, my self-worth, and my-self confidence around.

And it's a fitting parallel: The Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win in sports, while cancer is one of the hardest illnesses to fight and overcome.

This project has helped me tremendously in the two weeks since it launched. Spreading the word via Social Media methods is totally new for me, and a little scary. But, it's also created a space for vulnerability to set in. The results have been amazing! Going into the city to watch the World Cup final, resulted in several people hitting on me & trying to pick me up. See what happens when my iron-clad crusty shell falls away a little bit? It was nice to get so much attention... :)

But, that's not the point (albeit a bonus). Making the cup also brought about a groundedness in reality. It provided an outlet for creative expression, and creative decision-making that hardly enters into the corporate vortex that is my working life. And,the project has forced me to talk to others to spread the word, which helps build a community of people who can support one another, while forcing me out of my magical thinking shell.

It's been an amazing & beautiful thing. Despite the lemons that have been doled out by the gods, I'm making lemonade. I refuse to let my fears, my grief, and my sadness taint my ability to live. So, on I go, tearing strips of newspaper, gently cuddling my soul.

For those of you reading this on blogher and wellsphere, please spread the word! Tell everyone you know, tweet to your heart's content. So far there's only about 15 names on the list to write on the Flammable Stanley Cup. That's not enough to cover the whole thing.

Thanks for getting the word out and contributing names to the list. Your help is really appreciated!

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StanleyCup4Cancer
Email: StanleyCup4Cancer@gmail.com

Last Weekend

2010-06-08T23:43:00.000-07:00

I spent last weekend in Denver, visiting my brother & his family. Coincidentally, my cousin was graduating from DU, and I was able to celebrate with him & my aunt's family also.

The weekend went from start to finish without a hitch, til the very end. The entire time was a miracle, absolutely a gift from a Supreme Being.

Highlights included:

--spending the afternoon at the Botanic Gardens with my dad, laughing, smiling, contemplating, and simply enjoying each other's company

--my brother asking his kids to skedaddle outside so he could have time to talk with me & Dad

--my sister-in-law looking me in the eye, then hugging me

--playing in the community pool with my nephews & their cousins

--resting on a lounge chair for an entire hour! Although I couldn't nap because of the noise, it takes a lot for me to just do "nothing"

--seeing the sun poke through the clouds at sunset just long enough for me to shoot a photo of flowers & a cool statue at the gardens

--eating scrumptious high-end "chi-chi" dessert at a dessert bar with a good friend, sharing philosophies, laughter, and The Apprentice

But the creme de la creme, piece de resistance, and all those other fancy French phrases, was sitting in my brother's family room, with my oldest brother too (!), watching Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals. For once in our lives, us siblings all had something to relate to, something allowing us to "get along".

Every time the Blackhawks scored, we all cheered. Every time there was a lousy penalty against our team, we booed. We played with the kids, my nieces & nephews, and watched them fake WWF wrestle in front of the TV. I got to hear my cousin, and my brother say "please" and "thank you" to the kids, through clenched teeth, as they told them to stop standing in front of the TV so we could watch the game.

If you didn't see the game, here's the recap:

The entire weekend was happy, joyous, & free, just like my 12-step program promises. Never in all my days did I think these things would happen. I had so much fear that my sister-in-law would block me out of her life, and prevent me from seeing my nephews, after my brother passed away. Certainly this is still a possibility, but now at least there's a good chance that won't happen.

I got to see all the best sides of my brother, all the sides I like the most. His generosity, his thoughtfulness, his silliness, his concern, his good intentions for others, and his vulnerability. Truly I have to thank my Higher Power, and myself, for all the effort I've put into the 12 steps, to help me accept reality, this situation, my feelings, and still be present, show up, and offer love & compassion as best I can. By helping me to see my self-centeredness, this program has relieved me of the need to make this horribly tragic situation all about me.

I'm so grateful to the Chicago Blackhawks organization for having an awesome team in the finals right now. The evening just simply wouldn't have been the same, without that bonding moment. The players have brought me so much joy (and mental relief), and also our family.

The hiccup at the end was interesting: due to horrible mileage program rules, I was forced to take a connecting flight through Pasco, Washington, population 55,000 on a good day, in Southeast Washington state. Hoo boy. As fate would have it, the first leg was delayed, and I was automatically rebooked to a non-stop flight later on. The gate lady asked me if there was any issue, since I wasn't going through Pasco.

