Off Roading

When I went off roading in Sedona, I went for a rugged adventure. I wanted to experience something new I hadn’t done before. It was an opportunity to see things that I would be unable to see on my own. I had no idea that there would be a cancer connection.

Off roading and cancer were two things that were simply too far apart to be connected.

I didn’t think about cancer at all on my Pink Jeep Tour. Bouncing around as the jeep hit every bump and rock possible while taking in all the scenery was all I could manage. Distractions from metastatic breast cancer are rare for me. The connections between the two hit me after I returned home.

Off roading is quite a metaphor for cancer.

Both take you off the main road you found yourself on that was a smooth and comfortable ride.  Suddenly, the smooth paved road has disappeared. The navigation system doesn’t work. No signs mark the way to tell you where you are. It is unknown territory. To maneuver on this terrain takes skill. The big difference is off roading is fun and cancer is not.

Some refer to cancer as a bump in the road. This may be a fitting description for early stage cancer where treatment is successful and cancer doesn’t return. Metastatic cancer is an unpaved road made of mainly rocks that cause THOUSANDS of bumps. They appear as soon as the road changes from asphalt to dirt and rocks. One jolt is met with another, and then another, followed by countless more. They come rapidly like bullets out of a gun.

There was even a highlight of the tour that was called the staircase of no return where the jeep lurched and jerked down a slope made of rocks that resembled a staircase. Those of us with metastatic disease travel these bumps. We passed the point of no return when we were diagnosed.

The guide described the tour being like a roller coaster. A roller coaster fits my life, too. Up, down, upside down, lightning speed, and filled with twists and turns. Metastatic cancer is like a runaway rollercoaster in the mountains filled with precarious dangers like cliffs, avalanches, and a vicious wild animal or two. You can’t get off it. The topsy-turvy ride is over if you do.

He went on to share with the group how he was trained. It appeared like he was driving with no plan over the course of our 3-hour tour. However, part of his training was to make sure the tires hit exact markers to keep everyone safe. I’ve connected this to precision medicine and targeted treatments. His comments have also made me think about how my decisions matter. Like those tire tracks, I have to make sure I hit things at exactly the right angles at the right moment. And I have no control. I can’t control what my oncologist will say, or test results, or research. I’m trying to drive my own off-road vehicle without training. I’m self-taught and feel I have a certain level of expertise, but man, I wish I knew how to be a better driver on this bumpy road.

The tour was remarkable in the unparalleled beauty it revealed and what it taught me about life that has nothing to do with cancer. Maybe it does.

I was reminded what it felt like to feel free.

To celebrate life.

To continue to find meaning.

I rediscovered how important it is to know my worth. I am worth a lot. Confidence was gained every day I hiked. I began my vacation being unsure about my steps and gradually I found myself more decisive on where I placed my foot. I made very tiny leaps from one rock to another. Reminders to live in the moment and live fully are welcome.

I want to share one final thought on the agave plant. It has nothing to do with tequila. The agave has a life span of 20-25 years and it blooms only once in its life. It sprouts a tall stalk over 6 feet that resembles an asparagus stalk when it is near the end of its life. This can grow 3 to 8 inches a day when it gets ready to bloom. The blossoms are yellow and then they turn red. They bloom and the plant is said to be most beautiful at the end of its life. I find that deeply sad. The rest of our group seemed to find it oddly beautiful. I refuse to draw parallels to human life, to my life. It doesn’t make sense to me that something that has taken so long to shine only lasts a few days.

And yet I can’t help it. Since I look for meaning in things, I wonder what I am meant to know from the agave. A lot of goodness, joy, and success has come my way over the past couple of years. I’ve always been a late bloomer. Is this it?

No, I am not an agave plant. I’ve bloomed more than once.

Beauty blooms and thrives in inhospitable conditions. It can sprout up from cracks in rocks, tolerate insufferable heat, and grow without rain. I can relate. I stay alive even with cancer. I shall continue to bloom like a rare rose, a wildflower, or even a desert cactus.

The off roading adventure was beyond bumpy. It was also healing. I saw scenery I would have no other way of seeing. I discovered an uncrowded spot to watch the sunset that was easily accessible. It was healing by going and getting away from my life here. Sadly, the vortexes did not have the healing power I hoped. Maybe I’m a fool for hoping they would. Stranger things have happened. Inexplicable natural phenomenon rests solidly in that category. So many cancer things don’t make sense to me anyway.

I’ll take every bit of hope I can get on this bumpy road.

