Planet Earth, 2020. A world on fire.
It was intense.
Nyasha’s Morning spoken by Nyasha Stowell, montage by Michele
Nyasha’s Morning
Cream of Wheat.
There were flames. It was intense.
The end.
Ericka’s Childhood
Ice cream too hard. Pot on the stove.
There were flames. It was intense.
The end.
Shante’s World
Outdoor food? Not a problem.
Create the flames. Make them intense.
The end.
The Pheonix
Planet Earth, 2020. A world on fire.
There are flames. It is intense.
Phoenix rising.
We often focus on the big bad cancer but forget that an individual is not just their cancer diagnosis, but they are so much more than that. I often make it a point to ask individuals if they feel like they can live outside of their diagnosis and continue to be themselves.
at.ti.tude /ˈadəˌt(y)o͞od/ “A settled way of thinking or feeling about someone or something” or “individuality and self-confidence as manifested by behavior”
From the Oxford English and Spanish Dictionary
Hello! Jenna Bailey, ND, FABNO, here as a guest blogger. I feel so honored to have been asked by Michele to contribute. Reading through her prior posts has been so enlightening. What an amazing way to get to know her past the doctor-patient relationship.
You may not all be familiar with naturopathic medicine, let alone naturopathic oncology, so let me briefly explain myself. Naturopaths in Washington State are considered primary care providers, though myself and my colleagues have chosen to specialize in oncology care. Our role is supportive in helping individuals through chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation with a little bit more grace and when (and if) treatment is completed, working towards recovery and prevention. All of this lies on what I consider to be the foundations – nutrition, stress management, sleep, hydration, and exercise.
Seattle Integrative Oncology offers safe and effective
expert naturopathic cancer care integrated with conventional oncology and telemedicine
As you all know, Michele had what some would say is an amazing response to just three cycles of chemotherapy and during our last visit I was noting that I felt that was, in large part, due to her attitude throughout this experience. Upon mentioning that, Kwami encouraged me to be a guest blogger to speak to this point. So here I am.
Of course, this is pure observation but, in my experience, an individual who maintains a positive (though realistic) attitude tends to do better regarding quality of life. The question is how that might translate into cancer outcomes. Now this is not to say that an individual needs to be positive just to be positive. There are naturally going to be ups and downs with cancer diagnoses and it would be completely unrealistic to not
have sadness, anger and frustration mixed in with the feelings of joy and hopefulness.
To see if there was more to this than just an observation, I did a little bit of digging and as it turns out there is some evidence to support a positive attitude in the face of a cancer diagnosis. To summarize –
Laughter, after just a single event, reduced anxiety, depression, and stress. Laughter is used to communicate joy and can help to create a sense of well-being. It can normalize blood pressure, boost immune function (has been shown to improve the function of our Natural Killer Cells!) and improve circulation. Laughter also activates endorphins and pain-relieving hormones. Humor is a great way to remember that there are and will continue to be good times despite the bad times. So, for your enjoyment – “What do you call a
pile of kittens?” – “a MEOWtain”
Laughter can normalize blood pressure and boost immune function
Research at The Ohio State University (no affiliation other than my husband is a die-hard Buckeye fan) found that cancer patients with a bright outlook were less likely to be re-hospitalized whereas individuals with psychosocial issues like anxiety, depression, or lack of social support (a biggie) were at high risk for hospital readmission and stayed longer when readmitted.
The mechanism is not fully understood, though it may have to do with our cortisol (the stress hormone) and the influence that anxiety and depression have on raising cortisol which can leave us in an immunocompromised state.
Another interesting study of almost 1,000 adults showed that the frequency of daily positive events was associated with lower IL-6 and CRP (inflammatory markers that can help to support tumor cells and decrease the immune system’s response) Interpersonal positive events were more predictive of lower inflammatory markers. So, if it were not for COVID-19, I would say go out there and get some hugs!
One more note is that worry has also been shown to increase these inflammatory markers.
Of course, there are things that we cannot control and many individuals are diagnosed with cancer having preexisting anxiety, but it speaks to an untapped area of focus that could potentially improve outcomes and quality of life.
We often focus on the big bad cancer but forget that an individual is not just their cancer diagnosis, but they are so much more than that. I often make it a point to ask individuals if they feel like they can live outside of their diagnosis and continue to be themselves.
I think that, especially as it is highlighted in this collection of blog posts, is where Michele has found her edge. She has continued to be herself despite this diagnosis.
However, I will say I would never want her or anyone with a cancer diagnosis to feel down on themselves for not being positive all of the time or feel like any negativity they felt had a detrimental impact on the course of their diagnosis.