"No, not at all!", was my passionate response. I explained letting go of the Pasco part of the journey, went with not even a wiff of regret; my final destination was SFO.

To my surprise, she was delighted! The flight to Pasco was triple booked, apparently, and she really needed that seat for someone else. I was happy to oblige.

Just in case, she booked me standby on an earlier flight, which would arrive around the same time as my bag. "You see", she explained, "it's too late to re-check your bag onto your flight now. It'll go through Pasco and arrive to SFO a few minutes after you land."

Although it was odd, I took the ticket and ran! Bags & stuff aren't nearly as important as me getting home at a reasonable hour on a non-stop flight, because already I'd have to schlep from SFO to Oakland. (only being allowed to fly to SFO was another mileage program snafu)

Not only did I get on the standby flight, I got an exit row seat! Woohoo! It was like winning the Mega lotto jackpot! I had enough room to cross one leg over the other! In fact, there was _so_ much room, I almost couldn't sleep because there was nothing for my body to brace against.

That's where my luck ran out. Sure enough, my bag never arrived. It still hasn't. I'm kinda bummed because there's about $250 of climbing gear in there, not to mention my phone chargers & stuff. But, my Blackhawks hat & jacket went with me on the plane, so the rest doesn't really matter.

Unsolicited advice: don't EVER book a domestic United flight with miles. Always save up for a long international journey with at least one connection. The restrictions on the domestic mileage flights are horrible; I've never felt more hosed by corporate bureaucracy in my life.

GO BLACKHAWKS!!!

LONG LIVE MY BROTHER!!!!

Quick digression on the Blackhawks

2010-06-02T23:50:00.000-07:00

I've been following the Chicago Blackhawks season since January, when I was flat on my back with a whiplash. It's been a great distraction from all the emotional upheaval in my life. It rekindled my love for hockey, begun many years ago in college when our Tigers made the NCAA "Frozen Four" every year for what seemed eons.

Needless to say, I've had several crushes/fantasies, etc. on various Blackhawks players. But this one has truly stolen my heart. Anyone with the chutzpah to do this ad, is a "real catch" as my Grandma would say:

And when I meet the hunky, skillful puck-handler Brian Campbell, I will give him this as a "let's get to know one another" gift:

GO BLACKHAWKS!!!

Mexico: the easy side

2010-06-02T00:24:00.000-07:00

The good part about being with my mom in Mexico, was everybody rushed to our aid. They saw me & my aunt struggling to get Mom in & out of the car, and ran to help us. Mexican culture is all about family, and being respectful to elders.

Along the way, many wonderful people got to know us, because of the way we stuck together & helped Mom along the way. The sing-along salsa dance teacher at the spa, was greatly touched by watching me help mom in & out of her chair, and help serve her food to her, for the mealtimes. This lovely gal had such a sparkling personality!

She came to the spa to do some evening programs: a singalong (she can play the guitar), and salsa dance classes. I went to one of the salsa classes, and had such a blast! It was the first time I felt I could cut loose during the holiday. Sometimes when a person is with their family, it's hard to just "be yourself". My friends back home know me in a different way than my family. My family doesn't always get my sense of humor, or my twisted view on life.

I digress.

The salsa lady really took to my mom, and showered her with love & support. It was truly amazing. I also got to see the subtly of Mexican culture. This gal only entered our space a little at a time. After I attended the salsa class, the next day she had more recourse to talk to us directly. That's when it all started.

The following week, when we were in Guadalajara, she took us to a great restaurant with old bull fighting memorabilia everywhere. We met her daughter, her granddaughter, and had a lovely time. At one point, she began to talk about her own life. She revealed that 8 years prior, she had a stroke, and her 17 year old daughter had to care for her. She was in a wheelchair, and doctors said she wouldn't walk again. It was the most devastating thing to a life-long dancer like her. She had practiced classical dance as a young girl, then moved into Argentine Tango, as a young lady. There was no way this dancer would accept that fate.

It took her more than a year to fully recover. She still has some loss of feeling in her right leg. So, she had to switch rhythms to salsa, in order to accommodate her limitation. Talk about determination! Her story awed all of us at the table. No wonder she was attracted Mom and I .

