Tag: Cancer

Revisiting Radiation Tattoos

(Title image: Photo by FlyD on Unsplash)

I came across a story from November 2024 about actress Nicole Eggert (“Baywatch”, “Charles in Charge”) discussing her breast cancer diagnosis.

While I admit that I hadn’t watched any of her acting projects, I could completely relate to her reaction to preparing for radiation therapy.

The article focuses on an Instagram post that she made after leaving a doctor’s appointment during which she received her radiation tattoos, expressing surprise at the fact that they were, in fact, actual tattoos.

As the article continues, “She then started to cry as she realized just how permanent the tattoo would be. ‘And it’s minor, it’s nothing but dots, but boy, every step of this process is never gonna let you forget it, there’s just always going to be a constant reminder.’”

This really resonated with me because I had a similar reaction to getting my own radiation tattoos. I had never had an interest in getting any kind of tattoo myself. But now, with cancer, nothing was under my control anymore. It felt like my body was not my own.

Nope, never wanted a tattoo. But had to get four anyway (minus the pretty flowers).
(Photo by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash)

And I remember being told that now I was going to get tattooed, just like that. No fanfare or anything. I don’t remember being told in advance, although I would not be surprised if I had and it simply hadn’t registered. I felt helpless a lot of the time and I had hoped that after chemo I could get a sense of self-ownership back. But the tattoos were a big “NOPE” to that!

I agree with Nicole, it’s the permanence of these things and even the long-term nature of some of the side effects of cancer treatment that add to the emotional impact of the disease.

I don’t know much about Nicole’s tattoos, but because I am pale with lots of moles already, my tattoos were blue to distinguish them from everything else on my skin. So while they were just small dots, to me they were very visible when I looked in the mirror.

My post about the experience (“I Didn’t Expect THAT: Radiation Tattoos“) talks a bit more about this. Now, almost 8 years later, I’ve made peace with the blue dots in the same way that I’ve tried to accept my scars and aches and whatever else has hung around since treatment.

Made peace, yes. But like the tattoos, although their sharpness fades, the memory remains.

“Them’s Fightin’ Words!”: Discussing Cancer Language

(Photo by Thao LEE on Unsplash)

Here’s something that I want to share from my Yoga4Cancer teacher training class. It’s an episode from a BBC podcast on the language that we use to talk about cancer, and it is excellent.

The podcast features a group of people touched by cancer: survivors who have finished their treatment and those who are still undergoing it. In one case, there is a woman who will never finish treatment because she needs to stay on it for the rest of her life.

Their topic of conversation circles around how they describe their situations and how they feel about the words that others use. I don’t want to give too much away because the discussion is engaging and even humorous, so I do encourage you to listen for yourselves.

BBC Radio 4 “Fighting Talk: How Language Can Make Us Better” (https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m0001g8w).

I’d be really interested in knowing what your opinion on this is. Many of us might start with more aggressive talk concerning our cancer diagnoses: fight, beat, battle, etc. And yet as you’ll see, those terms can become problematic. We may get worn down by them as the treatment progresses.

How about “toxic positivity” from others? This is the tendency to push a narrative of upbeat positivity no matter what, even when it’s not appropriate to the situation. Such encouragement often ignores the tumultuous inner state of the cancer patient and can lead to a feeling of isolation

Open discussions about cancer help maintain an active support network for the diagnosed individual.
(Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash)

Everyone is different and as cancer survivors, we don’t expect well-meaning friends and family to know what personally irks us: for instance, there are differences between men and women in how they react to “fighting” metaphors. But it’s useful to bring a conversation like this into the open because cancer is one of those diseases that may make people around us feel uncomfortable.

A lot of people may not know what to say in response to your diagnosis, so they’ll say something vague and positive, or even nothing at all…and some may avoid you altogether. That can be unfortunate at a time where community support is especially important.

If you are currently undergoing treatment, understand that many around you might not have the vocabulary for talking about cancer in a way that resonates with you.

