Sleep, the Ultimate Good

I hold sleep as one of the most critical elements of self-care in our lives. Get enough sleep and the whole world looks brighter. But ignore the call of the mattress and dire consequences await.

This is especially true for me, as I slog through the ever-changing side effects of my current anti-cancer therapy (Tamoxifen). The amount and quality of sleep I get sets the tone of my day and determines my resilience to work and life stress. In addition, sufficient sleep has a significant positive effect on my cognitive functioning, which took a hit from cancer treatment.

But this is not limited to my personal experience. The more we learn about the science of sleep, the more we understand how our electronics-driven lifestyles disrupt sleep patterns and affect us as a society.

Dr. Matt Walker (UC Berkeley) is a strong proponent of sleep, and for good reason. He outlines in his TED talk (19:19) below some of the latest research on the repercussions of not getting enough shut-eye, and it’s not pretty. As a cancer survivor, I find this information particularly sobering. While I’ve written about the downside of placing superhuman expectations on ourselves, having THIS kind of superpower, getting sufficient sleep, is literally life-preserving.

Let’s start with “testicles”…

Dr. Walker’s two main suggestions for good sleep? (14:16 in the video)
1) Keeping a regular sleep schedule, retiring and rising at the same time regardless of day of the week.
2) Keeping your bedroom temperature at about 65°F (no mean feat without A/C in the summer months!).

For many of us, improving the amount and quality of our sleep will take concerted planning and possibly sacrifices. We live in a 24-hour-a-day world and sometimes we try to keep up with that ’round-the-clock pace; ultimately, however, we pay the price for it. There should be no question that sleep is critical to our well-being and it’s time that we give it the priority that it deserves.

Why Do We Demand Superhumans?

“…and a shoutout to Sharon in Accounting for submitting her financial report on time from her hospital bed, even with spotty WiFi. Way to show that losing both arms in a car accident doesn’t mean you can’t type with your nose! Everyone else, what’s your excuse?”

We in the US seem to take particular pride in demonstrating our inability to maintain a sane balance in our lives, viewing those who don’t exhibit an indomitable will as not trying hard enough.

Persevering in the face of adversity is laudable. But then, is experiencing difficulty doing so a weakness? Or just confirmation that we can be vulnerable and have limitations, and that’s perfectly acceptable?

It’s not always possible to rise to the occasion. Cancer patients experience this. They are told to “be strong, you can beat this!” “Never give up!” They are supposed to be warriors with limitless energy for the fight.

Lemme tell ya, sometimes you don’t feel like a fighter. Sometimes all you can do is just show up, and that’s a victory.

It’s okay to be just human.

But there’s always that one person who manages a quasi-superhuman feat while undergoing a particularly grueling treatment. We’ve all heard about their inspiring story because they’ve been held up as a shining example of what can be accomplished even in the darkest of times and most difficult of situations. So if they can do it and you can’t, what’s wrong with you?

Maybe there’s nothing wrong, maybe it just means that the most important thing in your life is to focus inwardly on your healing in whatever way you need to. Why should relentless productivity overshadow self-care?

Every being has limits, and where exactly they lie will vary between individuals and depend upon their circumstances. Not having the energy to push on where someone else did does not make you a lazy or unmotivated or selfish person. It just means that, yep, you’re still human.

A wise man once said to me, “There is no special place in heaven for people who don’t take care of themselves.” It’s time to stop acting like there is — so go home and get some rest.

Pulling Back for a Broader View

The World Is Too Much with Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. –Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

William Wordsworth

At times, the manufactured world feels like it’s closing in on me. Admittedly, that’s not what Wordsworth meant when he wrote his famous sonnet, although his poem, written to protest the spiritual collateral of the Industrial Revolution, is sharply appropriate for describing our current relationship with Nature and how we’re mucking it up.

But I’m going to sidestep that for a second and draw a different parallel. Because as I get drawn into day-to-day worries, when I wallow through the weeds of common stressors, I miss the overall beauty of this Earth and the fact that I get to walk on it.