We had a wonderful bonding that night. A few days later, lovely the Guadalajaran lady, Mom and I went to brunch on our own. The restaurant was in an old part of GDL, behind the Teatro Degollado, called El Rincon del Diablo. It is the building on the right side of the alley. Our friend said the legend was the restaurant we were in was a family home. The couple living there lead a bohemian life, before their time, in the early 1800s. The father apparently "loaned" out his daughter to various nefarious dudes around town, to secure favors. One day, unknowing innocents were invited to one of the infamous parties the couple had in the home. There, they swore they saw the daughter dancing with the devil!

Despite the history, we had a beautiful conversation about strength, recovery, faith, and the power of love to heal. She too, recognized my mom's tendency to beat herself, be too hard on herself. Turning over one's situation to God came up several times in the conversation. My hope was that this chat would help Mom to be more in the moment, and less hyperfocussed on her body & the cancer.

But, later in the week, the lovely lady's daughter reminded me that I have no idea what it's like to go through a physical debilitation like her mom did, or my mom is now experiencing. It's true - I can haughtily think I know what's best for my mom, or what she should or shouldn't do emotionally, but truly I have no clue. Maybe my mom's self-flagellation is what is keeping her going. Maybe her pushing hard on herself is what's causing her not to give up.

Meanwhile, before Guadalajara, we met a lovely driver, who took us around almost all of Lake Chapala. We met him through the generosity of the son of the owner, who was minding the La Nueva Posada while papa was out on business.

The driver took great pleasure in carting us around, and in seeing us all together as a family. Mom sat in the front seat, because of her limited ability to get in & out of a mini-van, and chatted his ear off the whole time. She asked him all about the climate, the housing prices, the quality of life, the relationships between locals and ex-pats, etc. ad infinetum. It was really nice to see her enjoying the company of our driver, and getting out of her head enough to experience a new person.

The driver seemed genuinely happy to chat with Mom. He was superbly helpful getting her in & out of the car, and assisting her to the table for lunch, etc. As soon as Mom was tired, he immediately started heading back to the hotel.

Notable stops included the pier at Jocotepec, corn husk artisans in San Nicholas, a stunning sunset & dusk outside Poncitlan, and excellent food San Luis Soyatlan.

After dropping off Mom for her nap, we continued on to Chapala City, and beyond. The driver was so eager to take us around the entire lake. The last place we stopped was some hieroglyphs on some boulders on the side of the road, near the last town before the road ended, Poncitlan. It's a shame they weren't covered, because they were amazing! Swirls, figures, lines, oblong shapes - all sorts of stuff piled on around each other. Some of the carvings seemed newer than others, making it seem like several generations or incarnations of ancient peoples used the same sacred spot.

The part that hit home was, as we were driving back to the hotel, our driver said, "I don't mind driving you for extra time. Driving you ladies around is like driving my own family." What a complement!

The same driver drove us to Guadalajara, and truly became teary-eyed when Mom got out of the car & was ready to leave. He had told us of his own mother's suffering with a brain tumor, and how she passed s few years prior. It still amazes me how everywhere we go, we meet people touched by cancer.

Later that week, the last night in GDL, I went salsa dancing with our friend's daughter. We had such a blast! We shut the place down, of course. The club was called La Mutualista, and had live salsa bands on Thursday night, the international salsa dance night. Don't ask me why, but clubs I've been to all around the world, even in Asia, always have live salsa on Thursday nights. The clearly don't expect people to work on Fridays...

Anyhow, the place had a healthy mix of young & old, hot dancers and newbies, locals & ex-pats. I hit it off with one guy in particular, and we danced a lot together. We had great chemistry! Another guy was from Cuba with the band. We also hit it off, but as the night wore on, he was more aggressively "dirty dancing". At one point I glanced at him and his new victim..uh, er partner, and she was cringing as he was rubbing his business all over her ass. Having been there, done that, I was thankful to have stuck with the other dude, who was completely gentlemanly. Of course he kept begging me for my number, but I refused. I was leaving the next day & was just there to dance.