More Vortex Lessons

The Airport Vortex is where the energy affected me the strongest on my recent trip to Sedona.

Everything started off as planned. I was thrilled that the hike sloped downward and the steps weren’t too difficult. I felt waves of gratitude that I wouldn’t have to climb up them. This was a loop route. Long, but a loop.

One of the rules established from day one of hiking was that breaks were good. We took breaks often to recover and press on. One of these breaks was at a spot overlooking Sedona and the rocks as far as the eye could see. I noticed it looked like people sat above us on a rock formation to our right. I wondered if that could be the vortex and strolled over to read some signage before the climb. I didn’t see anything about the vortex.

Whoosh!

I was hit by sudden dizziness. Out of the blue. It only lasted for a moment, yet it shook my confidence. Was this the energy effect again? Why did I seem to experience these unsettling feelings rather than the euphoric tingling and wellness others had described? Hmmph. Seemed typical for me. I sat down at the overlook and nonchalantly got out my Gatorade.

Karil was ready to move on. We’ve been friends since 4th grade. I was not quite recovered and had to tell her I felt momentarily dizzy. I wondered if it was energetic. We chatted a bit with other hikers and learned the summit to the vortex was where we thought it might be. I was sure I could make it.

Off we went.

It was a short, steep climb. Ropes were secured to the sides to define a safe route. They came in handy to hold as you climbed. The last twenty feet or so consisted of one of those one way fairly narrow ascents. I announced I was lying down when I got to the top.

And so I did.

There I stayed. Opening my heart to the energy. Recharging my soul.

I recited my affirmations and prayed. My heart rate lowered 25-30 points. It felt good. No big whoosh of energy. I felt perfectly healthy on the summit. Fully alive.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. We decided we were ready to head back to the car which meant we had to climb up those rock steps I earlier had been so erroneously grateful to not have to climb up. Two breaks were taken quickly. Because of me. On the second one, I desperately looked for someplace to sit. I felt nauseous. I was on the edge of spontaneously sobbing. Energy worked viciously through me. Out with the bad, in with the good.

Backtrack to earlier in the week. Karil had shared a decision she may make where she was worried how she might be affected by someone’s reaction.

Backtrack farther. My fitness coach has often asked me a simple question when things get too hard for me. She asks, “So what?” So what if I can’t run like I want? So what if I can’t lift as much as I have before? So what if I’m not exactly where I want to be? The question all comes down to the narrative I tell myself (I’ve failed. I’m not good enough. I’m a wimp.) versus what it really means (I’m dealing with effects from cancer treatments. It isn’t a defining event. I can do many other things.).

I gave Karil a “So what?” scenario for her situation earlier in the week. It stayed on her mind.

She chose this moment to throw the question back to me.

So what if I couldn’t make it back to the car?

I could go back down to the bottom of the trail where there were a couple of prized parking spots off the road. She’d finish the climb and pick me up on her way down the road.

Ugh. I wanted to make it up the trail. It’s what I planned to do. Goals are to be met. Nothing else is acceptable. I’m a wimp if I can’t do it. That’s the narrative that ran through my mind. What did it really mean? Nothing. Completing the path up was not mandatory. I had another choice.

I told her I would take her offer.

Down I went. In minutes I was sitting in the shade depleting all my fluids I brought with me. Hydrating was a major priority on this vacation. I couldn’t get enough to drink for the rest of the day.

Part of me still wanted to make it back to the car. As close to losing it as I was, I recognized this was a teaching opportunity where I could lead by example. The teacher in me continues to live. It was also an excellent opportunity for me to practice what I preach.

Obviously, I need to be more careful what I preach.

Some people apparently listen.

For about two hours after this, my left eye burned, and my left nostril couldn’t stop dripping. My left side just felt watery. I took two recovery naps that afternoon. And I kept hydrating. Then all was well again. It was a strange reaction that I can’t attribute to anything. Oddly, it was my right side that felt a pulling a few days earlier on the Boynton Canyon hike.

Lessons from the Airport Vortex affirmed the following:

  1. I’m not in as good as shape as I wanted, but I still showed up. I will always do my best to show up.
  2. Although I didn’t take a poll at the vortex, the chances are pretty darn good I was the only one climbing that day with active cancer. That isn’t a small feat. It takes determination, a strong stubborn disposition, and stupidity. Forget that last thing. I’m proud of what I accomplish.
  3. The narrative I tell myself and what is really true is a work in progress for me.
  4. Energy doesn’t have to be understood to have an effect.
  5. I am infinitesimally small compared to the vast grandeur around me, but I am connected to that grandeur. We all are.

