Sitting With Strong Determination

In the practice of Vipassana there is an exercise called 'Sitting with Strong Determination'.  The goal is to sit motionless (except for the motion required for respiration) with eyes closed for one hour.   Head, arms, hands and legs are held motionless. During this hour you are to observe your body's sensation without reacting.   Don't scratch the itch on your nose, don't adjust posture to address the pain in your back or the cramp in your leg.  Observe without reaction.  While observing these sensations without reaction we learn  an important lesson:  There is a rising and diminishing of all of our sensations.   We learn the temporary nature of  what we feel, physically and emotionally.  There is great value in knowing that 'all things pass'.

Meditating in this manner, without reaction, translates to real world/real life benefit.   It disciplines the mind to observe, without reaction,  the events occurring around us or to us.   The goal is to pause, consider if action is necessary and to anticipate the consequences before acting.   The goal is action, not reaction.

I am very much in the infancy of my practice of Vipassana.   Consistent   equanimity is still a goal.   I'm getting an occasional  experience of it here and there throughout the day.  It makes me hopeful.    Practice, practice, practice.

Each morning I practice Sitting with Determination for 1 full hour.  Again in the evening for 30 minutes.      I'll see where this  leads me in the coming years.   In the meanwhile I enjoy the deep, restful sense of peace that comes with meditation.  That in itself is reward enough.

Vipassana, a life changing experience.

I've been wanting to blog about my Vipassana experience in Washington.  I still cannot find the words.  This has been a life changing experience for me.  Expressing something  so monumentally significant in my life is challenging.  It might be impossible.

1. My experience of spending 10 days in the presence of evolving, thoughtful, beautiful humans was, in itself, completely worth the 1200 miles of driving and the investment of time.

2.  Vipassana meditation has given times of deep peace and clarity that I never experienced before in my life...ever.

3.  I have the means at my disposal to return to sanity and balance  any time the world overwhelms me. (If often does!)  I can find rest in this whenever I need.

4.  I understand that I am in the infancy of practice,

5.  I believe with every ounce of my soul that meditation has the potential the heal ALL  the ugliness in the world.

6.  To pray is to ask. .  To meditate is to listen.

7,  My experience of  life is deeper, richer and more joyful since beginning a meditation practice many years ago.  I can say with absolute honesty that it is so much more so after my 10 days in Washington.

My blog  is short and incomplete, for now.  I'm taking baby steps on a new path.  More to follow.

My son's 2nd grade teacher hurt his feelings. He is a grown man now and she is 6 feet under. I have not forgiven her. My meditation "guru" said that practice can be like lancing a wound. This one came up for me. How do I forgive someone who has hurt my child? Do I even want to? Meditation isn't always pretty. I left this fact out of my blog. I shouldn't have.

LIBERATION

BEFORE: Protestant, Christian, Methodist, all labels that I've worn over the years.    I was born into these labels, handed to me by my family, my community, my culture.  Born elsewhere in the world to a different set of parents, I might very well  have been Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, Hindu or atheist.   In recent years I have  needed my spirituality to be more than happenstance, a roll of the dice.  Coming nose to nose with my own mortality in my battle with cancer  has led me to look closer, think harder and longer about matters of the heart & soul.
 How dare I look beyond the religious lessons of my youth?  Rebel that I am, I have.   No regrets.

 The United Church of Christ in Fairfield Mt and St Pauls United Methodist here in Helena will always feel like home to me.  I have chosen to move on (move forward?).  I don't know the appropriate phrase to apply.  I will say though  that  I bring most of what I was as a  Christian along with me on this new journey. It will not be left behind in some forgotten place in my memories.

 I've come to realize that there is more.  Much more.

NOW:   I am free to honor that place, practice, belief, intellectual conclusion, emotional awareness  in others  that allows each  to connect  with the best part of themselves.   We are  all in search of this place, each in our own way.   From a spiritual perspective this has been liberating for me.  I've fallen in love with this feeling of liberation!  :)

Last night  I was reading parts of Book of Revelation.   It has always been the most confusing  book of the Holy Bible for me, making very little sense.  Now, for whatever reason, the puzzle pieces are (bit by bit) beginning to fit.  It's an exciting time for me.   I've been freed   from labels, expectations, and a  belief system  that I inherited and was never truly of my choosing.   I have so much more to learn and I need time.   At the end of the day, though, I know that I'll never have enough time here on earth to arrive at that place of awareness that feels like my destination.   A little more time, though, would sure be nice.

Today, 1 day after treatment,  I found enough energy get on my bike and go for a ride.  It was a beautiful morning.  Fall has definitely arrived.  The air was cool and my T shirt and sweatshirt were a perfect choice for the ride.  Several miles down the road, my thoughts cleared and this blog began to take shape in my head.  The clarity of thought that I experienced on my ride  evaporated before I began typing. Haha!  Does any of the above makes sense?  it doesn't matter if it makes no sense  at all.    My journey.  No one needs to understand it.  Maybe that's the point of my blog.  Each of us is  on their own journey.  Let's give each other space.  Can we do that for one another?