Oh! But before La Mutalista, my aunt & her friend and I went to the Instituto Cultural Cabanas museum. As fate would have it, in the central courtyard was a Tequila tasting festival/trade show. Before we could even get to the murals, the two old maids had drunk 4 shots apiece & downed to mini-margaritas. Needless to say, by the time I scored a guide to review the murals with us, they could barely sit still, and understand his thick accent. My aunt' friend was clearly itching to get back to the booze.

While they trotted off to get hammered, I discovered Orozco's galleries with drawings and prep sketches for his murals and large works. It was stunning. He was an amazing talent, not very well known outside Mexico it seems. I had had a few shots myself before our tour, so was trying to sober up in the galleries. I couldn't get through all of them before they closed, so I wandered back to the Tequila maddened courtyard, where the mariachi was in full swing. This was a less traditional mariachi, in that they did cover songs too, like the Beatles Lady Madonna & stuff. It was interesting.

Truly I wanted to just watch a few Mariachi songs & take off, but the gals were loaded and did everything in their power to get me to drink. It wasn't hard, when all the Tequila was local, fresh, and free. The variety of margaritas was stunning. They used some tropical fruits only found in Mexico that blew my taste buds off the map, like guanabana (do, do, do, do do), and nanche. Another good one was made with green tea, and served like a martini with no ice. (chilled though)

Needless to say, I was pretty ripped by the time I got to La Mutualist, despite eating splendid greasy tacos from across the street. My pal told me about an awesome drink they had there, made with sugar & some kind of crazy fruit. I asked for the first one sans-alcohol. It was so refreshing! The second one came later after being super pooped, and I forgot to tell the bartender no booze. Boy did I regret that the next morning. My friends can attest to my facebook posts upon me return: I was hurting.

But, it was all ok.

In summary, had my mom not been so debilitated physically, we never would have met such lovely local people in our travels. Additionally, the entire spa staff was generous with us, and we met several other cool guests during the activities and meals. Also, her neediness really forced me to relax in between activities or helping her. If it wasn't for Mom, I'd have been climbing, hiking, shopping, sight-seeing, etc, til my feet wore off. Her condition was a blessing in disguise in this way, as it forced all of us to have no agenda. In that way, I really _did_ relax.

So every situation has a silver lining, even with cancer.

Mexico: the hard side

2010-05-11T20:54:00.001-07:00

It's been several weeks since I returned from Mexico, but began cranking away at work almost instantly. But, that's ok - I'm hatching my escape plan.

The trip was harder than I expected, even though there were a lot of fun moments.

I went with my mom, her sister (my aunt), and my aunt's best friend from high school. We went to Guadalajara, and the areas near there.

My mom's health & mobility were much more compromised than any of us expected. She was quite worn out by the flight on the way there. She hadn't been able to sleep the night before, and was just wrecked for the first few days.

Additionally, she struggled to get on & off the toilet. For the rest of my days, I'll remember the acrid sting of her urine's odor as it hit my nose. I guess it's due to all the drugs she takes now.

It's a humbling experience to help your parent use the facilities. It's awkward, embarrassing, sad, and a whole host of other emotions all mixed in.

My mom also needed assistance with walking, getting in and out of chairs, and in and out of taxis. The first day in TlaquePaque, at a fabulous B&B called Casa De Las Flores, she insisted on walking 3 blocks to the pedestrian mall. After several stops, I had to almost carry her the last half-block, her energy was totally sapped. We took a taxi home.

She told me on Mother's Day that she had lost 4 pounds in Mexico, because she wasn't eating on her normal schedule. Well, that's part of why people go on vacation - to get out of their "normal" schedule! But, for someone on chemo & recovering from brain cancer, keeping a routine was important.

We all tried the best we could. The first week, and especially at the Rio Caliente in La Primavera, my aunt & her friend abandoned me to care for mom all on my own. By the second night, I was begging them for help. I was unable to relax at all, because I had to get her up & down this little hill to the dining hall. Between her treatments and mine, I was literally running back & forth between our room, the treatments rooms, the pool area, and the dining hall. Needlesstosay, I was pissed as hell.

Yes, I admit it: I was angry at having to go through all this. What about my vacation? Don't I deserve to relax, too?