I am extremely fortunate to have met Michele and be part of her care team. As is the case with most of my patients I end up learning way more from them than they learn from me.
The neuropathy in my fingers makes cooking and cleaning, crafts and typing, tingly and “painful”. My left thumb, left pointer, and left center fingers are currently hard to guide, typing the wrong letter half the time. I can feel it the right hand at the moment, but is having less obvious effects.
It has been three months since colon surgery, four since the beginning of chemo treatments. And I want to acknowledge that there is a lot of process happening in the realm of healing.
A miracle has occurred. AND, there are a lot of humans, and a lot of cells of this human, that are still singing back up to the lead.
The neuropathy in my fingers makes cooking and cleaning, crafts and typing, tingly and “painful”. My left thumb, left pointer, and left center fingers are currently hard to guide, typing the wrong letter half the time. I can feel it the right hand at the moment, but is having less obvious effects.
The wound is still open, which sounds worse than it appears. It looks like I have a second belly button two inches below the first, not too impressive. But it is seven centimeters deep again. It heals. It unheals. It gets “packed” every day or two. That’s when the hole is filled with material. In the past, it felt like having someone open the space and then blast it with a culinary torch. Now, it is mostly annoying and rarely painful. Today the wound nurse, Nancy, popped a blister inside near the opening. That wasn’t comfortable. But overall, the process has grown to tolerable. And Nancy is a kind and wonderful nurse, so visiting her every week or two is a gift.
I’m gaining weight. If I was a twiggy cancer survivor, that would be positive. It could be because I am consciously trying to eat protein four times a day for the wound. It could be just eating in general. Or lack of the extraordinary motion of my historic self being shifted to couch potato status, or rather, active potato, like one slowly rolling down a gradual decline.
I don’t know what is happening in the uterus. It is on the back burner. But I do experience “post traumatic stress” when I think about a hysterectomy. I just can’t fathom another surgery. I had post traumatic stress markers when I watched myself think at the clinic today. There was a blood draw, and my mind wanted to run away. “Fight or flight,” it screamed. The young lady taking the blood was perfect and I felt nothing. I watched the overall situation, and pondered my self. When Nancy measured the depth of the hole, and faced down the hematoma, same reaction. The mind is a strange. Post traumatic stress needs to be handled like a child. Hold it’s hand. Listen deeply. Great empathy. And a Thai ice tea shake with boba after the experience.
My body is sore. It’s hard to convince it to walk. My hips hurt. My right arm has one muscle that is super tight. I rarely sleep over two hours before I wake, then sleep another two, and another. Sometimes my inner heart is exhausted!
Three months is not a lot of time. Three months. I could easily have left this planet for another experience. Giving myself a handful of months to put it back together feels valid.
If you are healing from something enormous, three months is nothing. Keep healing. Keep holding your own hand, listening, having empathy. Sometimes your inner heart is exhausted.
Indrayani shared a beautiful children’s book. It is a version of Tolstoy’s old tale, The Three Questions.
“When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do?” Most of us have either read the story in one version or another, or spent incredible amounts of personal pondering on similar prospects. What is the meaning of life?
That is a huge concept, and the answer isn’t always satisfying to the soul. When I was 29, I felt a terrible angst about my life (decades later, I discovered the concept of Saturn Return, which explained the tension). I hadn’t accomplished anything; I was incredibly dissatisfied with what I was giving back to the universe. I felt lost and helpless, like there wasn’t a big plan.
Conceptually consider this: I was 29. I finished college at 22. I had a four year teaching degree. I had a one year certificate in Early Childhood Education. We lived in our second house, having sold the first one for nearly double what we paid for it. I had been married eight years and had two successful preschoolers (as successful as a preschooler can be). Yet, I was looking around for the point.
When I shared my feelings of inadequacy with my mom, she basically said “What if the meaning of life isn’t something big?” I felt … appalled? Slapped? Hurt? Misunderstood? My mom was wonderful, always supportive and such a beautiful soul. When I share stories like this, it is because there are, maybe, a handful of them in more than forty years of experiences together.
The meaning of life as defined by the three questions (spoiler alert) are: The best time is now. The most important people are the ones in your present moment. And the right thing to do is to do this moment right here in the best way possible. So, synopsis, be in the moment. Does that mean Mom was channeling Tolstoy? Probably.
I remember the embarrassment I felt at the end of year awards assembly, eighth grade, where I was called to the podium so many times that the exhilaration passed and it became embarrassing
I opened the prayer book and read, “…guide me on to the golden road so that I do not get lost in past glory. Keep me aware of new days to come. Make me a child again.” The glory days of yesterday.
