Just kick up

Here is the full pose of handstand, urdhva mukha svanasana in Sanskrit. I practice against a wall, not free-standing as shown here.

I had been practicing yoga for several months but had never attempted this pose -- it seemed to scary and I didn't think I had the arm strength. In the summer of 1994 my dad's cousin Jim and his wife Karin visited my aunt's house in Cape Cod. Jim and Karin are yoga teachers, among their other professions. We were in the sun room practicing together. Jim said, let's do some handstands. I said I'd never even tried and was afraid I'd collapse in a puddle on the floor. He said, "you're strong, you can do it, just kick up". Lo and behold, I set my palms firmly on the floor as he instructed me, straightened my arms, lifted one leg as high as possible, bounced on the bent leg, and up I went. I will never forget how empowering that was. I came down, flushed with excitement, and he said, "see, I knew you could do it. Now try the other side."

The last few days my practice has taken on new juice. I feel very strong again. Shayna has inspired me. Yesterday I held dog pose for 3 minutes. I attempted a full backbend - I am now able to get my palms flat on the floor and can push up a few inches, limited by my right brea(che)st. Last time I tried, I couldn't get my right palm flat on the floor. I feel enormous progress. I will commit to doing handstands every day. I want to stay as strong as possible for as long as possible. I am grateful to all my teachers over the years, and dedicate my practice to my own well being as well as to that of others. May we all be healthy and strong. I also hope to get back to teaching prenatal yoga which I have been doing since 2001. I stopped in September and really, really miss it.

Last night at the wedding the officiant read a beautiful passage from Dante that I will track down. I'd never heard it before, but the theme was the power that is generated when love-filled souls come together. Truly inspiring, truly beautiful.

Josh sent the following poem a few days ago.

"In Spite of All"

In spite of all the heated breath,
The angry skies and stormy seas;
In spite of passions ripe and hot
That flicker through the mind
And trot around each other
Blind and fraught, (furied, signifying naught),
In spite of this and all of these;
In spite of all the agitations,
The greed and lust,
The confrontations;
In spite of all the heat that's spent,
I know in truth I am content.

A falling leaf spins through the air
And through my open window where
It lands upon my lap --
"Oh joy! A wish! A wish.... a wish?"

Nothing to wish for,
Not a thing.
My head's a blank, an empty ring;
Nothing stirring there, no waves,
Like the clear and empty blue that paves
A still and peaceful ocean sky,
The silence between you and I.

Silence in the midst of change,
A silence beautiful and strange,
Silence in the forest deep
Where chickens scratch and lizards creep,
Where crickets ring and night-birds call,
Silence deep -- in spit of all.

-Ajahn Amaro

Handstands for Shayna

Here is a photo that Mark took on Thanksgiving morning. I am doing a preparation for handstand.

Yesterday I warmed up thoroughly, worked on more of the preparations, and visualized doing the full pose. I called Mark up to my practice area, asked him to spot me, and WHHHOOSH, I went right up into the full pose. I felt strong and light. There was definitely a lot of pull through my right chest, but it was beautiful and exhilarating. I did a second pose for good measure, more confidently, kicking up with the left leg this time. When I came down, I knealed on my mat and cried tears of joy. I am so, so grateful that I can continue to be strong in my body. I know that it won't last "forever" but for now my practice is just delicious. I will see Shayna for her birthday party tomorrow but will have to wait until Tuesday to practice handstands with her. I told my sister that we'll have to work on Shayna's arm and core strength and we both have a good laugh, as both my sister, brother and I tend to be a little belly-soft. We hope Shayna doesn't pick up that belly-soft gene.

Yesterday I made an appointment for Wednesday to see The Vixen. She will start me on Tomaxifin and a monthly hormone injection to suppress the ovaries. The plan is not to do any chemotherapy, now or in the future. I've been wondering about that a lot -- in a way I am happy not to undergo that difficult treatment, but at the same time I wonder -- should I?? The last time we met, she said that I/we would have to make a decision about whether to do an aggressive treatment, or to take the palliative route. She presented my case to a large audience last week and the concensus (with no exception) was to go the palliative route. But by not doing it, am I a "lost cause"? I will discuss this with her on our next visit.

We will drive back to the city today to attend a late-afternoon wedding. I just love weddings. What's not to love? To celebrate Love. Today's celebrants are Kande and Mike. Kudos!!

Oh, and a word about blog privacy. Please feel free to send this to whoever you like. No restrictions; just not at my clinic or hospital system where I work. I was upset last week that the link was being passed around at my work site without permission. That made me angry. At work I want to maintain a semblance of professionalism and privacy. I told my close friends at work about the blog and am happy that they have it. I knew when I set it up that it was open and I did not want to password it. Many people have since asked me about the privacy issue. So I hope that clarifies my preference for privacy at work. Otherwise I feel that this is my personal story yet at the same time it is OUR story. My initial idea was that this blog would keep family and friends updated but I am also very happy that those beyond my immediate circle find it interesting, inspiring and informative. Pass it on!

Here is a poem that Lucy sent a few weeks ago.

Days

Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.

Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow

on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.

No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday

you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.

Prayer for the World

Today's image is by Deborah Garner (www.deborahgarnercollection). It is a photo of her altar. She sent it a few weeks ago and said, "this is from my "Prayer for the World" series; may it be a symbol of all the prayers being sent your way by so many." Deborah is one of the team members going to China in a few weeks.

We are now at our beloved farm in the hills. I've missed it, as last weekend we were in NJ. It's below freezing, gray, no leaves on the trees. How I wish I could tromp around in the woods today, but I'll wait until the ortho people say it's OK. Things are looking so promising now that I don't want to do anything foolish like fall off a log and further fracture my hip. It's actually really hard for me to do as I am told. I am quite rebellious (still, at this age) and am surprised that (so far) I have done exactly what the doctors have told me to do.

Lucy gave me a fun-loving big-bellied Buddha for my altar yesterday. It was beautiful to sit there last night with a candle-lit meditation. Lulu was in Beijing a few months ago and brought back a beautiful scroll painting. We will hang it up today next to the altar.

Since walking is out (for today), I look forward to spending time in my studio upstairs. I have finished the China tags so will deliver them to Deborah today. I haven't had the juice to paint over the last few months, but have been working on collage. I'm not sure why, exactly. I like collage, too. I like the intimate scale and the found-object juxtaposition . But now I find that I have been missing the smell and feel of oil paint.

I feel great physically. My yoga practice is getting stronger. I have stopped the formal physical therapy as I have returned almost completely to baseline. I now incorporate it into my regular daily practice. The other day Shayna said, "auntie, I want to learn to do handstands." She has never asked me to teach her before although we often fool around with the props. That was Tuesday when The Vixen told me the cancer had metastasized. I was thinking that I would never be able to do handstands again and would never be able to teach her. I felt such grief. But after they said the hip can be healed, I found myself in handstand preparation poses yesterday. My right arm is still tight in that position as it's weight-bearing. I have yet to go up into the full position, but it's now within sight. I had Mark take a photo of me yesterday which I will post another time.

What I learned from that is WATCH YOUR THOUGHTS. Nothing changed between Tuesday and Wednesday except someone's opinion of my situation. My body didn't strengthen overnight. I had been having horrible images of being in a wheelchair, fractured bones throughout my body, my death bed. Well guess what, I'm not there yet.

When I got that diagnosis, I felt I'd been read a "death" sentence. I was thinking, I may only be on this planet for a few more years. I won't live to see the angels grow up. But you can also think of it like a "life" sentence. I have the opportunity to WAKE UP, to be fully alive now. Please take this in context, but in some ways it's a gift to me and to all of us involved in this story. When I meditate, I meditate. When I practice yoga, I am present to sensation and possibility. When I make art, I am engaged and happy. Our parents were both killed in accidents. They had no time to prepare. I have an exceptional opportunity and will take advantage of this wake-up call.

Tattoo You

Here is a photo that my sister took of me and the 3 angels on Tuesday night.

What a week. Last night I slept about 11 hours and feel fully refreshed and energized again. Mark has been so stressed that he developed a nasty head cold. He's feeling much better, too. And it's Thanksgiving.

In my younger, cynical years, I dreaded the family tradition of going around the table and saying what we were grateful for. It seemed so Polly-anna-ish and saccharine sweet. I would say something very quick then feel embarrassed on behalf of what everyone else said with husky voices and moist eyes. What a brat. In more recent years, my aunt didn't initiate it anymore, so I took over that role. I grew to love it and cherish it and when the younger generation wanted to opt out, I understood. Today we will spend the day with Lucy and Rick in beloved western Mass at their farm. It will be a race to see who can light the candles first, reach out our hands and bow our heads in gratitude. As many of you have written, Thanksgiving takes on a new meaning for many of us this year.

