Moments

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My oncologist is straight with me. He tells me the truth. I have made it clear that I want it that way.

I have stage IV colon cancer, and I have been in remission now for over a year.

So during my oncology appt today I asked him, “I know my cancer is a slow grower. It has stayed dormant before and then begun to grow after almost a year.” I already knew the answer to my question. “How likely is it that the cancer is staying dormant right now while I’m in remission, and will begin to grow again in the future?”

He said in his caring voice, “It’s very likely. But I have two colon cancer patients, stage IV, who are now years past their diagnosis. One is seven years out, no sign of disease.”

So once again I am faced with this prognosis: there is hope, but it’s not very likely. But it can happen.

So I can’t sleep.

It sounds to me like I am probably going to die from this cancer…but maybe–although it’s a stretch–maybe not.

Whom do I talk with about this? Cliff is worn out and needs sleep, the kids don’t want to talk about it and they aren’t my counselors anyway, I will wear out my friends if I talk about this stuff over and over. Everybody is too close. And I don’t have a counselor right now. So I am writing about it.

I paint too. Maybe all this sadness about dying a little too soon will find its way into an abstract painting one day. (Well, that will make it all worthwhile….)

It’s weird to think that in a year or two I could be not here with my family, but instead cremated and scattered.

Or I could be one of those oncology patients still walking around, and people are thinking, “What, she’s still here?”

It could happen.

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Painting

I took up painting over a year ago, then stopped during the summer of 08. In June 08 I was diagnosed with stage IV cancer and underwent surgery. Chemo in the fall and winter. Then during chemo I picked up art again and began learning in earnest.

Since people have asked to see what I do, I’ll post my work here now and then. I don’t have a particular style yet, as you will see; I’m all over the map. I’m drawn to abstract art, but so far I haven’t done much of that. Anyway, I’m so enjoying the challenges that I encounter in art.

I am just learning…about creativity, about process, about art in general. I love looking at other artists’ work. I absorb so much, and I enjoy seeing how they used color (or didn’t use it) and how they decided to compose the painting.

During my sixth colonoscopy earlier this month, my surgeon removed a flat polyp. No cancer, though! He’s keeping a close watch, and I am still on an annual colonoscopy schedule.

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The wall

A couple of weeks ago my niece visited from Boston. We drove her through Rocky Mountain National Park and came home through Winter Park.

I think it was in Winter Park where we found this little climbing wall in a children’s outdoor park. The wall is about twice the height of an adult, and children climb it with their parent spotting them.

Well, as an adult, I would never have thought to climb this children’s wall.  But my plucky niece, who is 20, clambered right up it.

So then I wondered if I could do it. Let’s see…stage IV cancer, recovering from 12 rounds of chemo – did I have what it takes anymore?

I decided to find out. (You can see a child with his parent in the background, as the wall is meant to be used.)

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The beginning


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The triumphant conclusion







































This breathtaking feat gave me enough confidence to consider another sport: kayaking. More about that later.


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Our path

Ann on the path

Ann hiking

 

Isn’t it interesting that each of us has to find our own unique path in the world. Even with the billions of people who have lived on this earth, none of us has had exactly the same course of our life.

 

I guess with all the variables in a lifetime and with the changes from generation to generation, this isn’t all that surprising. Still…

 

…it makes each person’s quest unique — for meaning, for peace, for survival. Sometimes we lead long lives and sometimes short lives. But if we have the time and the ability, we can question and perhaps find the route we would like to go.

 

For me, the answers have become simply being, resting in quietness and enjoying the richness and simplicity of each moment.

 

But I no longer lead a hectic life. My children are grown, my marriage is happy, and I left my hospice chaplain job. Life slowed down after my diagnosis of stage IV cancer, and my life took a different turn.

 

I decided to give a lot more time to creative and outdoor activities. I began sketching, painting, and walking and hiking more.

 

I love the time that I have.

 

 

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In the mountains

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Me on the trail

I have been enjoying my “time off” since chemo ended in early January, although I’m still receiving one drug every other week. It has taken my body quite a while to recover from the heavy-duty chemo; I’m not there yet and am learning to live with the chemo after-effects that still remain. If they improve with time, great. In the meantime, I will keep enjoying my life.

My hair grew in a tad curlier than before. The older I get, the curlier my hair gets. I can’t believe I used to have perfectly straight hair when I was young.


I have PET/CT scan scheduled for early September.


A friend and I drove to Rocky Mountain National Park yesterday to hike and sketch. We packed a lunch and art supplies – various kinds of colored pencils and watercolors – and hit the trail to two lakes. Yes, I made it, and with an 18-pound pack!


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Nymph Lake

I will never carry so much again. All I really need for art is a sketchpad, an eraser, and a couple of pencils – no color. I do need my camera, always.