And if you are one of those friends who doesn’t know what to say, it can be best to admit that. Trying, “I don’t know what to say because I don’t want to say anything wrong,” can be more heartfelt and helpful than an awkwardly-cheery, “You got this!” or “Don’t give up the fight!”

I hope you enjoy the podcast episode!

An Eyeball Update…and Unfortunate Addendum

(Title image: Photo by Anastasiya Badun on Unsplash)

Last Wednesday, I had a follow-up appointment with my ophthalmologist regarding the visual migraine auras I’d experienced during the second half of last year. [Read through to the end to see what happened a few days later on Sunday.]

I had gone to see her on November 22nd after the aura frequency had increased, and at that point, imaging of my eyes revealed little hemorrhages in both eyeballs, leading my doc to fear that something was exerting pressure, eliciting auras and busting little blood vessels.

And by “something”, she meant possibly a cause as serious as a tumor.

This time around, however, the hemorrhages were gone, healed on their own. As I mentioned in a previous post, my auras had ceased too. And even my eyeballs were not looking as parched as they had before.

Everything had improved. How often does that happen?

While I expected some improvement by virtue of the fact that I was no longer experiencing visual disturbances, I was a little surprised by the complete reversal. My eyeballs looked better than they had even during my first appointment with the eye doctor some months ago.

So we talked about the effects that stress might have had on me, since I had incorporated all sorts of anti-anxiety measures. My opthalmologist is very supportive of meditation and whatever else it takes to calm oneself down. She was very relieved that there was such a marked improvement.

And this made me think about how the extra effort I’d put into being mindful, pausing during the day, increasing meditation time and the like had really paid off. Simply taking the time to look around and notice how I felt, to evaluate the pressures that I was under, to be aware and present…all of this helped me realize where there were things that I could do to change what was happening.

The concept of self-efficacy comes to mind here. Because after going through a cancer journey where everything seems out of my hands, it’s refreshing to have the experience of being able to get a positive response from lifestyle changes.

And, yes, I have to admit: I am making assumptions here. I am assuming that in fact, the visual migraine auras were caused by a pile-on of factors that included anxiety, grief and depression. I am assuming that by being more self-aware of what I was going through, engaging in holistic methods for calming myself and showing self-compassion, even the increased consumption of theobromine, all worked together to help me get a handle on the emotional storm that I’d been facing. I could be completely wrong.

But you know what? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that all these things were exactly what I needed.

Perhaps it’s not as simplistic as taking deeper breaths. But those self-soothing techniques do not hurt.

Of course, the trick now is to not get complacent. Life is still tough, and I know that I have some challenges coming up this year. Even the greatest techniques do no good if you start cutting corners.

But after the uncertainty of last year, the pain and the loss, once again I get the satisfaction of knowing that as difficult as it seems to be, I can survive this.

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ADDENDUM

The trick now is to not get complacent. I feel like I’m eating my words.

I had felt very positive when I wrote the first draft of this post last Friday. But perhaps after almost two months of no auras, I might have assumed that I was done with them.

Yesterday (Sunday), while driving in the car, I experienced another aura. It was “milder” and a little shorter than most, but *groan* it was still an aura. My heart sank.

A few days ago I had noticed that I was experiencing that involuntary sighing reflex again. I didn’t think much of it because, hey, I had everything under control, right? I guess not.

So today my mind is more unfocused, possibly additional stress from life or anxiety over the fact that I just had another aura after things were going so well. Honestly, I don’t know which. All I know is that auras are not going to simply disappear from my life altogether. I guess I should have expected a relapse.

Darn it.

Cancer Took the Magic Away, Mindfulness Brought It Back

(Title image: Photo by Ethan Hoover on Unsplash)

And, no, I’m not talking about casting spells.

But I remember “life before cancer” and it felt different. There was a feeling that there was so much life left to live, so many plans still to execute.

I felt bulletproof. My own primary care doctor was impressed that I’d made it through so many years without ever having a major surgery (or any surgery, for that matter). I was looking foward to my future. My workouts were still tough and vigorous and I felt like I was going to age well.