Random Thoughts of A Cancer Warrior

The worst of my thoughts come in the quiet of night when I awaken and I am momentarily unprotected by my fortress of optimism.  

I disappoint myself.  My mind says yes. My body says no.  If I can't rely on my body, the people in my life cannot rely on me. 

People  often forget that I have incurable cancer.  On good days, so do I, sometimes for hours at a time. 

I think of my cancer friends who have lost their battles.  I think of them every day.

I feel random moments of gratitude for my life multiple times a day.  It is my 1st thought in the morning, my last thought at night. 

How will I ever bear to leave my grandkids?  It is the worst of thoughts. 

I have learned to live in the present moment.  Most of the time. 

Living with uncertainly is a skill that requires practice.  It IS possible. 

Cancer has been my greatest teacher.
Cancer is lonely. 

I feel moments of JOY every single day.  Not just happiness, but joy.  The real deal.  Thank you, Cancer for that. 

Everyday is a lifetime.  I mean this in a good way.  Each day is an opportunity to live and be as I wish. 

When making future plans, anything beyond 6 months feels like foolish fantasy.  

I spend at least an hour everyday in prayer/meditation.  It's not enough.

If I outlive my husband, by some miracle, I will be mad. 

The tumor by my hip bone feels smaller.  Am I lying to myself?

Why did the tumor in my pancreas stop growing 4 years ago?  Why?

I've outlived my prognosis by 10 years.  Why am I still here?  

I am extraordinarily vulnerable when I don't feel well.  Most people  have respected that and tread lightly. Some have not. Forgiveness comes easily.  

Quality of life matters.  It is compassionate to let someone go when the time comes. 

I'll keep fighting.  For now.

Sisters, change and hiking once again

In the summer of '91 my sister and I headed up the now familiar trail 202 in the Montana Wilderness with our 10 year old sons.  Our lack of experience meant our packs were overloaded, poorly planned and so very heavy.  Ours sons, also on their first trip, were running ahead of us most of the way, ridiculously unconcerned about the hazards of bears, errors in navigation or the possibility injury.   Our 1st trip in the Bob Marshall Wilderness was 4 days long.  We traveled less than 15 miles.  It was the first of many.  As the years went by, our trips became more ambitious, our packs more expertly packed and we became more savvy and confident.  Trail 202 holds a special place in my heart.  Like a first love, the memory remains sweet and treasured.

With each trip, we learned.  We learned to pack an adequate amount of food after failing to do so on one very long, very hungry trip.   We learned the wisdom of packing rain gear, in spite of a forecast of clear weather.  We learned to pack band aids and blister packs no matter how confident we were of our boots.  The list goes on.  We became experienced backpackers.  We became confident and well prepared.  

I remember Pretty Prairie as a lovely meadow, filled with wild flowers and bordered on it's west side by the Rocky mountains and on it's east side by the trout filled Sun River.

As we traveled the first mile of our 2016 trek, change became obvious.  The wildfires of previous years were evident all around us. Tall, barren lodgepole, blackened by fire had replaced the shade and scent of thriving trees.   Without the shade, the trail itself was dusty and dry and the aroma of dampened earth was gone as well.  We three sisters, now in or sixties, or rapidly approaching now each hiked with a set of trekking poles.   Our footing had become less certain, less confident.   As I hiked along, reflecting on the changes of the wilderness and ourselves I was reminded of particular piece of wisdom I had read recently.

When we at last reached the southern end of Pretty Prairie, it was all but unrecognizable.  Thousands of trees had fallen after burning.  The naturally created dams ultimately changed the course of the river.  This necessitated a change in the trail as well.  The trail no longer cut through the center of the prairie, but along the edge of the mountain that bordered it's west side.   It took several moments for us to get our bearings.  At last we noticed the faint line of a our "old trail".  It was quickly disappearing  amidst the new growth of prairie grass, bushes and the new trees that were rising up from the ruins.  

I grew up 30 miles east of these mountains.  As a child, I viewed them as solid, unchanging and forever the same.   The lessons of change came later in my life, as it does for most. 

  As we hiked back to our base camp, I admired the new growth of trees coming up beneath the tall, but lifeless trees.  They were lush, plentiful and the beautiful shade of green.  New hope.  The cycle of life.   The floor of the forest is brimming with new life.  It's a beautiful thing to behold.    I thought also of my grand kids and their place in the cycle of our families evolution.  Young, fresh, beautiful and filled with promise.  The old falls away and the new rises up.  Change.  It's a good thing.

I have no doubt that my grand kids will hike the trails of the Bob Marshall Wilderness.  It's in our blood. It's our heritage.  Their paths however, will be different, their experiences unique and unknown to me.  This is as it should be.   