Yesterday was not only a consultation, but a "plan" as well. In our house, we joke a lot about the word "plan". Do you remember the scene in "Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome" where 2 guys are escaping Barter Town when Mad Max asks the driver, "what is the plan?" The crazed driver responds, "plan? There ain't no plan." For the last few months I've felt Mad Max, hurtling down a railroad track that you know just ends. Crash. Burn. End. So now I finally feel like there is a plan. I was taken into a CT scan room and using some sort of GPS technology that coordinate a big laser on the ceiling and a hand-held wand (complete with a computer voice), the tech marked me up with magic marker (that will fade) and a few permanent tattoos. The tattoos look like freckles. One on each outer hip and one near the site of the bone biopsy which is on the inside of my front hipbone. The greater trochanter. (Maybe I should get real tattoos when this is over?! A cartoon image of Mad Max is a good candidate.) These tattoos allow precision for the radiation. I'm told each visit will be about 20 minutes although Thursday will be a little longer as it will be the first treatment.

Last night I also got a call from the meditation center. I had emailed Narayan on Tuesday as she had asked me to, and the office called to offer me another interview with her on Wednesday. I feel so well taken care of! The metta practice is amazing. I feel like I am in such good hands with her, that she will guide me through this. It feels like a true partnership -- my intuitive sense of what I need to do mirrors her recommendations. And visa versa. I knew that she was my teacher from the moment she walked in the room back in mid-August.

You are all a blessing. Thank you.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Better than a hundred years

Better than a hundred years lived in vice, without contemplation, is one single day of life lived in virtue and in deep concentration.

Better than a hundred years lived in ignorance, without contemplation, is one single day of life lived in wisdom and in deep concentration.

Better than a hundred years lived in idleness and in weakness is one single day of life lived with courage and powerful striving.

Better than a hundred years not considering how all things rise and pass away is one single day of life if one considers how all things rise and pass away.

Better than a hundred years not seeing one's own immortality is one single day if one sees one's own immortality.

Better than a hundred years not seeing the Path supreme is one single day of life if one sees the Path supreme.

-- The Dhammapada, trans. by Juan Mascaro

from Everyday Mind, edited by Jean Smith

Good news -- at last

We could all use some good news at this point, right!?

Mark and I went to meet with the orthopedic oncologist today. We first met with the resident, Victoria Wang as pictured here. Then with the attending, Dr. Peter Mauch.
In a nutshell, they can basically heal my hip. I am so grateful, crying tears of joy. They will give me 28 radiation treatments starting Thursday November 4. They say the radiation should kill the tumor which is about 3cm by 1.5cm. He (Peter) describes it as well-contained and treatable. And most surprisingly, the bone will grow back over time. They will do 28 days rather than 10 days because they anticipate I will do well over the long-term. This is truly a healing in the making. I kind of thought I was toast and headed for the wheelchair.

He questions why I am on the crutches at all. I will see ortho next week and hopefully we can discontinue with them.

The Vixen just called to say that I will see her Wednesday for a monthly ovary suppression injection and to start Tamoxifen (pill form). This will bring on hot flashes and menopause. If I get terribly irritable I will have a good excuse. But that's about it.

This is the greatest gift I have ever received. I still carry the same scary diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer, but he says there are many cases of people living for long periods of time with no trouble. He said that at SOME POINT I will probably hear from it again, but of course no one knows. I will meet with The Vixen next week and will start the hormone therapy at the same time.

With this new plan, I will not be able to join my team in Shanghai but I am TOTALLY OK with that. They have booked tickets and will do us proud.

What a roller coaster ride. This feels like the first good news I've had in months.

Welcome to Stage IV breast cancer

The Vixen called today with the pathology report and it shows that the breast cancer has metastasized to my hip. Although I have been preparing for this, to get confirmation of your worst fear is devastating. Being The Vixen, there is a plan in place. Tomorrow I will meet with a radiation oncologist for a consultation, and probably start daily (5 days/week) radiation of the hip for 2 weeks. I'll also start the hormones next week, probably Tamoxifen. She said that I should book my tickets to China as there is just enough time to get this treatment done before I need to leave. Anyone want to take a 10+ day trip to Shanghai? I am hoping that the other 3 members of the team can do the trip and we can present at the Shanghai Museum of Modern Art as planned on 12/20. I just finished my 90+ tags this evening.

What this means statistically is that 40% of people with this diagnosis survive 3-5 years. 60% don't last that long. To live 10 years would be a very generous amount of time.

The phone has been ringing off the hook and this post hasn't gone out yet. If I don't call back for a while, I will eventually. It's hard to find words right now other than what I can write.

I had an interview last night with Narayan, my meditation teacher. She wanted to think about posting her photo on the blog, but let me take a few photos which Mark will print, one for each of my altars. The timing couldn't have been better. I feel like there's an easy connection with her. After all, she has been practicing metta and insight meditation for 30+years, so her heart is wide open. She encouraged me to send metta to self, benefactor and The Vixen. She asked me to let her know the biopsy result today as we may further adjust my practice. She called my path the "PhD" track at this point. She said that my greatest strength is this deep love that I have been experiencing. I told her about the experience in the redwood forest, and she said, "You were touching Love." She gave me a little white Buddha that fits in the palm of the hand, a bow and a warm hug as I left. I have a Friend on the Path.

So now that I know what is, I will really spend some time thinking about what's most important and how I want to spend my time. I will spend much more time giving gratitude for the many blessings of today, that's for sure. Amy brought over her 3 kids tonight, and we had a wonderful time. Shayna helped me finish the last few tags for China while the younger 2 played with the stamps and ink. What seems most important is my spiritual life. To be present to what is, which is not life as I'd like it to be, but life as it really is.

"Lost"

Wendy took this picture at sunrise on Whidby Island this morning as she waits with all of us. Today was a hard day, waiting for the cell phone to ring. I know The Vixen will call the moment she has the biopsy result and probably a team recommendation as well. For the first time in 45 days, I have little to say.

I've been on the crutches for a week now and my hip definitely feels stable. Much, much better.

Tonight I have an interview with my beloved meditation teacher, Narayan. If she gives permission, I will take a photo of her and you can see for yourself the beauty that she radiates.

Wendy sent this poem last week. It's by David Wagoner.

"Lost"

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made a place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren
If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you

Thank you Toisha

I just spoke to a friend who attended the prayer circle at Toisha's on Friday night. She said that it was a beautiful opportunity to sit in love in the company of others who were all sending blessings my way. This is yet another example of how so very fortunate I am. Thank you, Toisha, and all my dear friends who were able to attend. We were driving to NJ and I felt quite relieved of anxiety. My friend tells me that one of the meditations was to inhale in order to draw suffering away from me, and to exhale in order to send me blessings. Wow. Words fall short in expressing my gratitude of all who are praying for me in whatever way they do. The word "prayer" is loaded for many of us, but in whatever way it's done, I feel I am benefiting enormously. I don't know how I would handle this if it weren't for the years of spiritual practice, my teachers, family and friends old and new and even strangers who read this blog. Thanks so all of you.

Yesterday I got a call from the meditation center that Narayan as an opening for an interview on Monday night. This is a small miracle as I'm told it can take months to see her -- she's very much in demand. There was a cancellation and I must have called at just the right moment. I want to get some guidance about my practice, to make sure it's best suited to the current situation. Maybe sending metta to "the difficult person" isn't the best thing now, or maybe it's just right. Maybe I should be working on insight now and not so much metta. The one thing that I know is absolutely right is for me to pray for others with cancer. I now have 6 on my list. Cancer is an individual disease, but sees like a social disease as well. Unfortunately I am not the only one -- many of us need help. So that particular practice feels absolutely right. If you have someone in your life, I have capacity for some more!

This morning I also spoke to Joanie who made a beautiful offer. She is an artist (joanryanstudio.com) from East Boston. She offered to make a painting of me and my sister's 3 kids. I told my sister and Shayna (7) and we are all very excited to take some photos together so Joanie can get to work. I have attached one of her images in today's post. My sister's kids are the love of my life. I've called them "the angels" for years. When I was first diagnosed, one of my first thoughts was how much I want to live to see them grow up. They are wondrous creatures and a gift to the whole family.

