Joining My Herd

My lovely, timid, garden finally produced her first cucumber! (I'm pretty sure it's my fault for under-watering.) There is nothing more delicious than snipping a warmed-by-the-sun cucumber, and taking a big ole bite. The flesh was soft, giving way to a watery crispness. Yum!

I have some pretty exciting news. Remember when I mentioned that this year, my 34th, would be a time of challenges? That I was redefining fear in my life? Well, on Sunday I am flying out to Moab, Utah for a week of rock climbing. It's through a program named First Descents. I applied expecting to hopefully make it into a program for next year, but just a few weeks ago I received an email about a cancellation so I quickly started jumping through hoops. The program I was trying to get into was surfing in Santa Barbara, and I was stoked, but after my physical and final documents made it to their medical team, it was decided that because of my history of seizures I'm not allowed in their water programs; I at least have to be seizure free for a year. (There goes the river kayaking, too!) But, as a very kind gesture, they sneaked me into a rock climbing program instead. I'm so nervous.

Oh ya, did I mention that all the attendees are cancer fighters and survivors?!? That's the part I'm most excited about. I've written about my isolation before, about how hard it can be when you're fighting tumors or cancer, that you can't relate on the same level with your friends, or even your family.

"First Descents offers young adult cancer fighters and survivors a free outdoor adventure experience designed to empower them to climb, paddle and surf beyond their diagnosis, defy their cancer, reclaim their lives and connect with others doing the same."

I can't wait to join my herd. (Does that make me a cow?) I can't wait to make friends. I can't wait to laugh! I can't wait to freak out from the heights. I can't wait to kick some rock ass. I can't wait to sweat. I can't wait for the challenge. I can't wait to earn my fear. I am so sick of shooting up out of bed from nightmares. I'm sick of nightsweats. I am sick of sensing tingles, and changes in my tumor cavity, always wondering, Is that the tumor? Am I feeling angiogenesis, a new blood vessel feeding Hermie, helping him grow? I'm sick of fearing brain tumors. I'm sick of fearing fear. It's not that I want to change how fear plays a role in my life, it's that I am changing how fear plays a role in my life. I am taking control now.

I feel guilty taking a week long vacation while Dan works. I feel guilty taking time off of my life, my research, my job helping my friends fight their cancers. There won't be an internet, or I've been told it's spotty, so I'll literally be gone. I feel guilty and lucky that I get to go on this free trip, and get this amazing experience. I feel like this will be a game changer. That it will be a catalyst, empowering me, humbling me, recharging me. In my life, at each turn, I just keep getting gift after gift. Who gets to live like this? This girl. And she's damn grateful.

Out Living

Oh I have been laughing at myself. Me and my big book. Me talking about my fancy new brain. The second I started typing about my progress, Doubt started creeping in. He's such a jerk, that Doubt. I'm macabre in nature, and can not help but wonder if this next MRI in October will prove to be the one where Hermie shows back up. Life is too good. It's going so well. When Doubt spoke up, I literally laughed out loud. The irony of life. You never know when your luck will end. All I can do is enjoy each day, seek out the big books, strive to be happy, push boundaries.

This past weekend Dan and I went camping in north central Washington. We brought friends, new and old. My cell phone quickly drained as we drove closer, and as I unplugged from the rest of the world, my vision became clearer, the sunshine brighter, the river much more blue. I took deep breaths, inhaling the dry wind. I allowed the breeze to ribbon around my neck, sparking private smiles. I'm not much for camping; I'm a girl somewhat tethered to electricity, to amenities. But, man, did I enjoy myself. I swam and swam, lap after lap, in the river. I goofed off with the kids. I sneaked away to read my books. I went to bed early with the sun, and rose with the quail as the sky pinkened. I slept hard, hard on the hard ground. I have bruises on my hips, battle scars. I look at them with pride. It reminds me that this is my year of challenges, of getting out of my comfort zone. The bruises remind me that I'm alive, that I'm out there living.

Where did the girls go!?

Dan caught us snoozing

Our campfire smoke made it a bit hazy, but what a gorgeous spot!

On another note, I've been meaning to mention that for the first time the FDA has approved a pharmaceutical CBD to treat glioblastoma. (Remember my post on CBD for brain tumors and seizures?) The drug was given "orphan drug status", here's the press release, or you can read it below. This is fantastic validation for CBD advocates! The FDA had already granted "orphan drug status" to the same pharmaceutical company, Insys Therapeutics, for two rare forms of epilepsy (Dravet Syndrome and Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome). Boy do I love it that I live in a state that makes it easier to procure, and use medical marijuana. Even though CBD isn't psychoactive, you still have to have a license to grow marijuana, even if it's industrial hemp (which still hasn't passed in the House). We're getting closer, though, to allowing us cancer fighters to do what we have to do to survive. This is our life, our future, our bodies. Ultimately, we should be the ones making the decisions, not the government. We're a unique crew, and should have flexibility, even carte blanche.

We Are Strong Beyond Measure

I can feel it in my bones; I've turned a new leaf. I am no longer fighting this role I've inherited on Earth, this brain tumor life. I am whole heartedly embracing it. I'm enthralled with the research, the supplements, the current treatments, the treatments down the line. I am happy to eat my veggies, and down fish, flax seed, and coconut oil. I'm thriving on clove after clove of garlic and pill after pill. 

I can't believe medical professionals - educated people - said I wouldn't walk or run or read again after my hematoma. Here I am, I'm thriving. My brain is so happy it wants to kiss me. I just went down to the lake to take a break from all of the cancer research, and my light reading is on quantum physics. And I love it. It makes sense. It excites me, and challenges me, and makes me giddy. Who would have thought? Clearly not the doctors. 

The brain is miraculous, and if you treat it with kindness, feeding it the right foods, exercising it with new stimuli and challenge it, it will sprout new cells, and new connections will be made. I can't believe that I'm one of the lucky ones where my diet and lifestyle and perseverance is working to heal my damaged brain. Depending on the damage, I'm sure it doesn't work for everyone. That's the thing about life, there aren't any guarantees. All you can do is give it your best shot. And never give up. And when miracles happen along the way, whether they may be small or large, celebrate your fortune.

It has taken 4.5 years to recover from the hematoma and hardening of my duramater. It almost killed me, but it didn't. Some people like to say, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I hate that saying. I think I was always this strong, just as strong as I needed to be to get to where I am today. I didn't need a disaster, a diagnosis, to make me into a new person. It was always in me. I think that's true with all people. Some may just need to dig a little, but it's there. We're all infinitely capable. We're strong beyond measure. We just have to believe in ourselves.