I heard Bruce Springstein in my mind, singing Glory Days. It was a song I sang when Eric spoke of his high school track moments. And he hated it. In the show, Married with Children, Al Bundy lived in a moment of glory where he completed a famous pass in his high school football career. For this to be comedy, it must be something we all do… looking back.
Our minds can go waaaaay back. I remember the embarrassment I felt at the end of year awards assembly, eighth grade, where I was called to the podium so many times that the exhilaration passed and it became embarrassing.
I was always an honored student with high grades. I worked for them. In college, there was a difficult teacher in the arts department, and one of the most satisfying honors was that I was invited into his “in crowd”. That only happened for one or two students each year. Being invited was enough. Glory days.
There were moments in holding parent group offices, or in managing for scouts. For some spaces of survival, spiritually through a Kundalini awakening. Or through medical perils, the long lived MRSA experience, or the recent day by day drama of colon and uterine cancers.
It’s difficult not to cling, even to the little things. In my last occupation, I taught people to drive. Although I do have a high standard for safety when I am a passenger, I don’t need to continue teaching the elements of driving to experienced motorists. It’s so difficult to shake off. I talk to my brain about letting it go. The brain does not listen. Clinging.
I think the prayer is centered in allowing ourselves to be in the present and to be open to the gifts of an uncertain future. Specifically, death. Specifically, death of the past for certain. We really think we are something, someone. But it is ever shifting, changing, dying, growing, evolving.
We can have gratitude for memories, for glory days. But in living, the glory is in the moment. The glory is in the open acceptance. The glory is in the Divine unfolding.
To the Federal Government, Stage Four Cancer earns a person the right to “disability”. Disability does not mean unaccomplished, or lesser, or incapable of changing the world… Chadwick Boseman and his co stars created the top grossing movie of all times, Avenger’s Endgame, while he dealt with the ramifications of colon cancer and its treatment.
Chadwick Boseman (1976 – 2020), who played the superhero in Black Panther, died of Colon Cancer a few days ago. His death set me thinking about disability, to reveal or not disclose our battles with a terminal disease, and the relentless quest to achieve our life’s purpose.
Boseman faced a hidden challenge, – Colon Cancer.
In the summer of 2018, Kwami and I were in Oakland, California. Shante and Mark chose the Berkeley Botanical Garden for wedding jubilations, so we spent a week running around in the Bay Area.
A quirky little destination on 24th Street Oakland, California, called the New Parkway Theater.
There is a quirky little destination on 24th Street called the New Parkway Theater. The word “New” is a form of advertising their weakness, much like some of the recent political strategies. Advertise by saying you are excellent where your downfall actually shines. But perhaps in the theater world, “new” refers to co-ed restrooms, Bingo and Beer, Drink and Draw, comfy couch seating (although they are certainly second hand couches), and food and drinks delivered to you in the café or as you watch a movie… cutting edge in those respects! Very new. When it reopens after Covid 19, check it out. The vibe is excellent.
We had not caught it fresh in the theaters, so we finally watched Black Panther. Black Panther is normally not my type of movie, too much action. But Chadwick Boseman and crew delivered to a varied audience, and certainly the messages were deep and blaring. Deep and blaring messages make it MY type of movie. I most certainly cried, and cried again. The power and energy of Black Panther were timely, in that it was time for us to make another leap into a better world. Decades ago, it was time. But humanity is slower than a sloth in molasses.
Apparently Boseman faced a hidden challenge, one I am not hiding – Colon Cancer. He was fighting it for several years without word to the media. He made movies and lived his life, married his wife. And the secret dis-ease was eating at his body.
To the Federal Government, Stage Four Cancer earns a person the right to “disability”. Disability does not mean unaccomplished, or lesser, or incapable of changing the world. It means there is a challenge, perhaps an enormous one, that hampers daily existence. Chadwick Boseman and his co stars created the top grossing movie of all times, Avenger’s Endgame, while he dealt with the ramifications of colon cancer and its treatment. Facing a disease does not align a person to “being disabled”.
On the contrary, his ability to capture an audience and deliver insightful reflection was heightened. Boseman likely felt the “get it done now” pressure that any of us feel when we are looking death directly in the eye. He was a talented man destined to share a great deal with the world. He did it quickly and he did it well. His gifts and messages squashed the expectations people have of the sick.
Do you think Chadwick Boseman kept the secret for a reason? Perhaps the studio would not hire him. Maybe his power would have been overshadowed. If the public, in mass, believed he was going to die, how much more quickly would it have occurred?