My batteries were completely depleted coming on the trip, and being thrown into a challenging caretaker role in a foreign country where I barely speak the language was not what I had prepared for. I did actually mince words with my mom. By the next day, I felt guilty. She didn't deserve that. It wasn't her fault that she got sick. I apologized, but she didn't seem very accepting of it.

That was the hard part about helping my mom. She is a cranky, self-centered, whiny person. A pal told me that some people make good patients, and others don't. There's nothing "patient" about my mother. Sadly, she pushes herself too hard, and beats herself up for having this illness, instead of trying to love herself and heal gradually, over time. It's one thing to motivate oneself to not give up, but it's something altogether different if you're not allowing your body to heal.

Finally, as the week wore on, I got some space. It was just the physical space I needed, it was space away from my mom's kvetching about every little pain in her body, or every little discomfort in the bed or whatever. Additionally, I think my aunt realized how much I was dealing with, and she stepped up a little by the 4th day at the spa. This was a huge relief.

We had a nice time in the next town we visited, Ajijic, although it was chock full of expats. An aging, cockroach laden La Nueva Posada plus obnoxiously drunk Texans our first afternoon, put a pall on the whole place. Additionally, there were so many expats, that while the influx of money kept the sidewalks neatly paved, it created an "us" against "them" socio-economic dichotomy that left a bad taste in all our mouths. All the restaurants catered to the foreigners, and there was even a Walmart! It wasn't til the last night when our taxi driver took us to a local taqueria for the real deal Mexican food.

The last several days were spent in Guadalajara city, which while polluted as all getout, was lovely. Before the trip started, I asked my mom if she had planned to buy or borrow a wheelchair for the trip, but she said the cobblestone streets were too challenging, and she didn't think it would work. Besides, she wanted to walk & get stronger.

Nice idea, but not so much in practice. She managed to get out in a carriage ride the second day, but the seat was so challenging, and the carriage so bumpy, her back contorted into spasms afterwards.

It was hard for the three of us to see her constantly sleeping. She flew all the way to Mexico to nap for 3-4 hours every day?

Finally, the last day in GDL, I asked if the hotel had a wheelchair we could borrow, and they did. With the help of a local friend, we got her out to a neighborhood near the Teatro Degollado for a late breakfast, and some strolling through the pedestrian streets.

Additionally, I had a run-in with the a local tall, young, & handsome casanova at the jewelry mall, who tried to put the moves on me, when I thought we were just going on a stroll. Gotta learn some Spanish. It actually got kind of scary, but I did get out of there unscathed. Looking back, I think there was a lot of cultural and language misunderstanding. Despite the disappointment, it forced me to see yet again how I set myself up for misery in these kinds of situations. There were several times when i could have voiced what I wanted to do, but I didn't. After discussing with a pal, I realized in trying to be something I'm not, some kind of subservient ditsy broad because I think that's what guys want, I'm not being authentic. Not being authentic leads me into trouble like the kind in GDL. This reinforces my negative thinking that I'm doomed to never have a boyfriend, and then the cycle of setup for failure continues.

The silver lining is I learned a lot through these hardships. I'm certainly a different person than I was just several weeks ago, and I also can see now what it will take to be a parent. A shit-ton of patience! And, being authentic.

Up next: "Mexico: the good side". Yes, it was not all this doom & gloom. I just wanted to save the lighter side for last.

Brother update

2010-04-09T02:01:00.000-07:00

Last week my brother went in for his usual MRI, and there were more growths that had developed and shown up on the test. Everybody was crushed.

He now has to go through a full body scan, which hasn't been scheduled yet. Maybe these new growths are just benign and stuff. One can hope, at least.

I called him to check in, since we hadn't talked in a while. He had just come back from an awesome spring break with his kids. It was wonderful to hear that they are still all so close, and spending so much time together. These precious times are numbered, as they are for us all, but especially for him & his family.

He said that the kids didn't remember he was sick anymore; they acted as if everything was back to normal. I sure hopeso, for their sake.

Other

2010-04-09T01:49:00.001-07:00

Been meaning to write about this for some time, but have had very little free time lately.

A few weeks back I met a guy through a mutual friend. He's a climber & a skier, a double-word score. So, I really wanted to meet him to see if he was as nice & wonderful as my pal said he was.