Most importantly, life had a certain magic to it. It felt multidimensional and filled with possibilities, and even with the challenges that I’d had to face, I had hope that things would always get better.

Then I got hit by the locomotive that is cancer and everything ground to a halt. My world went gray and all those plans that I had for “the rest of my life” fell away as all my energy was focused on surviving the diagnosis, surviving chemo…and I didn’t see much past that.

For quite a while after diagnosis, I’d felt like I’d been tossed out by the side of the road.
(Photo by Sven Brandsma on Unsplash)

Emotionally, my life felt like a void. I was too afraid to even let hope in because of the fear of having it dashed to pieces.

It was like being out in the wilderness and calling for help but receiving none, not even an echo. Spiritually, it was the loneliest that I’d ever been.

I was no longer on the highway of life. I was sitting in the breakdown lane.

Forgive me if this sounds melodramatic. All my ‘anxiety chickens’ had come home to roost, so to speak. And I wasn’t handling it well.

I dragged myself around treatment like this…although about two weeks before my cancer surgery, I had started mindfulness meditation, encouraged by my radiation oncologist who suggested it as a non-pharmaceutical way of dealing with anxiety.

It was that little ‘peep’ of mindfulness that had I clung to, terrified, in the beginning, not really sure whether or not it was helping. But at least it was something warm at a point when I felt cold and abandoned.

I can honestly say that mindfulness and meditation were what gave me back the strength to persevere through tough times.
(Photo by Robin van Holst on Unsplash)

As time went on and I stubbornly refused to miss a day of meditation, that little break in the clouds became bigger. In this case, my obstinance was a blessing. Somewhere in the last almost-eight years, not even sure exactly when, something changed.

The fear and loneliness and bitterness crumbled away. Noticing how things were right now, how beautiful the world was when I chose to appreciate it, helped pull me out of the funk.

In our darkest moment we find our greatest strengths. I wish it weren’t like that, I wish there wasn’t a need to hit lowest lows in order to get the biggest spring back up. But I can say that if my life even before cancer had been easier, I would not have experienced the richness of existence as I do now.

Not everything is okay. In many ways, things are even harder and more frightening. But I can accept that and not feel bitter. My expectations have softened and I pause more often to ground myself, to notice that at this moment, I am safe.

And for this moment, I am at peace.

All I Want for Christmas is No More Auras

(Title image: Photo by Brian Suh on Unsplash)

This was supposed to be a post for USA residents about how to find some harmony during the Thanksgiving holiday amidst the tensions brought by relatives with strongly differing views of the world. Such disagreements are always a possibility when families get together, but likely even worse this year.

But, no. Instead, I’m sitting here wearing sunglasses in a darkened room as I plink out this post.

Remember those shimmering scythe-shaped mosaics (auras) that I wrote about intruding on my vision some weeks ago? The ones that are associated with ocular migraines, but in my case minus any headache? Well, they’re still happening and with greater frequency.

Depending on which of my healthcare professionals you talk to, they either want to (1) wait and see how things progress or (2) shove me into an MRI tube ASAP.

Trying to keep my sense of humor…

And me? I really want to not be dealing with this issue. After seven years of putting a lot of space between my cancer diagnosis and the present moment, I am getting stressed by the possibility of this being something quite serious. And all I wanted was to enjoy the upcoming holiday season.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here are the details: I’ve now had seven of these episodes in about two months—I’m not even sure when the very first one was. After the last one (which was the second of two last week), I left a message with my ophthalmologist.

However, it was my oncologist who happened to call a few hours later, completely coincidentally, to give me unrelated scan results.

So, since I had him on the line, I told him about the auras. He sounded sad. And you know what? You never want your oncologist to sound sad, especially when they’re usually so good at being neutral when delivering news.

And then my ophthalmologist called back late that afternoon, urging me to see my primary care doctor as soon as possible and also schedule an appointment with her for the next day.