So The Vixen should call tomorrow with the bone biopsy results. A part of me wishes I could have a big hit of that liquid valium again -- this is really hard, the waiting. The other part of me wants to experience absolutely everything as it arises. This would be called being fully alive, fully present, no matter what.

Clouds in your coffee

Mark has always spoiled me but now more than ever. He has always made coffee in the morning and brings it to me in bed on the weekends. Now that I'm on crutches (yes, I have been using them dutifully) he's even more solicitous. He does not want me walking around. Just now he asked, "is that enough clouds in your coffee?". It is a very uncomfortable feeling to need help -- hopefully this will be very short-lived and I can get off the crutches. I've always loved being a princess, but actually needing help is a totally different story. I usually hate to unpack the car when we travel, but now I wish I could carry the turkey-laden cooler and all the heavy stuff. My hip feels very stable, no discomfort or weakness. Maybe the 'bone juice' infusion I got on Wednesday is having some effect or maybe not walking around so much is helping. Or maybe it's a placebo effect -- I have enormous trust in whatever The Vixen says. She said the magic hip elixir would help avoid further cracks and would heal up this one.

Being at Mark's dad's house feels comforting. This is a place where nothing has changed since Mark was a kid. The neighborhood has changed over the decades from farmland to houses in the fields but inside the house, it's been the same over the last 8 years that I've been visiting. It used to bother me -- I felt claustrophobic and deadened here. The house is a living shrine to his mother who died in 2004. Nothing has been changed. Now it feels very different here. But then again, everything feels different.

I feel as if I'm living in two worlds, the physical and the metaphysical. It feels integrated but I feel more in the metaphysical than the physical at this point. When those terrible phone calls come or the hard news, I am SLAM -- right back in the physical. For example, when I returned to work on Monday, the site was in an uproar about our new parking assignments and how much we would have to pay per week. Understandable. I don't mean to be cavalier. But I didn't really care that much -- other than the fact that I was assigned off-site which was a bummer on crutches. A colleague very kindly switched spots so now I am close to the building. What used to upset me or tie me in knots doesn't anymore. The financial markets are crashing, talk of deflation, massive unemployment. Normally I'd be very upset about it all. It matters, but not like it used to.

When I was about 20, my paternal grandfather used to ask me, "honey, how is your relationship with God?". I couldn't relate at all to that question and since he was a very religious man, we didn't have much overlap. His interests were botany (he was an amateur but as a retiree he and my grandmother wrote a book about the wildflowers of central Florida), gardening and the Bible. At the time I was agonizing over what to major in while in college and my endless string of boyfriends. Not surprisingly (due to having grown up as well as my health situation), my interests have shifted towards his at this time. I would love to talk to him today about spirituality specifically. These days I'd have a lot to say about my relationship with God. It's really what occupies my thoughts.

I had a life-changing experience in 1997 as it relates to my spirituality. No one really knows about this, but it seems the time to share it. I was at a wedding in northern California. The ceremony took place deep in the redwood forest. The minister was saying some prayers so my eyes were shut as I listened. Suddenly I felt what can only be described as being in the presence of God. There seemed to be this barely discernible deep humming vibration and a sense of deep peace and presence. The energy shifted dramatically in such an amazing way. It's really indescribable so I am doing it no justice with words. In truth it terrified me so I didn't allow myself to stay with it very long, even though it was beautiful. It was just so unexpected and sudden. I had never experienced anything like it before or since. I have told very few people about it and it took years before I shared it at all. I was worried I was "crazy". What it left me with is an unshakable trust that God exists. It has stayed with me all these years and now that this situation has arisen, it gives me great comfort. I know that there is so much more than the physical world that we all live in. We all know that on some level but it's a blessing to experience it directly.

What is Yoga?

Wendy sent me the introduction to Eric Schiffmann's book, "Moving Into Stillness". I no longer have my copy as I lent it to a yoga student years ago and it never came back. Although it HAS come back to me -- the most important part of the book, which is his definition of yoga:

"The purpose of yoga is to facilitate the profound inner relaxation that accompanies fearlessness. The release from fear is what finally precipitates the full flowering of love. In this state you will love what you see in others, and others will love you for having been seen. This is the softened perception of the world that yoga promotes.

Therefore, the apparently simple benefits that accrue from the regular practice of yoga can change your life in very profound ways. Do not underestimate the value of being balanced, centered, and coordinated, of being strong and light, of being more flexible, without pain, experiencing the subsequent feelings of invisibility or transparency, and of being more sensitive.

Yoga will make you sensitive to the stillness, the presence, the hush, the peace of God. This deep inner stillness is at the core of your being. It is the ground, the joy of your being. The radiant peace you'll experience is what happens naturally when the creative energy of God is allowed to flow through you unobstructed."

When I read that introduction years ago, it didn't make much of an impression. Now it feels totally accessible and real. When I feel aligned internally, this is what I experience. When those difficult phone calls come, I lose contact with this peace and love inside. I remember Patricia Walden telling us years ago during our yoga teacher training that every minute you spend on the mat is like money in the bank. She was right! I am grateful for the years of spiritual practice that have made all this bearable.

When I practice yoga now, I feel extremely grateful that I can do my practice. It's not the "full" practice but in a sense it is the fullest practice possible. This morning as I did some modified sun salutations, I was grateful for the strength of my legs in tadasana and that I can stand unsupported. This thing with the crutches has been quite scary. I feel more stable in the hip as each day goes by. The Vixen said they can do radiation and the IV medication I took on Wednesday, and that I can re-gain the integrity of the bones. Do me a favor and say to your hips, "excellent job, well done". Don't take them for granted. (I also promised I would try not to "preach" in this blog.)

We are driving to New Jersey tonight to spend an early holiday with Mark's dad and brother. Since all treatment is on hold until we get the test results, I will not start chemo on Monday, if at all. I am feeling quite calm again.

I worked 4 days this week and was so touched by the generosity of the patients as well as the staff. (I feel badly for complaining on Monday but another personal blog rule is not to edit.) I was greeted this morning by a staff member who told me she lights a candle every time she goes to mass. She also thanked me for offering yoga classes at work many years ago. I had actually forgotten about that. Later in the day she dropped off a perfect orange on my desk, just because. We share a passion for fresh fruit and vegetables. Our patient population is very poor so any money spent is a real sacrifice. I received so many gifts this week! It was really beautiful. One of them brought in two wall hangings, one for the office and one for the office. The words were something like, "the only love you have is the love you share". That about sums it up, doesn't it?

Unique in every way

Unique in every way -- that's how The Vixen described me yesterday. Mark, my sister and I met with her at 4:30pm. I love so many things about her -- she is my kind of gal. She is super smart. Mark said he's never met a smarter doctor. She is very straight-forward. She is warm. I feel understood way beyond my patient role. I feel like she "gets" me. She said that my disease is unique. She's never seen a presentation like this. (See what I mean about the honesty part??). It's kind of hard to lay this out clearly so I will try my best.

We are waiting for the bone biopsy. It could be 1 of 3 things: some weird thing like an infection, a stress fracture. It could also be a totally different kind of cancer. Believe it or not, that would be good. Bone cancer is curable. Metastasized breast cancer is what she calls treatable but not curable. If it indeed metastasized breast cancer, it's most likely in many places in my body already. We are not jumping to conclusions, just going on her expertise. The biopsy result will be definitive.

In the very near future I/we will need to make the most important decision of my life which is how to treat. She says that we could do the aggressive chemo, radiation and such but that there is no known benefit in terms of longer survival. I would suffer the horrors of the treatment and the typical outcome might be about the same if we were to do the less aggressive treatment. Less aggressive would be to start radiating the hip and then take the hormones until they no longer work. She says that it would be more like a chronic disease with new plateaus as the years pass. She said she will consult with her team of 18 breast oncologists at the Dana Farber to get some guidance on others' experience. My sister had done some research and asked if 3-5 years was a good estimate. The Vixen thought more like 10 years. It's anyone's guess but she's got the expertise. Do you think I could get enlightened in that much time?

Another wild thing is that she said I might be able to do the China trip after all. If I'm not doing chemo, there's no reason not to go. Our assigned date at the Shanghai Museum of Modern Art is 12/20. We are invited to arrive 12/15 and we'd stay a week or so to do our program. I'm still working on my tags and will post an image of a few here.

She hugged us as we all walked out. I just can't say enough good things about her. I feel so lucky that my PCP hooked me up with her.

We will talk Monday when the results should be in.