New Beginnings

It's been awhile since I blogged.  I've been feeling well and life is busy.  I have booked up every week end in July and into August as well.  I'm making up for 3 lost summers.   Those were summers that I was struggling to survive and not really living.  '
I'm fat.  The injury, surgeries, cancer drugs etc. etc.  After three years of not being able to work out property or even engage in life in any sort of real way I am left with too much fat, not enough energy and a bit of a road ahead of me to get back my "pizzazz".
On July 4th I joined Weight Watchers.  I have fitness goals, in addition to weight loss goals.  33 pounds.  Cancer has taught me how to keep going in spite of how difficult it is, or how impossible it seems.  That 33 pounds is a foregone conclusion as far as I am concerned.  I'll succeed.  I expect it to take the better part of a year, however.  I have to do it safely, without compromising my treatment/immune systems.
Currently I am swimming 1 miles 5X a week and going on 2 bike rides per week.  A mile in the water feels like a long way.  I am a slow swimming.  It takes me an hour.  It does feel good though!  Bike rides?  Easy.

So, there is is.  New beginnings for me.   In a year I will edit  this blog post to include before and after pics.  

Havoc In My Head

I have been living with cancer for 12 years.   This past year was the worst.  It was the Black Hole in my life.  I seem to have come out the other side, intact and happy.  And Oh So filled with Gratitude.

Last September  things got ugly.  I began to have to odd sensation in my head.  I can only describe it as the feeling that the lower section of my brain was floating away.  I would lose focus, become dizzy and lose balance entirely.  Vertigo.....nausea.....suicidal thoughts.  I could not walk without help.  The first time it occurred I thought it was a stroke, or perhaps a tumor in my brain.  Bill asked if I wanted to go to the hospital and I told him I preferred to die at home.  (Yes, i did believe it was my last day on earth),  Eventually it subsided and I spent the night on the bathroom floor with blanket and pillow.
This scene was repeated dozens of times over the next  months.
I began to lose my hearing during this time.
I saw and ENT in addition to my oncologist.  Later I was referred to an audiologist.   Brain Cat Scans,  MRI.   No one could figure it out.
Meanwhile I began wishing for the end to come.  I wanted OUT.  I came to understand why people give up and choose to die.  Quality of life matters.  When you are unable to lift your head off the pillow or even open your eyes with out becoming nauseated, it is time to make a decision.  I was so there!
Then something wonderful happened.
March 6th I went in for my Cat Scan and Oncologist appt.   The tumor had grown.  The chemo wasn't working.
March 6th, the last day I took Votrient.  March 6th, the last day I felt my brain floating way, my legs giving out beneath me, and the extreme nausea that comes with vertigo.   The last time I swallowed those 4 pills was the last day that I thought I was dying. Damned Votrient was creating havoc in my head!!! Cancer drugs are serious business and side effects are not always predictable or easy to understand and identify as such.

I am on immuniotherapy now.  It worked for Jimmy Carter.  It can work for me.  And I feel GREAT.  I will scan on June 21.  I have high hopes.  In the meanwhile I am enjoying life....enjoying my grandkids...the rain, the sunshine and whatever else comes my way.  The Black Hole is behind me.  My hearing loss is most likely permanent.  I'll be followed by my audiologist for the next year.  No worries.  Hearing aids work great and I've got my life back.   And to all of those who chose to withhold  judgement while  I was struggling, my eternal gratitude.
This will be the best summer ever.

Facebook and other Confusion

I have shut down my facebook for now, or forever.  It can sometimes be a brutal environment.  On sick days, which have become all too frequent,  I am all too vulnerable.  Right now I surround myself  with those who understand the difficulty of this disease that I live with...

One More Day, a Warrior

It's been a dozen years, or so, since I began this journey with cancer.  I'm tired.
Every day  I wake up, I have to make the decision again. Do I keep trying?  It is the first decision of the day.  The answer  used to come  easily.  Of course I'll keep trying!   The alternative was considered briefly and then quickly discarded.  These day, however, surrender tempts me.  I am oh so tired of the fight.   The thought of surrender is beginning to feel like an act of accepting peace.  The thought has been sneaking up on me bit by bit for the past year. I think of closing my eyes and drifting off to that place where the struggle is over.
Today, I found some energy somewhere and went to the gym.    I spent 65 minutes on the treadmill,then I got into the swimming pool for some laps.   This is what a long term cancer warrior must do. Without maintaining my strength I may not survive the next  tumor, the next surgery or the next treatment.  It is not an option.  I get my tired old ass out of my chair and I work at being the best warrior that I can be to fight this shitty, impossible disease of mine.  
This is how I have survived 11 years beyond my original prognosis.   It's not magic.  It's hard frickin' work.  And....did I mention that I'm so very  tired of the fight?!!

I'll most likely get up tomorrow and do it again.  I'm not completely ready to toss in the towel.   When that day comes, though,  don't call me a quitter or accuse me  of giving up too easily.  When the day comes that I decide not to fight any longer,  rest  assured that I've given it a great deal of thought and that I am at peace with the decision.  I hope that everyone else will be at peace with it as well.