In the course of our first climbing date, the story of my family's cancer last year came up. He was visbily irritated. When I asked about his experiences with things like this, he launched into his personal saga about his uncle dying of a brain tumor, stage 4, several years ago.

It was touching that he opened up like this, and it was wonderful, albeit a kind of bummer, to hear his story. Towards the end, we talked about how we had each coped, etc. I told him about this blog, and also about other blogs I had read where people were dwelling in the pain & suffering & grief quite heavily. I explained to this person that I had to stop reading those because it kept me wallowing in the emotional mire, instead of moving on with my life. I told him how happiness was a choice every day, and that I wanted to choose happiness, instead of reading blogs that would influence me to choose unhappiness.

His reaction was certainly unexpected. "Well, there was nothing happy about my uncle dying. I couldn't find anything good that came out if it," he gruffed. Wah - I felt bad. It seemed like I stepped on his toes. But, later I realized I shouldn't have apologized. At the end of the day, there was no harm being done, and his reaction was about his own unresolved grief.

But, what it did teach me was to maybe keep my opinions to myself more. Everybody goes through a family tragedy like death by cancer differently. No one person has the same experience & emotional process as another. So, I realized that I was being pushy & opinionated (as usual), without being more compassionate that his experience might be different.

I let the moment go, and moved on, and continued to have a nice time climbing. But, it dawned me how lucky I am to be walking a spiritual path. By tapping into a power greater than me, these tragic family events have lost a lot of charge. I've come to accept mortality much better, both my brother's, my mom's, and my own.

Yet another wonderful lesson in humility and compassion. Again, I felt grateful for cancer entering into my life, for it's given me an opportunity to grow in ways I never imagined.

Old blog from March 2nd

2010-04-09T01:31:00.000-07:00

March 2nd, 2010 - An American in the Nuremberg Messe
Holy crud, it was cold this morning! Even the walk from the hotel door to the cab was painful. Then, I forgot my wallet, and needed to have the cab turn around & dash back to the hotel.

The previous day’s hangover had not cleared my brain, apparently. Yikes, I know I’m a lightweight these days, but I felt worse than a colleage three-day weekend consecutive bender. Even the elevator ride two floors down to the breakfast restaurant nearly made me dry-heave. This aging thing creeps up on you when you least expect it, I tell you…

When we arrived at the convention center, there were several other conferences, and no signs whatsoever on where my taxi should go for my conference. Many zigs and zags later, we finally arrived at the conference entrance. However, I had forgotten to register for the show. Overcoming this hurdle by simply asking for an exhibotrs pass to my compoany’s booth (which was given to me with no ID check at all – hello) , I hi-tailed it into the show floor. I was met with a maze like plastic canopy over several walkways into enormously large show halls, that were all interconnected with additional maze hallways. Could it get any worse? How is it possible to have two examples of poor German engineering in one trip? I was starting to lose my faith in the stereotype.

Nevertheless, I made it to the booth just in time for my first of about 300 meetings in the next 2.5 days. What I quickly learned from my colleagues was the important cultural bias of Germans to meet face-to-face to do business. Boy, they weren’t kidding. As conferences wane in attendance in the US and most other places in the world, they are alive and kicking in Germany. The only show I could recall being as busy was at a LinuxWorld many years back when we gave away a plush toy in the shape of our logo, and every geek and their mother wanted one for their kids back home.

The other interesting part, was that although I requested most of these meetings, it was the companies themselves that told us what they wanted. This was an interesting phenomenon. So much for the hours I spent on the meeting briefs for the executives. Many occasions our agenda was just thrown out the window, as we tried to corral the talks into something more friendly & less demand-focussed.

At the end, my feet were crying so hard they were wet from tears, not sweat. Yet my colleagues insisted I attend the show afterparty, where they said people would dance like it was 1999. After the 3rd Brazilian bossanova jazz standard, something told me the dancing would not quite be up to expectations this year. However, the bonus was that I could eat & escape early using the mellow music as an excuse. This almostworked until, just as we were walking out, a colleague was hi-jacked by some old workmates, who proceeded to grill him for another 45 minutes on some hot burning issue, clearly.

As I was weighing the options of public humiliation versus the excruciating pain of keeping my shoes on, he broke free and scrambled for the exit without anyone else he knew seeing him. If I had known him better, I would have harassed him & made him buy me a drink the next day, but he seemed like one of those super shy & uptight German geek dudes who spend half-an-hour with the lint brush before walking out in the morning. Sweet guys, but hard-pressed to release the sphincter.