I have pretty much stopped crying for now. It was about 48 hours straight. Yesterday morning I was sobbing in a fetal position on the floor as Mark held me. The scariest part for me would be to lose mobility now. My favorite activity might be hiking if not snow shoeing. I used the crutches dutifully all day as the Vixen insisted. She is tough, too.

After the consultation she sent me upstairs for a 15 minute infusion of a drug that starts with a "Z" that will provide some protection to my bones.

Other news today is that I called the Cambridge Insight Meditation Center and left a message for my beloved meditation teacher, Narayan. Much to my surprise, I got a call back from the Center to say that she might be able to see my tomorrow. Again, another example of people being so wonderful. I want to check in to see if my practice should shift at this point. I LOVE metta practice and think I'm on the right track but wonder about more of wisdom path at this point? I'm also in touch with John Friend my yoga teacher which is a real support.

I am holding up. The strangest thing happened last night during the consultation with the Vixen. That feeling of peace that's been absent for a little bit now inexplicably returned. I was once again filled with a feeling that no matter what comes, I will be OK. My body might not be OK, but my deepest self will be fine. That feeling has lingered since then. I think maybe because she has a very loving presence. She has said to me many times that whatever it is, she will help me. Bless her.

bone biopsy today

The drugs must be wearing off as I'm crying again. This morning we checked into Brigham and Women's Hospital (gratefully not the ER again) for the bone biopsy. Here is a photo of the bone radiologist Dr. Kevin Carter and nurse Virginia. And me. They gave me good drugs, so I didn't cry for a few hours. Versad is a type of Valium. I can seriously understand for the first time how you could get addicted to prescription drugs. I felt great for a few hours there. The procedure itself was not nearly as bad as anticipated. Just a little pressure at times as he drilled into the hip bone (inferior, superior something or other). The big knob on the front of your pelvis. Once he was done, I asked to see the instruments. He went in quite deep, several inches anyway. He took 3 samples which will take at least 3 days to evaluate as in the lab they leech the calcium out of the bone. Then examine the tissue that remains. This will be a definitive diagnosis if I indeed have cancer. There are a few other options for what it could be, but unlikely. It could be trauma (did I fall off a horse this summer??); osteoporosis or a stress fracture. The way I walk (fast, aggressive)... could it be?

At this point I am terrified. I am supposed to use crutches to avoid creating a bigger fracture. I am so stupid in a way -- strong-willed -- whatever. Sunday we did our usual 4 mile walk. We did it Saturday, too. Monday night I went food shopping and carried in heavy bags. Sunday I did my balance yoga practice which included lots of 1-legged poses. I could have done some serious damage, inadvertently.

From what I understand, bone cancer is not curable but is containable. What scares me the most is being unable to do what I love the most which is basic movement and activity. I like to do it all with the exception of down hill skiing. Other than that, I love it all. Before all this scan stuff came up, Mark said he was having terrible visions of me in a wheelchair. Whatever comes, I know that eventually I will move into acceptance but I am no where near that now. I am not hoping for a miracle, either.

This morning meditation was really hard. I cried through the 10 minutes of sending metta to myself but was more focused while sending to Narayan, my "benefactor". This week I changed my "difficult person" to someone other than my uncle. It was most interesting, my emotional reaction to sending her the "goodies". I felt angry -- why does she get the health and strength, the peace and love? At the very end of yoga practice, I always offer gratitude and ask for healing for other cancer people. (I've done the gratitude part for years, but praying for cancer people is a new thing since my diagnosis. If you know anyone, I'd be happy to put them on my personal prayer list.) Today I asked God if he is listening. I am on so many prayer lists (thank you so much Toysha for organizing a prayer circle on Friday -- that is an amazing offer) that God must be listening to some of us!

We have an appointment with The Vixen at 4:30 today. My sister will go with us. She is so incredibly smart, that oncologist. I will start a monthly treatment today to fortify the bones due to the calcium leakage. I don't entirely get it, but I'm sure she will explain fully today. I know that the overall treatment will be different if I have a metastases to the bone and since the results won't be available for several days, that leaves us in the unknown. However, The Vixen will probably have some brilliant idea, maybe plan A or plan B.

I hope to work tomorrow and Friday. It was weird working yesterday afternoon. In a way it was good to be out of my own situation, but I also wasn't very present for the patients. I showed up physically but am having a hard time concentrating.

Night in the ER

We got to the ER last night around 9pm and were seen about midnight. I got x-rays which is kind of funny as it's the lowest level scanning technology. I got that to determine whether I had a huge fracture. I was seen by an orthopedic surgeon. Another IV put in with plenty of blood draws and an IV bag. Of possible concern is a slightly elevated calcium which the orthopod said could indicate bone cancer with bone breakdown, releasing calcium into the blood stream. That freaked me out, the idea of my bones disintegrating. Maybe I shouldn't ask so many questions if I don't want to hear the answer. The upshot of a very long night (we got home at 4am) is that there is an acetubular fracture. That means that in the ball and socket of the hip, there is a tiny fracture in the socket. I was sent home on crutches and told to take it easy. I never know what that means exactly, as she also said I could go to work if I don't walk too much.

My PCP called at 7am and woke us up. She got the ER report and worried that I had fallen. She will call The Vixen to try to understand what is happening. She does not hide her shock and upset over my situation. That actually feels nice, her warmth. I remember calling her the night I got home from the mastectomy. I was high on the drugs and called her to say "thank you" for diagnosing me so quickly and getting me the care I so needed. I apologized about that this morning, and she laughed. She was the first provider I saw when all this happened in August.

The orthopod doesn't think I will need surgery as it's an impossible place to operate. The only way in there is for a hip replacement. She thinks that it is cancer but could best be treated by radiation. So now I will add orthopedic oncology to the list of providers. They will do the biopsy which should be scheduled this week. It then takes a week to evaluate the findings.

I am exhausted but can't sleep anymore.

This has escalated so quickly that again, it's hard to absorb. My mind is reeling through negative scenarios and it's hard to not do that. I cried most of the time we were in the ER. I am losing touch with that sense of peace and love inside. I am very afraid.

Back at Work

Addendum:
My oncologist called while Mark, Amy and I were having dinner. She said that the MRI showed what is probably cancer, not arthritis, in my right hip. She told us to go to the Brigham and Women's ER immediately and that's where we are now. I am to see ortho for x-ray films and she says I can expect to be hospitalized tonight for surgery tomorrow. This is an absolute nightmare. I am sitting in a wheelchair; she told me not to walk at all. The working diagnosis is 'pathological fracture'. She thinks that the cancer spread to the hip which is why I have increasing pain. We are in shock. I don't even know how to describe how this feels right now. We are in a very inner-city ER and I cry on and off. So much for privacy as I was complaining about earlier.

If I do get admitted, I will ask Mark to post until I can again.

My brother called early this morning to say he had fractured his lower fibia yesterday while biking in the woods. There is this family myth that we are invincible -- we are all being unmasked and very humbled. He was deep in the woods and fortunately was with another guy who got him out safely. My brother then drove himself home. His wife then drove him to the ER. Maybe we have a high tolerance for pain, maybe we like to be strong. He will need a surgery and can expect to be out of work for 4 months. Neither of us have ever been in an ER in our lives.
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I have been on medical leave for 5 weeks, and returned today. Fortunately I was not scheduled to see any patients, as it took all day to get somewhat caught up.

In a way it was wonderful to return. I have been at the same job for 10 years. The thing I love about it is also the thing I hate about it. The positive part is that it's a small site, a health clinic. Many of us have been there for a long, long time and are committed to the mission of the institution. It's warm and intimate but also has warring factions and all that. Probably like any work site. As the day went on, I learned that this blog address was passed to many people who I never intended to access it. Including the site manager. Someone passes it to someone they consider 'safe', then it goes on from there. So if you are from my clinic or institution and I didn't personally give this to you, please respect my privacy. Log out and delete the link. My face burned all afternoon with shame, a feeling of being exposed. This is the most intimate writing, a sharing of details that I don't even necessarily speak. My husband reads it as some things are difficult for me to talk about, even with him. So please, please. Privacy.

I've even debated whether to continue writing this at all.

Another thing irked me. A colleague wrote in an email to one of my work groups that I have breast cancer. I'm sure it wasn't meant as gossip, but was in the context of a season project that I run and was unable to this year. I never wanted that information passed around, either.

One of the things I've committed to in this blog is not to expose anyone else. And to also give utmost respect to Mark and not to share anything that might expose him in an uncomfortable way. Now I see how naive I have been in exposing myself. Even writing under a pseudonym and all that.