My anxieties seem all-encompassing and fill my field of view, although the reality is that I’m just a speck. That’s not to minimize the significance of what I’m feeling while I’m feeling it and how it affects me, but once in a while I need some perspective. When I pull back to take a wider view of things (say, like from the height of the International Space Station!), things look different.

It’s so much quieter up here. I think I’ll stay for a bit.

Away from the noisy hum of machines and the incessant jabbering of humans, Earth seems pretty peaceful and quiet, which I never get in a large city. There’s always some whirring or buzzing here, traffic on the street and planes overhead. Not even earplugs provide complete relief.

In the same way, there’s a lot of chatter in my head. It gets so overwhelming at times so I need to apply “mental earplugs”: a grounded seat, darkness, lengthened breaths.

Suddenly, I’m no longer dragged by the runaway freight train crashing about in the space between my ears. For a moment, on a small cushion, those things that seemed important float away in imaginary bubbles and, if only for a moment, everything is still.

Cancer’s No Big Deal…Except That It Is

You’d think that by now, over a year since finishing most of my breast cancer treatment, I would drop the subject and get on with things. But, no, cancer isn’t like that — and apparently, neither am I. Just when I think I’ve moved on, something else comes up. So here goes:

Breast cancer has had me see-sawing between two states of mind.

On the one hand, when I was going through treatment, I didn’t want people to feel uneasy talking to me (because they do!). I downplayed the cancer diagnosis and tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible, all with a pleasant smile and carefree shrug. Yeah, surgery-chemo-radiation, no biggie. My focus was on mitigating their uncomfortable reactions — in my mind, they were the ones needing the comforting and support.

That’s because telling someone I had cancer often made them squirm. They didn’t know the “right” thing to say, afraid of hurting or upsetting me, even though the reality was that what was inside my head was far worse than anything they could have said. So I always tried to crack a joke about my bald scalp or discolored nails as if to tell them I’m cool with it.

This extended into post-treatment life. Since I feel a little distance between the disease and me, I don’t always remember that I can catch people off guard when I talk about cancer. People still blush and stumble on words, looking like they want to change the subject. I always try to make it no big deal.

But on the other hand, the reality is that cancer is serious. Treatment can be all sorts of horrible and there are no guarantees about anything. Everyone who’s had breast cancer has to live with the uncertainty of its return. And with the large number of women who have experienced or are still wading through different stages of treatment, there’s a lot of suffering going on.

I know, I know, I know. Things will be fine.

Except when they’re not.

And so, I struggle with people telling me not to focus on the past. Obviously, that would be helpful. But it’s not easy, because even when treatment is over, the fear remains. Cancer strode in like an arrogant rake, dragged me around the block a few times and left an indelible mark on my psyche. My health is back and I’ve regained a lot of physical strength, but there’s that niggling fear that cancer will return and take it all again, and the emotional pain associated with that potentiality stifles any celebration. It was easier to focus on getting through chemo and radiation than to wander into the Wild West of the future.

So I fight with myself. Sometimes I need to talk about how miserable it was and how angry it made me (one side of the seesaw), all the while not wanting to make people uncomfortable about it (the other side). That, of course, is not a successful combination. Ultimately, I put on a brave face, take a deep breath and quietly hurt inside.

But don’t worry, after I write about it, I can shake off these feelings and I’m okay.

Except when I’m not.

A Loss…and a Laugh

I lost my Costco card today. Somewhere between the entrance and the check-out line. It’s not the end of the world since I was promptly issued a new one, but the old one had a photo of the pre-cancer me on it.

Reminders of that “old me” are disappearing as I redefine who I am. Yes, life is constantly in flux and change is inevitable but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt.

Cancer has been about loss for me. Loss of weight, loss of hair, loss of concentration, loss of physical fitness, loss of over a year spent in treatment. Loss of a friend to the disease. Out of nowhere, losing that one seemingly insignificant warehouse card brought this all back.

There have been gains too, and much to be grateful for. I could draw up a long list. But today I can’t write about them.

Today I longed for what was gone. Tomorrow will be better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clouds parted, the sun shone forth and nothing really changed but my attitude.

So, after all that angsty serious talk, I got home and realized that my old Costco card was in my back pocket all this time. D’oh! I’d forgotten that I’d stuck it there!