Safely on our way out from the booth, I almost began to skip down the show steps at the thought of being so close to my hotel bed, and shoeless feet. Then my collegues had to steady me from feinting when they interpreted what the security guard told us: the taxi stand is a block or so up the street on the left. Only a 3-minute walk. Yeah, 3-minutes for a non-crippled person.

It’s amazing how the will to impress Europeans that Americans are not whiny cry-babies when we don’t get what we want can bring about stoicism in even the most painful bi-pedal moments. Choking back an urge to scream like the famous Edvard Munch painting, I carried on to the taxi stand, where the only taxi there pulled away 30 seconds before we arrived. Steady now, steady.

Just a few minutes later another taxi arrived, and I was on my way, having successfully held back a complete 5-year-old meltdown. Partly it was the kindness of my Eurpoean colleagues. Despite what people say about the excellent public transit and infrastructure in Euroipe, travel chaos seems to occur often enough that many Europeans have a higher tolerance for inconveniences like no taxis to a hotel on the outskirts of town when it’s –15F at night. Bless their sselfless crowded-city hearts for it.

Old blog from February 27th

2010-04-09T01:18:00.000-07:00

February 27th, 2010 – An American in The Frankfort Airport

It’s been several years since I travelled internationally, and this is the first time for business. Arriving late into the Frankfort airport resulted in a shoving match and apologetic line jumping through bookou customs and security, and the 100 meter dash to the very last gate at the very last terminal of the airport, only to have missed my connection.

Germans are so well known for their engineering and design, that when met with a poorly designed facility one is shocked, if not down-right flabbergasted. The space in-between gates at Frankfort airport is about a quarter mile for every gate. At least, that’s how it felt when I was juggling two coats and a giant bag with a laptop to my gate. Additionally, the moving walkways were lifted above the main floor by a foot, and only as long as half the distance in-between the gates. It was like running up & down speed bumps on steroids. It completely slowed me down, yet the lack of stamina to persevere on the hard airport tile floor kept directing me back to the moving speed bumps. Wish I had kept up that treadmill practice…

Nevertheless, all was not lost. It turns out my connecting flight was Business Class – woohoo! I got to sit in the Business Class lounge, away from the riffraff, and watch the Winter Olympics on German TV to my heart’s content. The best part was the monitors were on silent. In fact, the lounge was about as quiet as a library in a school for the deaf. I had forgotten how Germans, and many other Europeans, are very quiet, soft-spoken people. No loud blathering on about marketing projects, and sales figures from egotistical businessmen (and I say men for good reason) in this place.

But, wait! What’s that I hear? It’s the lowered English murmurings of several American businessmen griping about their crappy little tech company, while simultaneously trying to pump their meager penises into giant baseball bats of power. At least it was at a decibel that could pass as mouse scratchings, which is what it was equivalent to in value.

No matter, for it was time for another mad dash to my connecting gate. I thought I had left enough time, but forgot the quarter-of-a-football field length in-between gates. My arrival was met with delays because a gigantic storm had blown in anyway. No worries, away to the Business Class lounge where beef broth, snacks, and tea awaited.

After several more delays resulted in cancellation, the only thing I cared about was getting to a TV in time to watch the Canada vs USA men’s ice hockey final at the Vancouver Olympics. My chipper attitude did not wane, as I knew I’d see the game somehow.

I elected to try the train station, which was equally as much a madhouse as the airport. Apparnetly the storm was so bad, it collapsed a wall or ceiling at the long-distance train station at the airport, and prevented most trains from leaving the main station anyway. This was highly irregular for Germany. My conclusion is that one or even two crises can be handled with ease. But, throw 3 or more consecutive crisis at a nation and all hell breaks loose. At lest there was no looting and pillaging, a dishonorable act indeed for a proud nation with many national social systems.

Grouping up with a lovely gal from Mexico & a faucet salesman from Lebenon, we stumbled our way through the chaos, into the main train station, and managed to find a train to Nuremberg. I elected to try & find a seat in the 1^st Class car, since my ticket allowed for it, but no luck. At least there was more room for my bag.