One of the guides I've found useful is to ask myself, "what would a spiritual teacher say about this?", ie privacy vs. self-exposure. One of the Buddhist precepts is "right speech". I have tried to refrain from gossip since last March when it came back to me that someone had been malicious towards me. Since then I have tried to refrain from gossip, especially at work. This whole dynamic today makes me question why I'm writing this anyway -- what is the purpose? The initial idea was to communicate with far-flung friends and family without having to send out duplicate emails. But now it's kind of taken on a life of it's own. It's become really important to me and lots of people look for their daily "lola fix". Definitely food for thought. I am an open person, but I am finding that there are limits to that, too.

Tomorrow I expect the call from The Vixen. Today my hip hurt significantly. Someone asked about it as the limp is noticeable. She then asked if it was related to my breast. That was so in my face. So I kind of got roughed up today. Mark asked earlier what I need tomorrow in case of bad news. I have no idea. I am preparing for what I expect she will say, which is that the MRI was inconclusive and I'll need a biopsy. Ideally the MRI will show arthritis. The waiting, the waiting.

Peter's Story

The Vixen called yesterday to confirm the MRI today at 3pm, and to say that she will call with the results on Tuesday. I feel in such good hands with her and told her that. She asked about how I'm managing the stress and I said that I had interrupted meditation to take her call. She was happy to hear about every attempt at self-care. Mark answered my phone and I couldn't imagine why he brought it to me until he said it was she. Unless the MRI reveals a dread result, chemo will start on 11/24 as planned.

Yesterday I spoke with a cousin who is a retired radiologist. He explained that the MRI might be conclusive. Arthritis shows on an MRI as inflammation at the joint; cancer would be inside the bone itself. It may be that the MRI can r/i arthritis. If the inflammation is not at the joint, he says I will need a biopsy. He said it's unusual to have arthritis at only one site, just as the oncologist said it's unusual to have a secondary cancer in only one site.

Last night we heard an amazing story that I want to share. We met an organic farmer named Peter who is now in his early 60's. He had a massive heart attack 10 years ago. He then went on to tell his captivated audience about his near death experience. We listened, spell-bound. None of us had ever heard a person speak of their own experience. This happened over the course of 4 minutes as the medical team brought him back to life. He said that he felt absolute comfort with no fear. He had no body but his sense organs were intact. It felt like being a huge eyeball. It was absolutely silent and he was absolutely alone. He swung back and forth as he considered two doorways, like a pendulum. One doorway was made of earth colors, moss and dark reds. It was on the left. The door on the right was askance and showed brilliant, sparkly light. He was not afraid at all. After swinging back and forth, he chose the door on the left. He doesn't know why. The next thing he remembers is waking up to his embodied life. He said it left him without any fear of death whatsoever. He feels that death will be beautiful. Aside from the story itself was the way he told it. There was no big drama but it was honest and heartfelt. It was the most beautiful story I've ever heard. Later Mark, Jeff and I were discussing our reaction to it. We agreed that it was if we were meant to hear it, although for different reasons.

We went for a long walk yesterday and will again today before we drive back to the city. My hip has plenty of sensation. I will be disappointed if it's arthritis as I love to hike, walk, snow shoe, bike to work. However, obviously any fool would prefer that to the other option.

As I will start work tomorrow, look for weekday posts in the evening. I get up at 6am to do my practices before work and can't imagine getting up any earlier to blog.

Courage

A good friend sent this image and the following after reading yesterday's post:

The Tao Te Ching states that courage is derived from love.

In Roman Catholicism, courage is one of the four cardinal virtues, along with prudence, justice, and temperance. ("Cardinal" in this sense means "pivotal"; it is one of the four cardinal virtues because to possess any virtue, a person must be able to sustain it in the face of difficulty.) In both Catholicism and Anglicanism, courage is also one of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit.

In Islam courage is also viewed highly. Although not stated in the holy book it is believed in many Hadith that a good muslim is a brave muslim like the prophet Muhummad who was valued for his great courage. To confront your fears. To fight for what is good and to protect your family.

Yesterday was a difficult one. With each passing hour, my anxiety grew. My oncologist finally called about 3:30pm. I was so upset by what she said (concerning finding on the right hip by bone scan) that I didn't ask too many questions. I don't know if the MRI (scheduled for Sunday at 3pm) will rule in or rule out arthritis or cancer. I also don't know if I will need a biopsy as well to make a definitive diagnosis. She said it's unlikely that cancer would have spread to only one place. That if it has spread, there would be more sites showing up. Mark called just moments after The Vixen did to say he was experiencing unbearable anxiety and was driving home. The timing was interesting in the sense that his anxiety peaked the moment I got her call. So now it's another wait... I also don't know how long it takes to read this type of MRI. Whoever hopes for an arthritis diagnosis? Please, let it be that.

In preparing for return to work on Monday, I went to a store called Lady Grace in Brookline. They specialize in mastectomy bras. Years ago I'd accompanied a friend there, so it was very strange to visit for my own need. The fitter was a lovely Spanish-speaking woman who was very kind. She asked how long ago it had been since surgery, and I told her 3 weeks. She shook her head and said, "it's too early but let me look at you". I bared myself (strange as the only people who have seen me are Mark, the medical people and Lucy when she accompanied me to the surgeon's visit on Thursday). She said it looks like the surgery had been 6 weeks ago, that it was well healed. She said, yes, you are healed enough. So off to work she went. She was a real pro. She had me fit with the first bra she brought in, and the second silicone insert she tried. She measured, adjusted, looked, fussed over me like a mother hen. She then called in one of her colleagues to take a look. I said to the second women, "guess which side is which". She couldn't tell. Even the nipple in the insert is perfect. They had me put on a slinky tank top and it draped well. Fortunately insurance paid almost the whole bill as the insert itself cost $300. It was totally covered, I just paid a little bit for the 3 bras. My part was about $40. She said that insurance pays for 3 bras and one insert a year. So that went well.

We decided late in the evening to drive out to the farm. It's rainy, cool and extremely foggy. Beautiful. We are invited to a party tonight at a roadhouse bar. There will be a live blues band and dancing. So in the midst of another scary wait, I am committed to having fun and living large.

r/o problem in right hip

The vixen just called to say that everything is clear other than a question about my right hip. She asked if I had any trauma to my right leg, and I told her about an injury sustained to my knee in my teen years. She knew about that. She then asked about my hip, and my face flushed. The bone scan found me out. I have been having some discomfort in my hip for the last several months but haven't paid much attention to it. She said that the radiologist hopes it's arthritis but they want me to do an MRI to r/o cancer in that area. Wow. OK -- deep breath. So now I'm waiting to schedule an MRI for next week. This is unbelievable. You need nerves of steel to go through this.

I had written the following this morning while waiting for the call. It does not follow what I wrote above, but just for the record...

A few days ago while in meditation, I was sending metta to the "neutral" person. The most unexpected thing happened: a verse from the Bible popped into my head. Although I was raised in the Protestant tradition, I have not been a regular church-goer since my teen years. The verse is attributed to Jesus, and in my memory goes like this: "whatever you do unto the least of yourselves, you do unto me". I thought, wow, Jesus was teaching the same ideal as the Buddha. In metta practice, you pray for the same qualities for others as you wish for yourself. I myself definitely want to be safe and protected, happy and peaceful, healthy and strong and free from suffering. So does my "neutral" person, in this case the clerk at the East Cambridge post office. Don't we all?

In trying to make the decision about the clinical trial, I asked myself, what would a spiritual teacher have to say about that? So from that perspective, it was the easy choice to make. No one wants cancer, everyone wants to understand what is causing this epidemic and everyone would like a cure. So it makes sense that if I can help in the tiniest way possible, to be willing to try something new, it might potentially be of help to others.

Prior to yesterday, I had been thinking that an extra 5 months (as proven in other Avastin trials) of no cancer recurrence wouldn't make much difference to me personally. I feel spiritually aligned and quite fearless. Fear is the opposite of peace, so the more peace you experience, fear just fades.

I ran into my hill town neighbors Darby and Harriet this week. We were talking and they told me about the day two soldiers drove up to them while they were working in the field. Their son was in the military so they knew immediately that he had been killed. Darby said that they cried no tears as they knew that their son was in a "better place". I cried when they told that story and so did Harriet. It's interesting how their deep abiding faith has comforted them all these many years. Fearless people.