Next day, I snag a morning appointment with my primary care provider, explain the situation and the fact that I have no other symptoms other than the auras. Her take: this is very weird, yes…but it’s a hard sell to get this to qualify for an MRI at this time, even with the frequency. With my consent, she wanted to wait for a little bit and see whether the auras continued.

Or, I guess, until my head exploded or something.

Find a happy place, find a happy place, find a happy place…
(Photo by serjan midili on Unsplash)

When I saw my ophthalmologist that afternoon, she was extremely concerned and incredulous that an MRI wasn’t the first course of action. I could tell that she felt waiting was a bad idea.

But ultimately, she acquiesed to the notion that we’ll wait, although she’s sending a synopsis of her findings to my primary. She instructed me to take excruciatingly detailed notes the next time one of these auras occurs

And if you’re still reading this far down and are convinced that my goose is cooked, maybe it isn’t. Sure this whole experience is stressing me out. But there are far too many confounding variables present to resign myself to the fact that I’ll be getting my head shaved again soon…variables which I might be writing about in a future post…

…or I’ll be talking about my ride in the MRI tube and subsquent diagnosis.

But for now, I’m going to rest my eyes in a darkened room and think of silky fur on a contentedly purring kitten.

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For everyone in the USA, have a wonderful Thankgiving with your lovely families this Thursday…and let’s all try to keep it civil.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds: And Now…My Eyes?

(Title image: Photo by Adam Gonzales on Unsplash)

So one of the hardest things for me about having cancer was losing a sense of security. Suddenly my body was out to get me, without my knowledge, while I was basking in a false sense of security that everything was okay.

Dealing with uncertainty is tough. It made me painfully aware of my own mortality before I was ready for it. It was as if cancer became my midlife crisis.

But it wasn’t just that I had to deal with not having guarantees about my own health (I mean, do we ever really have that?), about cancer not bothering me again. It also brought uncertainty about whether strange feelings in my body meant something.

I got to a point where I was afraid of anything, real or imagined, that I felt in my body. And after doing that for a while and completely exhausting myself, I called it quits and stopped running to the doctor for every little thing.

But now…I’m wondering if I’m kidding myself?

About a week ago, I had a weird thing happen. I was shopping at a market with my daughter. We were almost done when I noticed a funny change in my vision.

This wasn’t what I saw, but the colors were just as bright and vibrant.
(Photo by Randy Bayne on Unsplash)

I started seeing rings, the best way I can describe them is as if they were stained glass rings of vibrant colors, like an OLED screen, kind of like what you might see in a beautiful kaleidoscope. They were noticible, but didn’t take over all of my visual field. And YES, they were freaky. The entire show lasted about 20 minutes and primarily affected my left eye.

Then they faded away.

At that point, I recalled that I had experienced something similar, but without the vibrant colors, a few months ago. Again, I had been at a store and noticed a funny change in my vision, zigzagged lines.

That time it also didn’t last very long. Neither one of these episodes was associated with headaches.

Now we have a situation.

My oncologist always asks about visual disturbances, like seeing things that aren’t there, shadows, headaches, severe loss of balance. As a triple positive breast cancer survivor, I know this is because of possible metastases to the brain.

But instead of calling him last week to tell him what happened, I paused. I had done some research on the internet about these types of phenomena, and it’s quite possible that I’m experiencing ocular (acephalgic) migraines…again, without the headache. I’ll have to see if those rings/zigzags happen again, but at this point, with the amount of upheaval that I’ve experienced over the past few months (including the death of a parent)…and the fact that both times these visual oddities happened in stores with bright overhead lighting, well, let’s just say “brain tumor” doesn’t strike me as the most likely cause.

Yes, yes, yes, I will reach out to my oncologist this week. Probably, maybe. And if I do, I will ask to wait before being required to take another ride in the MRI tube. I’ve learned that at times like this, it is best to take a breath, stay present and wait for more information before proceeding.

