Walking Through

I tell my patients that the fight they are about to begin is like walking through the woods. I ask them to notice that as they step into the trees there is a path to follow. There will always be a place to step. At all times, there will be solid ground below, if they will just glance down to find it, and take time for steadiness before they advance.

I ask them to pay attention to the spanish moss hanging from the trees, sometimes seeming to block their way, but moved easily, if they will just brush it aside. The moss filters the light from above, and the darkness may be frightening, but the woods are also cool with the dark canopy provided overhead, These woods provide a place to escape from the demands of work and other stressors, if only for a little while.

I ask them to listen to the sounds of the woods, to the water dripping from rocks, collecting in small pools and moving on to form streams, to the birds, and to the insects. And I ask them to listen to the sound of their own breathing while they are in that quiet, calm, dark, cool place.

It will not be long before they approach the brightness of the clearing and realize that they have come through their treatment. They will have walked through what was a fearful place into another phase of their lives. None of us knows what that phase holds. It could be cure, it could be more disease and more treatment, or it could be acceptance of letting the disease take it's course. The treatment and it's outcome are different for each person.

I'm recalling this simple guided suggestion that I make with my patients because I've come to make it almost out of habit, and I sometimes wonder why I do what I do. Today, I was reminded. I would never give the details (of the particular encounter), and I won't know the outcome for a very long time. But I love the practice of Oncology. I have no idea what is in store for me, where I should practice, or in what capacity. But I witnessed grace today. I am so very, very thankful, and I felt compelled to write about it in some way. I suppose it's all part of my own walk through the woods.

Fighting Mad

I tested for Cardiokickboxing Instructor yesterday through a national fitness organization that certifies aerobic fitness instructors. I have no idea if I passed. I won't know for at least 4 weeks. I left with a desire to just put it behind me. I'd studied, I'd stepped up my workouts, I felt prepared going into it. Why, then, the resignation, the apathy?

I view fitness as one of many components in a healthy lifestyle. A positive attitude is another. Yesterday's experience was anything but positive. The course participants were positive, at least we tried to be. It seemed as if every possible chance to cut us down, to ridicule, was taken by the lead instructors. Don't get me wrong, I was never the direct target of this negativity. It was simply pervasive throughout the day. And some participants caught it directly.

We started half an hour late, and this was going to be a long day, we were very much aware of it. Specific questions were simply not answered. Some participants were made fun of, laughed at, made sport of. And the weird thing was, that the room full of potential certified instructors weren't laughing. We were confused, trying our best, not understanding what the hell was going on.

One particular punch was demonstrated in a bizarre way that I've never seen. We were told that we had to roll our shoulders in an exaggerated windup prior to throwing an uppercut...or we would fail. Over and over, we attempted that uppercut. I must have thrown a thousand. I don't know if I got it. I really don't.

When the written test came around, the monitors talked while we took our hour long, 100 question test. Their children were in the room. They gave us hand written (HANDWRITTEN BY THEIR CHILDREN) evaluation forms to fill out.

I was in disbelief when I left. I left a few words on my evaluation form. I won't let the certification body know what I thought until after I get my letter. I don't trust the monitors. I'm pissed, I'm disappointed. I'm also so very, very tired. 9 hours with at least 4 hours spent throwing punches and kicks.

I hope they passed me. I know I'm good. I know I can teach this class safely and effectively. I just don't know that they can. Damn it!

Race For The Cure

What better way to pull oneself up, then to help others? My daughter pointed out to me that autumn is a tough season for me. I remember Mom. She died in October. So, I'm going to do something about it. I've signed up to run in the Komen Houston Race For The Cure, a 5K run to fund research, education, screening and treatment for breast cancer. The run is October 6th. I'm going to run in the competitive, chip-timed division. Why not? All this training for the January half marathon must be doing me some good.

If you want to contribute to this worthy cause, here's the link to my page.

http://www.komen-houston.org/site/TR?pg=personal&fr_id=1020&px=1305136

Just cut and paste.

There's a great picture of my mom there.

I sent out emails to some family and friends. My dad came through first thing. It really touched me. And she touched so many people. And still does, to this day. I like to think that each patient I care for gets a little bit of me...not too much, because I can't give all of me away. But I want to care for them like I'd want Mom to be cared for, not so much medically, but humanly.

About every 6 months or so I ask myself, "Why do I do this?" Why Oncology? I think I simply must. That's all, I simply must. For her and for them. And ultimately, for me.

Through These Days

I'm not pushing, I'm dragging myself.
Each morning, each day, I drag myself through time to perform for the witnesses to my life. I've attempted to do otherwise. I simply am not able.
This state elicits surprise in me each time I become aware of it, this condition. I deny it, then it washes over me unrelentless in it's smothering, it's heaviness.

So I find my self slogging through my day, nearly fixed in apathy. Ah, but apathy has come to be my trusted friend. I appreciate my apathy. For when indifference passes, in slips sorrow. Quick, piercing, black sorrow.

I let the hateful tears come when they want now, for they don't seem to accomplish anything. They don't wash, they don't heal. They leave me as quickly as they come. I don't understand this type of sadness. I wait. I wait for an answer to fill the void that I can't name, that I haven't had the courage to question.

I will continue the dragging. My head tells me that my heart can have this battle. I refuse to think this one through. I am feeling it. As painful as it is, there is a reason for it. It is mine.

My Stride

The end of mile four was difficult for me. Yesterday, I breezed through the first three and thought, "Hey, maybe I'll go for nine today". Number four knocked the enthusiasm right out of me. The trail was soggy and there were puddles to navigate along the way. It seemed as if I was suddenly working harder than I needed to be.

I heard another runner coming up on my left and as he passed me, I noted that he was at least six feet tall and that his legs were obviously much longer than mine. His stride outstretched mine significantly and he didn't even seem to notice the puddles. I wished I was taller.

But I'm not. I try very hard to keep positive thoughts in my head while I run. I can't use my running time to solve problems, because focusing on conflict or difficulty seems to take away from the joy of the run itself, and when I'm finished I don't feel as good as the times when I run in a more meditative fashion. Realizing that I was comparing myself to another runner, I mentally pictured the landmarks coming up on the course and checked them off a little list in my head as I passed them. It was enough to pull me away from thinking about my five foot six frame which is not going to get any taller any time soon.

Running through mile six was easier, except for a little nag from my left knee. It will be ok. Just ice and a couple days off.

Last night I was talking to a friend about how often other friends seem to be checking in on me lately. They know that my life changed a while back. A shift occurred and a void was created. Concerned friends call or email just to see how I'm getting along. It's funny, but I'm to the point of saying, "I'm ok! Really! I'm standing up to my own height, and my own situation. I'm hitting my own stride."

I appreciate the concern and I love my friends dearly. My point is that I am accepting of the situation. I cannot change what is. It's been what seems like miles now. But I have more to go, so I will.