In any case, by participating in the trial, I may directly benefit. I want to be healthy and strong. So does everyone else who might get a cancer diagnosis in the future. So my main motivation is to give others the choice. My body is strong and can most likely withstand the treatments.

"It's Your Job"

Today started off in chaos. Around 8:30 Mark and I had finished coffee, and I was checking email. By chance I took a look at the papers regarding today's appointments, and noticed that I needed to check in 3 hours before the bone scan which was scheduled for noon. You need a radioactive injection 3 hours prior to the scan itself. Yikes! I didn't shower or even change clothes from yesterday, much less did practice; I just dashed to the Dana Farber. I called Lucy to say I'd made a huge scheduling confusion, and would call her later. We had planned for her to come to my house at 11:30 and walk over together.

I checked into Nuclear Medicine at 8:59. I have gotten to know the drill and now dutifully offer my wrist for the ID bracelet. I met with Justin, a nuclear medicine technician. There's a photo of him (he gave me permission). He later took the photo of me in the bone scanner. In any case, he shot me up with a radioactive isotope called TC99mMDP which has a half-life of 6.02 hours. He handed me a control number to present over the next 3 days if I go through some kind of high security system and set off an alarm. I was to return at noon for the bone scan. He set me loose with an IV in my left elbow crease wrapped in a sky-blue bandage. I fit right in as many other patients had them as well.

Justin told me to go to the radiology department to see if they could do the CT chest/abdomen/pelvic exam while I waited the 3 hours for the radioactive injection to light me up. Fortunately they were able to get me in rather than wait for 4pm as previously scheduled.

That involved drinking 2 pints of raspberry Crystal Lite (with artificial sweetener) laced with an iodine contrast and gastrgrafin which coats your digestive system from mouth to anus. Then you wait 1 hour. During that hour I talked to lots of other patients. The most interesting part was when a few of them were discussing clinical trials. One woman who was younger than me has had cervical and uterine cancer, and more recently colon cancer. The other older woman had had a recurrence after 5 years. She has a rare cancer which attacks soft tissue. The younger woman said, "It's our job to participate in whatever trials are available. We are now benefiting from what others have done before us, and now it's our turn to give back." That really had a strong affect on me.

Last night I spoke to an ex who was trained as a pediatric neurology oncologist, and he strongly advised me to participate, giving many sound reasons. Another friend knows the chief of oncology at a major medical center who has deep experience with Avastin. My friend ran into him this week, and the oncologist said that if he were asked if a loved one of his should participate, he said yes, definitely.

I had been thinking I didn't want to participate as I've already written. Lucy and I met up at Massachusetts General Hospital, and we talked more about it. From an individual viewpoint, I really don't want to. I will write about that tomorrow. But from the bigger viewpoint, all beings want to be healthy and happy. If I am truly following the spiritual path, others' benefit must be considered as well. So I have decided I will participate.

The CT scan was really quick. I lay down on a platform feet first and went in and out of a big machine that reminded me of an inner tube. Lucy and I have spent many a summer afternoon "tubing". Back in the day we'd strap cold cans of beer to our tubes and float down the river in western Mass. So I had a positive association with the shape! The tech told me that I might experience a metallic taste in my mouth, a warm, fuzzy feeling as the dye went in (IV was still in place) or the need to pee. None of that happened.

Then it was back to the bone scan suite. That took about 30 minutes plus a few minutes on each side of my head.

Results are due back tomorrow. My red-haired vixen promises to call herself. Obviously I hope it's all "negative" as the medical jargon goes. In medicine, negative is positive and positive is negative. It's really a different world. In other words, I hope there are no other issues in other body parts.

Lucy and I met up at MGH to have a consultation with the surgeon. She was very happy with the way the wound is healing and told me to be sure to blog about the benefits of yoga on physical recovery. I think she was most impressed that I have almost fully regained my shoulder/chest flexibility. She gave me a script for a mastectomy bra that uses silicon inserts that I can hopefully get before I return to work on Monday. She also weighed in heavily on the question of participating in the research trial. She also said, "do it". That clinched the deal. We hugged goodbye with me seated and her standing. She is a power dynamo in a tiny body. I will see her in 6 months after a repeat MRI on the left breast. Just to make sure all is well.

I told Lucy about wanting to go to China but that it was way past the deadline the vixen gave to start chemo. Lucy said she refuses to go with me, so I guess that decision's made! The tickets are cheap, too. Again, damn cancer.

Research Consent Form

Today's task is to make a really important decision -- whether to participate in the double-blind phase III trial at the Dana Farber. The purpose of this trial is to determine whether adding Bevacizumab (Avastin) to current standard chemotherapy reduces the risk of cancer recurrence in the future. I am really on the fence mostly because I don't take medications, not even aspirin. Taking the chemo alone will be enough for my body to handle. Here's what it says about chemo: "all chemotherapy drugs have side effects, which can range from mild and reversible to severe, long lasting and possibly life-threatening". My beautiful red-haired vixen tells us that the risks of Bevadizamub are much less than chemo and radiation. But reading the list of frequent, likely and rare risks is really scary. I just called her office and asked for an email version. If anyone out there knows of a cancer researcher or oncologist who can give some input, let me know. It somehow didn't occur to me to ask for an e-version until today. Maybe I'm living too much in the moment.

Here is a link that describes the research already done:

www.cancer.gov/newscenter/pressreleases/AvastinBreast

The oncologist is encouraging me to participate for several reasons: it will potentially provide more protection against recurrence (there is a 20% chance I will be given a placebo). They have nothing else to offer me other than the standard which provides 80% probability of non-recurrence. It can be helpful to future patients. I am benefiting now from what other women before me have been willing to do, ie participate in studies. There's also a small piece of self-interest as the DF is a research institute and they need willing participants.

This is one of those critical decisions and I am really on the fence. I have to make a decision by tomorrow.

Today I will leave my little retreat and drive back to the city. Tomorrow Lucy will go with me to the tests. The vixen promises to call with the results on Friday. I will be shocked if they find other suspicious areas, but my track record hasn't been great with tests so far. At some point the bad news has to run its course.

It has been lovely here. I am sad to go. I am not exactly the solitary sort but have loved it out here alone. I even learned to build roaring fires.

To do the clinical trial or not???

PS My aunt Jean worried that I was up at 4am writing the blog. The time stamp is Pacific Standard Time as the web host is on the west coast. I am sleeping well every night and have become quite slothful these last weeks -- Mark calls at 8:30am and I am still sleeping.

Moxie

I am enjoying it here so, so much. I grew up in a tiny town like this in northwest Iowa. One of the things I like best is walking, preferably late in the day. It's hunting season so I stay out of the woods even with the day-glow orange clothing. The woods are full of Sarah Palins. Last night I got a quite late start as I'm still not used to the rhythm of the short days. I have extended the walk to 4 miles. Mostly I walk by fields and farmhouses. I know the neighbors and their dogs as well. One of my neighbors is Darby and his wife Harriet. His real name is Darwin, named after Charles Darwin. He is 90, she might be a little younger. He does all the talking so she doesn't get a word in edge-wise. In the summer he invited Mark and I to join him on his front porch for a glass of Moxie. He regailed us with stories about being a foot soldier in WWII in Indonesia, and his career as a tree climber. Last night I shouted "hello" to them and offered to help them move laundry from the car into their house. No, thanks, we don't need the help. He then said, "I have something for you". He went into the house and came back out with a big bottle of Moxie. This is what it means to know your neighbors. I walked home in pitch black with an almost-full moon.

Yoga and meditation practices continue well. When I start yoga, I lie down flat on my back with legs up the wall. I put my hands on my chest while I visualize and feel the healing occur. I do the same thing for the final pose, savasana. It feels really nurturing. My meditation teacher Narayan was talking about a practice taught by the Buddha to help his young monks struggle against lust by visualizing 62 (??) body parts (she mentioned the liver as one example). I'd like to find out more about that practice, to be able to visualize the entire body, and focus on healing all parts. I will ask her about that next time I see her.

Physically I am recovering by leaps and bounds. Yesterday I was able to stand with my right side against the wall, arm raised all the way with armpit touching the wall. What a feeling of freedom. I also started to experiment with handstand preparation. Pincamayurasana is a long, long ways ahead. That was always a really hard pose in any case.