The lesson that I am trying to assimilate appears to be life purpose. The messages of Black Panther and his other movies may have been Chadwick Boseman’s life purpose. It would have been enough. Or it may have been his visits with children in the hospital. Or his love for and marriage to his wife. But purpose appears to be cumulative… or, fully not cumulative and just about the moment we are in. Although we may miss the gifted star, no one dies too young. We all die perfectly, at the right time, and with the intention of the Divine.
That is really difficult for me to accept. Coming from the Country of Perfect (Flag Page character analysis), I can see the “better way”. I can visualize what is easiest, healthiest, economically wise. It could be so easy. Tweak this. Move that. Do the other. And perfection will play out. I can see it for the worlds of my people.
This morning I woke up with the picture of Smith Wigglesworth in my mind, with him holding up the dead man, commanding him to come back to this existence. No success with that one. (And so much success in raising the dead in other circumstances.) In the acceptance, there is grace.
We are not always supposed to be the assistance, to bring the balance, to provide the healing.
That is really difficult for me to accept. Coming from the Country of Perfect (Flag Page character analysis), I can see the “better way”. I can visualize what is easiest, healthiest, economically wise. It could be so easy. Tweak this. Move that. Do the other. And perfection will play out. I can see it for the worlds of my people.
But it doesn’t work for me. My mind can picture what I want from myself, what is right, what I would like to do, be and accomplish. But an inner lump wins. (I started with the word “slug”, an inner slug, but I have watched some slugs cross the yard at a rapid pace!)
It is not inability. It is not about time, because God knows there is tons of that right now. It isn’t the illness or healing needs, or not so much anyway, because there are things that do get done.
It is a form of that human paralysis, where I watch myself from outside and just can’t make the moves that “need” to be made.
The green leaves are in the refrigerator, but are not blended into smoothies. The supplements are in the drawer, but get skipped, especially at night. Water, why not more water? Walking is easy, but it doesn’t happen, just doesn’t occur daily. The writing, the art, the reading. Why aren’t these things happening in a fluid, simple, healing order?
When I think of Smith Wigglesworth, when I think of watching my friends and knowing the moves that could change everything, and when I live my own conundrum, sometimes the answer is to just be there. Like holding hands. Like listening. Like having great compassion for the struggle. For myself. For the others.
In the peace of what is, in the acceptance, there is grace. It is there, hiding in there.
In medical crisis, I have had a chance to receive an incredible amount of love through energetic acts, words and thoughtfulness. Tons of people have actually worked HARD to keep me on the planet, the surgeon, oncologists, healers, family members, and so many of you in innumerable ways!
Last night, I was listening to another spiritual teacher on YouTube. She echoed the similar story of many before her. We are here to love and be loved. Period. End of story. This is the entire purpose of existence. That is our life’s mission.
I don’t know if I have really heard the words like then. Think! Dropped like a rock.
It is incredibly obvious. And it is a mandate that is entirely overwhelming and difficult (or relaxed and simplistic, if you take a lot of breaths and forget the past and future).
My mind jumps directly to iconic figures. It is easy to see Mother Theresa in those words, although I’m not sure that I picture her in balance. Did she receive love? In the form of world recognition and admiration, perhaps? Does that count?
Ram Dass gave himself to the world, as a teacher, author and leader. He spent years and years caring for the dying, AIDS patients and his parents. Then the Eternal comedy reversed the roles. He had a stroke when he was 66. Interestingly, he had just finished writing Still Here: Embracing Aging, Changing and Dying when he nearly stroked out of this timeline. Living another 22 years, Ram Dass spent that time receiving love and care from those around him. The balance tipped. He was forced to receive (in a good way).
Smith Wigglesworth, Joel Goldsmith, Pope Francis…
My mom and my Grandma F lived iconic, love giving lives. Both had some trying times, in the dying times, where the tables turned and they had to learn to receive.
We all give and receive love.
Some people find one side or the other simpler, and I venture to say that most people smatter some love out and receive a smattering back. There are human beings on the planet who are all about receiving love. They are here to give the rest of us a chance to give it.
Rosanna’s daughter is a newborn, and she has to be an incredible receiver (as all babies must) just to survive. Dad is in a memory care home, also a full time receiver.
In medical crisis, I have had a chance to receive an incredible amount of love through energetic acts, words and thoughtfulness. Tons of people have actually worked HARD to keep me on the planet, the surgeon, oncologists, healers, family members, and so many of you in innumerable ways!
What if we went into each day thinking about our purpose? How would a day be different if we realized that the whole goal was to give love? What about receiving, allowing others to give love to us?
It’s overwhelming. And it is definitely worth a try.