Wow, I felt silly. They say hindsight is 20/20…well, looking back at how darkly I’d taken this, it did seem a bit ridiculous that I’d packed so much meaning into a piece of plastic.

And in a swoosh, the clouds cleared out, the sun peeked through and the world looked different. I still have that new post-cancer photo on my Costco card, but I’m laughing at myself and it doesn’t seem that bad.

Same situation, new perspective.

And then, if we realize that we can change our perspective…?

Stepping Off and Slowing Down

During a recent mindfulness retreat, we did a walking meditation outside.

The idea was simple: walk slowly, as if taking steps for the very first time. Sense how it feels to shift all your weight onto one foot as you lift the other, then extend that lifted leg, place that foot down and shift weight onto it as you lift the other leg. Rarely do we slow down enough and realize how complex a movement that is, we’ve been doing it for so long.

As I walked along the paved path, I moved fluidly. There was nothing in my way and the pavement was flat. Perfect to move me along even though I was taking extra care with my steps.

But as I came up to the lawn and stepped off the path onto the grass, I sensed a change in my movement. The lawn was bumpier, clover blossoms all around with honeybees that I wanted to avoid. My steps slowed even more as I trod gingerly.

The living, growing lawn required more balance and called for increased attention to what I was doing.

Ah, those man-made paths…getting us to where we need to be.

As I made my way through this walking meditation, I was intrigued by how my experience differed between the two surfaces. Our human-constructed paths are designed to get us places and purposefully point us in the direction that we must go. The hard pavement requires less thought about balance and it is usually clear of hidden obstructions. As a result, we pay less attention to what we’re doing in the moment and more to replaying scenes from the past or what’s to come in the future. We whiz through, perhaps arriving at our destination with little memory of how we got there.

Once in a while, get off the path, enjoy the journey and see where you end up.

But the grassy blanket laid down by nature gently commands us to observe the journey. That path has many possibilities and sometimes we don’t know exactly how we will travel when we set out. We give it more thought as we progress, perhaps changing direction several times, but being aware of the reasons for doing so. We may arrive at our destination with a fresh mind and greater appreciation of the journey.

Certainly, we cannot always leave the paved path. We have responsibilities that must be met and those may require efficient travel in the shortest time possible. But what a shame if we never take the opportunity to wander off and slow down our pace, delighting in where we are right now.

The Impermanence of Green (and Yellow…and Orange…)

Most of the photos I’ve posted that I’ve taken myself were from my cancer treatment, so for this Mother’s Day I wanted to share something unrelated to the disease and filled with natural beauty.

There’s not much time left.

It has been an unusually rainy and cool spring in my corner of the world. Whereas in recent years, by now plants are drying up on the hillsides ready to provide kindling for late summer fires, in 2019, we are still getting rain showers. In fact, we had several today.

Orange nasturtiums light up the top of the hill, only to be overwhelmed by yellow wildflowers.

As a result, the hills and canyons are multiple shades of green. But it’s not simply the thickness of the green that makes me crane my neck as I drive down the road — wildflowers, encouraged by the rain, are spreading across the landscape. Masses of orange nasturtiums drip down hillsides as if they were poured out from above. They are stunning against the greenery.

These little yellow wildflowers, which I haven’t been able to ID properly yet (anyone?), are everywhere!

But I am most in love with the little yellow flowers that have transformed the canyons into an impressionist painting, where an artist practicing pointillism decided she had too much yellow on her palette and needed to get rid of it somewhere. The effect is breathtaking.

Mother Nature’s artistry is unrivaled.

Now, this may not seem like anything remarkable to you, but I am filled with joy to see so much color and beauty in the plantlife, untended by human hands and perhaps guided by something far more divine.

Islands of green in a sea of yellow.

Eventually, summer will take over, the rains will stop and the brown will return. These glorious colors may portend danger as the heat intensifies and the plants become fuel. So I will enjoy them now as a gift to the senses — it is not that these flowers are beautiful to me in spite of blooming only for a short time. They are beautiful because they bloom only for a short time. Happy Mother’s Day!