I spoke last night with my mother's sister, Aunt Jean, from Brainard, Minnesota. She is now 73. My mother died when she was 43, back in 1981. My aunt told me that she used to get on the computer about once a week, but she enjoys my blog so much that she reads daily. I had no idea that she was reading it. She told me that her father and his father both died of pancreatic cancer. That was news to me. She also told me that before my mother died, she had told Jean about having a pre-cancerous condition in her uterus. Huh... there is a potential genetic link after all. I spend very little time wondering about "why" but of course it crosses my mind now and then.

We heard from China and the invitation is to present our project around 12/15. That's too late for me. I will call my red-haired vixen today and ask if I can postpone chemo. Of course I am free to do whatever I want but she had told me that we should start no later than the second week of December. In some ways I'd like to start chemo today -- if there is more cancer lurking around, time is on it's side, not mine.

Buddha in Glory

Buddha in Glory
Rainer Marie Rilke

Moment of moments, core of cores,
Almond all-encased, growing sweet--
this cosmos, to the most remote stars
and far beyond them, is your lotus flesh and fruit.
Now nothing clings, now nothing holds you back;
your vastness reaches into endless space,
where the rich, prosperous fluids rise and flow.
Shining in your infinite peace,
billions of stars go spinning through the night,
blazing and flaming above your head.
In you is the presence-awareness that
will be, when all the stares go out.

Translated by Robert McDowell

Lucy sent me this amazing poem a few days ago. I had to read it several times as it's so rich and beautiful.

Mark was able to get this old computer hooked up. He is quite something. Mr. Competent. I just may stay out here in the woods by myself forever! It feels just right to be here. I am learning more and more to trust myself, to know what I need.

I have been working on my tags for China even though I am almost entirely certain that I can't go. I also want to continue work on an oil painting that I started just after my diagnosis. I will include an image of the half-completed piece once I get back to the city. The camera is out of juice and I don't have the software or wire here. It is my first-ever attempt at a figurative work. It is a female torso with one breast and the kind of incision that I anticipated. It's interesting that I started the piece showing a full mastectomy even though at that time I had no idea what was coming. Prescient? It's hard to be with the piece in the studio. It stares at me from the wall it's hung on as I work on the tags, daring me to work on it. I will. I need to, I want to.

Yesterday was another breakthrough in my home-based physical therapy. Lateral movement is suddenly coming. I have dropped entirely one of the exercises as I am back to baseline. Awesome. So now I just work on 4 movements, 3 times per day. Yesterday I almost got my heels down in downward-facing dog. What stops me is the strong pull in the underarm.

I forgot to say that my surgeon called on Saturday morning. I expressed my frustration that she didn't call as soon as the report came in. She sort of apologized. I will see her Thursday afternoon between the bone scan at noon and the ct scan at 4. She will be at MGH that day so I hope there's enough time to get between sites. She will look at the incision site, evaluate the swelling/fluid, and give me a script for a 'falsie'. I think I'll feel more comfortable at work with a breast prosthetic than going natural. So far I feel perfectly comfortable without anything in place of my right breast. We went to a party on Saturday night and I didn't even think about what I wore until Mark later told me I looked good. So I'm getting more and more comfortable with my body with each passing day. The healing salve is working wonders as the incision feels less tight. Sensation seems to be coming back little by little.

As the Portugese say, "tudo bem".

No Self

Yesterday I finally finished "The Magic Mountain" by Thomas Mann. I have been reading that book for at least 6 months. All 716 pages. In the second to last chapter I read a very short passage that has helped me better understand a Buddhist concept I have been struggling with for about 10 years, that of "no self". The idea of "no self" has sent me into existential terror all these years. I have had a very hard time understanding and accepting how one might welcome the idea that there is no fixed, stable self. I've spent my whole adult life trying to establish a fixed, stable self so who would want to annihilate that? While growing up and into my early adult years I had experienced plenty of "no self" states which were really better described as dissociative. So seeking a state of "no self" as I previously understood it would be a very bad idea.

So here is the passage that has proven so helpful to my understanding: (two characters are about to engage in a duel of honour)

"Time cools, time clarifies: no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours. In the early dawn, standing weapon in hand, neither of the combatants would be the same man as on the evening of the quarrel. They would be going through it, if at all, mechanically, in obedience to the demands of honour, not, as they would have at first, of their own free will, desire, and conviction; and such a denial of their actual selves in favour of their past ones, it must somehow be possible to prevent."

I will stay on our own magic mountain for a few days; Mark will drive back to the city tonight. I am rarely here by myself and have very poor wood stove-starting skills. I am to return to work next week, so want to rest up as much as possible. I will walk, cook, paint, collage and read. I may not have internet so posts may be intermittent. I will hope that Mark can rig something up, impose on neighbors or drive 30 minutes to town for a library visit. We are remote out here!

Ascencion Farm Healing Salve

Mark and I are now together at our little farm on the hill. It continues rainy and cool but not raw. Just cool enough to welcome a fire. The leaves are all down except in our apple orchard where they continue bright yellow. We will walk later. Yesterday I bought a pair of day-glow orange hunting hats; even though it is now hunting season, we still like to walk in the woods.

Today was a milestone as we just peeled off all the steri-strips, the last trace of the surgery. I am now completely "natural". Some of the numbness is subsiding so at this point I will take up massaging my right side to see if more sensation will come back. Our neighbors Karen and Sayword gave us some healing salve from their farm (Ascension Farm) this summer. They grow the calendula themselves, all other ingredients are organic as well. I will use it to help continue to heal the incision. It feels perfect, grown and handcrafted with love. They are on a sabbatical this academic year, so we have offered to grow the calendula for next year's harvest. We have a wonderful community out here in these hills.

Day by day the flexibility returns as well as being able to integrate more poses into my yoga practice. Yesterday I began to explore the possibility of backbends. Just tiny, tiny steps. As I lay on my back with knees bent and feet on the floor, I attempted to position my arms overhead, elbows bent drawn in with hands flat on the floor near my ears. I am unable to get the heels of my hands on the floor, but I can see the possibility. That's exciting. I have returned to downward-facing dog -- it pulls like mad in my underarm so will take some time to get into the full pose. I have become a hungry student again, and I am my own best compassionate teacher. The practice has become exciting once again, filled with possibility and humility.

Resting

Lucy and I drove to her farm in western Massachusetts yesterday. It is foggy, rainy, cool and beautiful. Here I am able to rest. I have been visiting her here since 1991 and it has always felt like home.

After a long much-needed nap, I went for a long walk in the late afternoon. It is extremely hilly here. My body needed fresh air and movement, so I started up the long, long steep hill. It began to feel like a metaphor. I could feel the energy and life force return along with my hope. I went well beyond my intended stopping point. Up, up, up the hill until it opened up to a view of the valley. I began to remember other times I have strongly experienced the life force. The most memorable time is when my niece Zoey was just a few days old, the first time we met. I held her and was astonished by the energy in her body. It was not the usual breath and pulse; she put me in contact with the very life force itself. It scared me, I wanted to put her down. But I held onto her. I was able to experience one of those amazing moments of being in contact with something beyond ordinary sense. Recalling that experience was helpful yesterday as I desperately needed to tap into that sense of Wonder again.

Lucy and I then shared a meditation. I worked with metta and she worked with the Prayer of St. Francis:

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;
That where there is hatred, I may bring love;
That where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
That where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
That where there is error, I may bring truth;
That where there is doubt, may I bring faith;
That where there is despair, I may bring hope;
That where there are shadows, I may bring light
That where there is sadness, I may bring joy.

Grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;
To understand, than to be understood;
To love, than to be loved;
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life.

Pathology report #2

Yesterday Mark and I went to Dana Farber, expecting to meet with the oncology nurse practicioner for "chemo teaching". Mark mentioned that we'd never heard from the surgeon re: the pathology report, so she left the room to say she'd go find it. We waited a while, then my beautiful red-haired vixen, aka oncologist Dr. Anne Partridge came in instead. After some confusion about why we never got called with the pathology report, she explained it to us. Big breath here. The only good part is that the margins of the breast itself were clear, but there were many more tumors found. She surgeon removed 23 lymph nodes, and 5 were cancerous. This is not good news. It puts me in the high risk for recurrence category, so I will need daily radiation for 6 weeks after 4 months of chemo. She also said I need a bone scan and CT of my chest asap. It's scheduled for next Thursday.

This was a tough spot in the consultation. I started to cry, and she insisted that I look at her. She brought her gaze down to mine and said, "We will get you through this. You can do this. We will do everything we can to get you through this."