In addition to an excess of art supplies, I toted heavy lunch portions of way too many veggies and grapes, which are full of water. (And I also carried in [but not out] three trays of ice cubes to keep the food cool!) We had enough bottled water and didn’t need more water in the food.


But we made it and had such a wonderful time! One of the lakes had water lilies in it with yellow blooms. Gorgeous place.

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Tuesday

Today I have my infusion of my med and an appointment with my local (as in within a 15 minute drive) oncologist. I’m looking forward to talking with him. I have some deficits from the chemo that I suspect I’ll have to learn to live with. That’s okay.

I have had so much fun with art lately, trying different things. My art lesson was postponed until tomorrow, so I painted for quite a long time yesterday and would like to get back to it today before my appt.

The cat’s chin is on my arm, bobbing up and down, as I type. I type quickly, so sometimes his head is almost vibrating. Why does he enjoy that, I wonder?

Maybe it’s like babies falling asleep on car rides. The rhythmic activity is lulling.

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CT eve

It’s been a good week, although I’ve needed to keep reminding myself to breathe and be peaceful. My CT scan is tomorrow morning. Hopefully, I’ll know the results on Friday afternoon.

Because I felt better about the scan, I was able to enjoy a hike on Saturday with Cliff, and we went for a bike ride on Sunday. When I do those kinds of things, I’m exhausted for the rest of the day. But it’s so wonderful to exercise outside that it’s worth it.

I’ve been doing rough sketches this past week. I took a long fireplace-style matchstick and dipped it in ink and drew with it. It’s hard to control but certainly loosens you up! I sat on a blanket on the lawn in the shade, nestled the ink bottle in among the grass blades, and drew. Nice way to spend part of the afternoon.

The cat is asleep on my forearms as I type, so I’ll quit now, as this is getting uncomfortable (although the cat is snoozing quite comfortably — his head bobs up and down as I type).

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Chemo completed

cpmd-cabbage-104Source of my peace
   Spring of my joy
As always, I find your presence
   within myself
      and drink deeply of your hope.

Listening within, waiting, I have regained hope and happiness. Life is different now, to be sure, but again I reach into myself and the tranquility that has been worked within me over the years, and I rest in this sacred dwelling pace for love and peace.

Today—well, yesterday now, as it is 2:40am on Friday—I finished my twelfth and final round of chemo. I am so happy.  No more tubes and pumps, at least for a while. As the fatigue wears off, I will be able to start exercising, in earnest this time. “Listen to your body!”  the oncologists emphasize. I will listen, I promise.

But it’s hiking again, back to the gym and the elliptical, long walks with the dog as weather permits (and it often does), walks interspersed with race-walking (approved by the oncologists), and bicycling (with Cliff, in case of balance mishap).

It will be a couple of weeks—as this weeks’ chemo runs its two-week course—before I do much.  Still, it’s exciting to think about and start working up to day by day.

Thank you ALL for your support!!!!!  And thank you, my heartlings — Joanna’s and Evan’s friends — including Douglas in Paraguay.

Well of joy, spring forth!

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Kindness

Yesterday Cliff and I were at Petsmart choosing a little Christmas toy for our dog. Cliff wandered off toward the dog treat aisle.

I stayed up front, squatted down to look at an item on the lower rack, then lost my balance. I put out my arm to catch myself, but I didn’t have enough arm strength or leg strength to stop my fall. I rolled to the floor on my back in my winter jacket, sort of slowly, helplessly.

I am beyond being embarrassed these days. My body does not seem to be my own anymore.

A young clerk hurried over and helped me up. I thanked him, told him I was on chemo and a little weak. He said his grandfather finished chemo and it seems to have cured his cancer.

It was kind of him to share that. He didn’t make a big deal of anything – just talked for a moment to make sure I was okay.

It’s hard to get used to being weaker when I’ve always been strong. I am hoping that my body will recover at least some of its strength after chemo ends in January.

In the meantime, I am grateful for gracious strangers who lend a helping hand.

Thanksgiving joy

Here are the leaves I collected on my walk on Tuesday. I am partial to red!

I’m doing so much better since I stopped receiving Oxaliplatin, the drug that caused most of my neuropathy, in my chemo regimen. The side effects from this drug after eight rounds were miserable, and now that I’m off it, they are fading rapidly. I still have other chemo side effects, but none as nasty as the neuropathy.

Today is Thanksgiving, and it is a lovely day. Cliff and the kids are home, snoozing happily upstairs. Most of the Thanksgiving preparation has been done ahead of time with Joanna’s help and the contributions of my kindly friends. We will mosey along getting the rest done today and eat whenever it’s ready!

It’s very peaceful today. I hope you have a delightful Thanksgiving, full of gratitude for the days of your life and for the love surrounding you and within you!

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