A kind German interpreted the ridiculously loud & incomprehensible public address system, where the announcers stated the didn’t know anything about every 10 minutes. Although the announcement when on for several minutes, our friend’s translation lasted only seconds. We all had a laugh at his ability to boil down the incomprehension.

Finally we were off, and despite my desire to stay awak to battle the jetlag, I conked out when a seat became available, only to wake up just in time, and forget to meet my Mexican friend. In my just awoken-stupor, I bee-lined for the taxi stand. Thankfully, I checked in & made it in time for the game, having only started 10 minutes earlier.

The rest of my night was consumed with wine drinking and ice hockey game watching, only to cry tears of sadness at our loss. After such a long & crazy day, preventing me from spending the afternoon with some friends in Nuremberg, I only had a USA hockey team silver to show for it. Wah.

Olympics

2010-03-01T22:54:00.000-08:00

It's amazing what the gold medal men's hockey round and a couple glasses of wine will do.

While traveling in Europe battling wind storms & mayhem to get to my destination, I finally arrive at the hotel about 15 min into the final game. Immediately all politeness goes out the window, and I implore the hotel staff to turn on the game on the bar TV. "What the hell, I'll have a glass of wine to celebrate making it to my hotel & the game", I thought.

After all my yelling, hooting & hollering at the screen with saves, scores, and near-misses, eventually a fellow conference-goer joins me. By then, the glasses of wine consumed are double, and we are chattering like fools. But, it did help to take away the sting of the OT loss. It was partly hard to cry, because one of my favorite Blackhawks players scored the first Canadian goal.

Still, I truly thought we had a shot after the "miracle" goal at 24 seconds left in the third. That was truly unbelievable!

Anyway, as we began to drown our sorrows in the third glass of wine (mind you I really don't drink & have zero tolerance), I mention this very blog to my hockey compatriot. It turns out, he had a sister die of cancer at 38 years old!

He himself said cancer is everywhere, and it can strike at a moment's notice, with no regard for age, race, location, etc. Despite the pain he went through, I was so grateful he shared his story with me. It reminds me of the strength a person achieves when they have endured watching the suffering of a loved one. It reminded me of my quest for a new career, to move into an area that is less about the bottom line and more about the filling of hearts.

It also reminded me of something I don't consciously think about on a daily basis: my mom & my brother will die. It may not be tomorrow, it may not be the next day, but it will happen. It may not even be the cancer that takes them, but there will come a day when they are no longer with us.

It was a very humble reminder that all our days are numbered, and that we never know when our cosmic pink slip will be issued.

When people meet me, they don't understand why I have so much energy, why I get fired up over a hockey game, why I feel so passionately about the gargantuan efforts of Olympic athletes, or why I talk on & on about the killer climb I did last weekend. They don't understand why I spend 3 days camping in the woods in the middle of winter, or the thrill of the powder run we nailed on the Day 2 hike.

They clearly don't understand that I live. I live each day, each moment. It's the times when I push my body to its limits, when I push my mind beyond the edges of its comfort zone, that I feel most alive. The times when I can be of service are the most beautiful, like caring for my mom while she was in her treatment.

People tell me I'm crazy to be willing to move in with my mom when her chemo is done, since she can't afford a long-term care facility. But, what else could I do? Even though it might be two steps away from hell, the opportunity to be of service to her and her failing body is not something I could pass up. It gives me the gift of humility. It's what has helped me to be cheerful & happy & polite & friendly to all those I have met in Europe, even when stranded in Frankfort for 10 hours. (When I finally reached the airport ticket counter for my train transfer, the first thing I did was thank the attendant lady for her help. It made her smile & feel good. Such a simple thing!)

When my hockey buddy got embarrassed a few times telling me his story, I told him about the fellow I met at the climbing gym, only weeks after returning from caring for my mom, and the fantastic support we offered each other as his dad was dying. I told him that sometimes cancer is like an odor, and all those that have seen it, been through it, and survived, come away with a stink that just won't wash off. Others with the same smell are oddly attracted to one another.

So, we carry on. Today is the first of two jam-packed days of meetings. It's so nice to be out of the office and actually doing my job, which is talking to people & making friends. I just hope I can put these skills to use for a bigger cause someday soon.