Grandma cared for the nightgown like it was a precious jewel…Christian Dior was the clothing of royalty. So when she died, maybe a dozen years after receiving the gift, the new gown was neatly folded in the drawer, worn once.
When I was young, Mom bought a Christian Dior nightgown for Grandma F at Christmas. Although I do not actually know anything about Christian Dior, apparently the name alone was worth the one hundred dollar price tag. That seems like a lot of money for a fuzzy, pink, floor length nightie, and it was even more, comparably, back then.
Grandma opened the gift and was literally flabbergasted. She didn’t speak. She nearly cried. Maybe I missed something? The nightgown meant the world to her. Mom made her promise to wear it that night.
That was likely the only evening that it saw sheets.
Grandma cared for the nightgown like it was a precious jewel. She lived in the same small house, built with the supplies available during war time, for at least four decades. She wore clothes that made sense, polyester, because you need not iron them. She worked for a church, paid cash for her brand new, Plymouth Duster, and was frugal, yet entirely thoughtful and generous.
Christian Dior was the clothing of royalty. So when she died, maybe a dozen years after receiving the gift, the new gown was neatly folded in the drawer, worn once.
Today I was in my closet. I flicked through the options. I don’t keep things I do not use or need (the exceptions, precious gifts and art). But the last few months have been a whirlwind of requirements, even if the mandate was to rest. And, as an excuse, I will add that Goodwill and other collection sites, and the stores that sell the second hand products, have been closed for Covid 19. I have several things in the closet that can be used by others now, or thrown away. They don’t fit into my current life. My current life has very different needs than the one I lived a few months back.
When we all think about the best way to live life, there is an intricate balance. And the balance shifts with the situation.
I divorced at the time when Nyasha and Shante were heading to college. The only balance in my mind, financially, was their emotional well being (retaining a sense of home), and their capability to do the dance through the educational system. Balance looked completely different than the decade before, and I certainly had no vision or interest in my own decades to come. I was required to focus.
During the Covid-19 virus pandemic, I see a lot of people dancing with decisions. The acts of saving, waiting and balance are forefront. And of priority is life. The choices they are making can mean life or death.
Some people are choosing to work in order to eat, sensible if done safely. Many work from and have children at home, and could choose to spend time in parks or playing at the beach or grabbing a board game. But they struggle with the order of things. I promise that the kids will never be young again, and I promise that you will never regain the opportunity.
Sometimes, when it comes to money, people forget to plan. They use credit to live beyond income, and forget to pay themselves first with a savings and retirement accounts that exceed ten percent of what comes in. That simple tactic, especially when a person begins it in their earlier years, will tackle emergencies and reduce life stress in an inexplicable way!
And others save too much. They over plan out of fear and do not live in the present. Covid 19 is a time to use money for safety, for balance and recreation.
What would you do if you knew you would have terminal Covid 19 in two months? And how would you change that if there was a chance of coming out of the hospital care, and beginning a new life? We are all faced with this. We should all ponder it.
What does balance look like in the world of practicality?
And then there was miraculous chemotherapy; thank you Dr. Wilfong. And miraculous naturopathic oncology; thank you Dr. Bailey. And miraculous emergency surgery; thank you Dr. Haque.
Yesterday was the three month mark. About five months ago, the diagnosis of metastasized colon cancer and endometrial uterine cancer left me thinking the pearly gates loomed closer at hand. And then there was miraculous chemotherapy; thank you Dr. Wilfong. And miraculous naturopathic oncology; thank you Dr. Bailey. And miraculous emergency surgery; thank you Dr. Haque.
And then, a real live miracle, no colon cancer on the CT scan. I want to report heaven on earth, rainbows and unicorns, listening to angelic music, eating grapes from the hands of hot…
A lot of heavenly perfection plays out in each EARTHLY day. Yesterday there were three rainbows. Thursday the unicorns were running around in Reiki meditation. Kwami unearths angelic music; we have been listening to the Ave Maria a lot this week.
The colostomy is healed, and I have mastered the components, and learned patience, tolerance, and acceptance. The bags and rings come in the mail. I have sorted out the ordering process. It is happenin’!
Internally, a lot of things have healed. “Stuff” was removed in surgery, like lymph things, and appendix things, and huge chunk of colon things, and cyst and ovary things. Functionally, it works. All of the necessary parts are doing what they are supposed to do. They have rerouted and reconfigured, and the abdomen acts like a functionally healthy abdomen.
The liver, which had two kumquat sized masses, decided to let them go. The lymph system, the parts that remain, also show no signs of cancer. That is beautiful and appreciated and unbelievable
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