Epic vacations don’t come along often. The location, the scenery, and the hiking made this vacation unlike any other I’ve taken. It may sound like it was a lot of physical exertion. I would call it an active vacation. Nature is where I feel happy. It was in the 90s most afternoons. We hiked early in the morning. It still got warm, but Arizona’s dry heat feels cooler than Wisconsin’s humidity. Experiencing all of this with metastatic breast cancer makes it all the more special for me. Life is good.

Hiking and Healing in Sedona

Sedona is a place of wonder and striking beauty. I took my first vacation in almost two years there at the beginning of summer. My intentions were to hike and experience the vortex healing that has made the area famous.

The Sedona vortexes are described as swirling centers of energy where the earth seems more alive with energy. Juniper trees grow with twisting trunks as a result of said energy. These vortexes are believed by many to support healing and cleanse negative energies from the body. People go there for mediation, self-reflection, and of course – healing.

Some just enjoy the hikes. There reportedly are around 135 different hikes one can take. I did four; two will be shared here.

Hike #1: Boynton Canyon

I walk and hike at home but found myself thinking my first “easy” Sedona hike as pretty darn hard. Most of it was manageable until the path began to climb upward toward the red rocks of Boynton Canyon. The step-ups were high, comparable to two or three steps on a staircase. The rocks themselves were uneven. My eyes were constantly scanning for an easier path. I used my hands on the rocks to help steady myself as I climbed. I sat on my butt a few times to boost myself up. My balance was alarming. I swayed when standing still. My knees were wobblier than a broken wheel on a bicycle. As I hiked, I oddly felt a strong pull to my right. A quick way down was to my right. Could this be the vortex? Elevation? Just poor balance on my part?

I called my hike done when I made my usual grunts of groans of exasperation. These are one of my signs that I need to stop doing what I’m doing. My friend finished climbing to where we decided we’d stop to meditate. I perched upon a giant rock and drank some water. I quickly switched to my Gatorade for something stronger. It usually perks me up and it did its job. After a brief rest, I too finished the climb.

I found another rock for a good rest. I looked out over the canyon and then to my right where the rocks tried to touch the sky. After a bit, I closed my eyes. Focused on my breath. Waited for something. Guidance. A sense of that universal energy. Nothing happened. I chose to focus on words that struck me as significant in that moment – balance and healing. Over and over, my mind slowly repeated these words. Something happened. My heart felt a slow warmth taking over inside. I felt a smile spread across my face and just basked in the feeling. Connection to something bigger than myself is an extraordinary feeling.

The return route was easier even though I still lowered myself down a few of those big steps on my butt.

Hike #2: Oak Creek

Oak Creek was the next day’s hike. It is mainly flat (yay) and shaded (double yay). The creek burbles along the base of Cathedral Rock. Cathedral rock has a portion that is described as a near vertical climb. We agreed we didn’t need this experience. The vortex was supposedly strongest at the end of the trail.

The sound of the creek refreshed me. Never would I have guessed Arizona could remind me of home. I felt like I was walking in parts of Pheasant Branch. The water was deeper here and flowed faster. After a good walk, we each settled into our own areas to meditate. It was deeply peaceful, but I didn’t experience any sense of a strong energy.

This trail required we retrace our steps to get back to our starting point. Halfway back, I began to experience a sharp pain on my right side where my liver is located. Hello cancer. Or hello energy? Somewhere I had read that you might feel discomfort of old injuries as healing worked. The pain vanished in a couple of minutes.

Then there was the snake. A beautiful nonvenomous snake stretched its full length (4 feet or so) as it crossed in front of us. If I see snakes back home in Pheasant Branch, they are small little things that you could easily step on before seeing them. Not this snake. I could have wrapped it around my waist and tied it like a belt. I was cautiously mesmerized by this friend. I learned snakes are symbols of transformation and healing. There’s a snake curled around a rod often seen in medical settings. It is associated with Asklepios, known as the ancient mythical god of medicine.

Was it a coincidence that I felt pain on this hike?

Was it a coincidence that shortly thereafter I saw a snake?

Was it healing?

I don’t believe in coincidences.

Time will tell. Time won’t tell if healing is attributed to the energy of the vortexes, my current cancer drug, or both.

Do I feel healed?

Yes. I felt GOOD in Sedona! Remarkably and unbelievably well. Many factors contribute to healing. I feel healed. And I’m going to hold tightly to that feeling.

Always.