The conversation then went on to probabilities. She said that if I do no more treatment, my chance of survival is 50%. If I do chemo and radiation, it goes to 80%. That's it. As DF is a research institution, she she asked me last time about participating in a clinical trial. The study is about adding a drug called Bevacizumab (Avastin) to the standard chemotherapy. If I choose to participate, there is 20% chance of receiving a placebo. That's a whole other consideration. Of course there are side-effects if I get the real drug but the oncologist says the risks are lower that the standard treatment. My inclination is not to do it as it runs 8 months beyond the 4 months of chemo and I don't want more drugs. But I will send this off to some medical friends and see what they advise.

Needless to say, we both felt devastated. We walked home in a daze. I was planning to drive to western Mass with Lucy but didn't feel up to it. Mark said, "what do you want to do?". So we walked to Starbucks and split a coffee. Then we did a little retail therapy. A neighbor Wendy introduced me to Yvette while in line to vote on Tuesday. Yvette has a 2-person business in our neighborhood and makes very groovy oilcloth bags. Her web site is myoilcloth.com. Mark bought me the messenger style. I bought a few envelope style for gifts. Then we went to see the documentary "Man on Wire". My sister always says I have a knack for having fun, no matter what.

When we got home, a wave of grief hit me. It hit really hard. Mark was his usual amazing self; he knows just what to say -- or not. What can one say? He provides so much comfort, just knowing he will be there with me every step of the way. I so wish that we could turn back the clock to the summer. We had a glorious summer -- horseback riding, hiking, working in our garden, sharing our place with good friends..

So today I drink delicious coffee that Mark makes every morning and will drive to western Mass with Lucy. She will help me with the Shanghai project.

The red-haired vixen said that I may not go to China after chemo starts. She was there recently and does not want me to catch an infection or whatever and end up in the hospital there. Too many things could go wrong. She said that if we can move the date of our Shanghai project earlier, she would be willing to postpone starting chemo a week or two. At this point I don't think it's in the cards for me to go which is a huge disappointment. I doubt that ever again I will be invited by the Shanghai Museum of Modern Art to do a presentation. One of the participants is actually Yoko Ono! F---ing cancer.

I may stay out there at our farm through next week and will come back for the next round of tests on Thursday. I am scheduled to return to work 11/17 but if any of the bone scans or CT show problems and I need a biopsy or whatever, I will postpone that date.

When the student is ready...

The adage goes like this: when the student is ready, the teacher appears. This has been an extraordinary month. Last night I had what can only be called an amazing phone call with another spiritual teacher.

This person is a member of our extended family. We have met just a few times, most recently last winter. I knew vaguely about her spiritual bent through another cousin, but didn't appreciate the depth of her knowledge and experience. Here is an excerpt from a recent email:

"When these tremendous traumatic life events befall us, the good news, the gift, is, that consciousness at such time tends to open up (like the aperture of a camera). Even while life at such times is awful, it's wonderful--because for at least a time we can see more than we ever did before. (Someone once said we can see farther on
a dark night--to stars light years away--than in the day time. It's a
parable.)

But of course we want things to get back to "normal" as soon as possible. The challenge is not to let the impatience to get back to normal make us seize on the first possible thing that will allow us to dwindle back down into "normal" ego mind--but instead to savor and cultivate and treasure (if only in memory) and foster the view that that wide-open aperture blessed us with when it did."

She asked last night how I've been doing, and I said that these have been the most amazing few months of my life. Being diagnosed with cancer is a major crisis and I am not taking it lightly. I still have a long ways to go in terms of treatment -- at least 5 years. But the spiritual aspect has really blown me away.

I recalled to her my thinking about spirituality in the past: when I was in Iyengar teacher training in 1996, we were discussing "samadhi". I said to the group that I hoped to never have a spiritual experience, I wanted nothing to do with samadhi, and I was studying yoga with the express intent of being in my body. The group was aghast, but I really meant it. My friend last night responded that I was exactly right - that would not have been the right time for me.

We talked quite a bit about the idea of "enlightenment"; she prefers the word "liberation". I know that this is just the beginning of many discussions. Unfortunately we live far away from each other, but she plans to be on the East coast next summer and we hope to see each other then. Her only advise was to continue to meditate, to have no expectations about what or what might not happen. Perhaps this will be it, perhaps I will continue to taste more of this. All I really know is that I am grateful for all of this -- the teachers who have come into my life, the opportunity to experience something beyond the everyday. The gift of feeling fully human with our capacity to go beyond our senses, our limited sense of self and into fuller potential.

Urdhva Hastasana

I have been working diligently on physical therapy, 3 times per day at home. Included here is an image from Yoga Journal with the model in "urdhva hastasana". That means upward-facing arms. I had a break-through in my mid-day session when for the first time I was able to bring my arms straight overhead. It is on the edge of pain but I am being mindful. I did this pose lying on my back, knees bent, feet on the floor, with hands inter-laced. I was thrilled. It gave me the motivation to keep working at this. I am shocked at how tight I am. I can feel the pull from the bottom of my right ribs to the right elbow -- all along that band -- as I press the arms overhead. Quite humbling. After that I attempted the arms-only/uttanasana of surya namaskar. That went OK, too.

My energy is returning but am quite tired at the end of the day. Sleeping really well. Eating amazing food that has all been provided by friends.

Tomorrow Zoey, the littlest niece, turns 3. She has been talking for weeks about wanting a buddha necklace like aunty. Today we went to what she calls the Buddha store and I bought her a beautiful white Buddha pendant. Good taste for a 3 year old. My sister hopes to borrow it; Zoey says no, it's hers, thank you very much.

The surgeon still hasn't called with the pathology report which will determine whether radiation is in my future. Tomorrow Mark and I will meet with the oncologist's nurse practioner for "chemo training". It sounds so weird -- I wonder what she will tell us other than to wash our hands and the potential side-effects.

Early this morning we wended our way to the voting station. The weather is beautiful so hopefully there will be a huge turnout. Mark joked that we were voting for the "Muslin socialist". We are a total Obama house and are very hopeful about today's outcome. The line was very long and we had a wonderful time chatting with our neighbors and friends. We were also psyched to take advantage of Starbuck's offer of a free "tall" for those of us who voted.

Today I am wearing a low-cut camisole, the beautiful necklace that Vanessa gave me before the last surgery, and a hoodie. As we left the house, I commented to Mark that I feel vibrant and just fine with how I look. In fact, I think I look awesome. My posture is lifted, my body feels strong and I am happy. What more could you want. Besides Obama/Biden in office.

Go Obama!

Absence of Fear

Last evening my friend Patricia Howard, an energy healer, offered me a healing session. We have known each other since 1996 and have kept in touch even though we both left that common employer many years ago. Just as I was leaving the house, Lucy called and I expressed my misgivings about having an session. I wondered aloud with her what effect it might have on the unfolding that I am currently experiencing. I worried that a session might block the process, heat it up too much, or maybe divert it. Lucy wisely suggested that I share my concerns with Patricia, which was great advise.

Once settled in the healing room, I shared all of the above. I didn't want to hurt her feelings or somehow dismiss what she was kindly offering. To my delight, she totally understood and suggested that I follow my inner knowing. We agreed that I would not have a session on the table, but that we would just talk. It turned out to be one of those amazing encounters. We have known each other for many years, so she knows my basic story. She also visited after the first surgery and has been reading this blog so was very up-to-date.

I began to describe those times since the diagnosis when I've experienced an exquisite sense of beauty, an expanding sense of boundless love which is almost too much to bear witness to, a deep connection with others, the feeling that my sense organs have totally opened up. She shook her head wisely and said that this is not an uncommon phenomenon with a health crisis. She went on to say that all my years of practice (asana, pranayama, meditation and also painting) have laid a fertile ground for this kind of experience. The conversation then shifted away from the awakened states that I experience from time to time, to the abiding absence of fear.

My whole life I have been been quite fear-based in an existential kind of way. My early life was marked by parental mis-steps large and small as well as outright tragedy. I learned to not trust in life, but made every effort to control myself and everything around me. Now with this crisis, I am experiencing a deep letting go. It's as if my fear has just eased off. Not entirely, of course. I still feel fearful about daily life things, but in the bigger sense I feel really free inside. Patricia said that Eckhart Tolle defines enlightenment as such: the absence of fear. It gave me the chills when she said that. She also said that Thich Nhat Han describes nirvana as abiding peace.

I am not deluded and think that I am enlightened by any means. I just think I've had a taste of the "extra-ordinary". The possibility of a different way of living. I feel lucky to have access, to have a veil lifted if only for a moment at a time.