Elle Macpherson’s Cancer Story and the Missing Tumor Info

(Title image: Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash)

Following on the heels of my Elle Macpherson post last week, I wanted to fill in some missing info…

To back up, former supermodel Elle Macpherson revealed that she took the holistic route when deciding to treat her breast cancer in 2017. However, most of the news stories that reported and offered opinions on her choices left out some critical information, as noted by this article in The Guardian (“Crucial information missing in Elle Macpherson breast cancer story, experts warn“). In this case, that information makes a big difference.

While it seems that Elle’s cancer was HER2-receptor positive, which suggests a more aggressive cancer, it was considered “non-invasive”, meaning it was contained within the mammary ducts. Often, this is referred to DCIS, or Ductal Carcinoma In Situ, and at this point those of us with personal knowledge of the disease will knowingly go, “OOooooooh.”

This is basically a “precancerous” mass of cells and often the treatments are more conservative. It’s considered stage 0. Yes, it becomes more dangerous if you do nothing, but clearly Elle did something: she had it removed.

DCIS is a stage 0 cancer, which doesn’t necessitate the most aggressive treatment.
(Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash)

Beyond that, there are other conventional treatments offered, depending on how aggressively you want to go. This introduces the issue of potential overtreatment, which is gaining more attention among physicians and the public. It’s easy to throw the kitchen sink at anything that looks like cancer, but that increases the chances that patients unnecessarily experience damaging side effects. Not everyone needs to be smacked that hard with treatment.

So, given that Elle’s cancer was DCIS, her holistic treatment starts looking less extreme. In perspective, for stage 0, a radical mastectomy topped off with chemotherapy and other treatments leans towards overkill with minimal benefits, potentially affecting quality of life. So this is less about the types of Elle’s holistic treatments and much more about her cancer not requiring the same level of aggressive action as stage 1+ tumors.

However, very few of the news stories mentioned this. As a matter of fact, my own blog post last week might have confused the issue—I was writing without having all the facts. This underscores the importance of learning as much about your cancer as you can and understanding that your version of the disease may be very different from that of a friend with cancer.

In light of this, the pile-on regarding Elle’s treatment seems unfair…but only as it regards her personal situation. Because all the opinion pieces that came out against her choices, including my post, did so for a critical reason: that Elle’s story (“follow your heart”) may turn a cancer patient away from much-needed and beneficial treatment that can prolong their lives.

Get the facts, talk to your team, understand what you’re up against and what your risks are—yes, meditate, pray, exercise, change your diet. But don’t try to wish your cancer away.

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To clarify, Elle did indeed decline even less radical treatments such as endocrine therapy, so one could argue that she’s still taking a risk. We don’t have a crystal ball to determine whether this was the wisest choice, Elle believed it was the right choice for her.

The Dangers of Elle Macpherson’s Cancer Treatment Choices

(Title image: Photo by Naser Tamimi on Unsplash)

Supermodel Elle Macpherson recently made the news with an interview with the Australian Women’s Weekly magazine when she revealed her breast cancer diagnosis.

She was diagnosed in 2017 (as I was!), so the fact that she’s here and talking about it suggests that her treatment worked.

But what was her treatment? According to the article, following diagnosis Elle consulted with 32 doctors (and experts, although it’s unclear in what) and ultimately decided to follow a holistic treatment path. In her own words, “an intuitive, heart-led, holistic approach”.

She decided to forego a mastectomy in favor of a lumpectomy (as I also did) but also dispensed with the conventional chemotherapy, radiation and hormone therapy (I went the conventional route).

So let me clarify some things here: Elle had the lump removed. If the cancer had not spread (which presumably it hadn’t) AND no rogue cancer cells had gotten out AND the surgeon confirmed “clear margins” upon excision of the tumor, it’s certainly possible that all evidence of the cancer was removed from Elle’s body with that surgery.

As we survivors know, everyone’s cancer is different. That’s why we discourage comparing tumors or offering advice. What works for one person may not for another because so much depends on the state of the individual…and probably on a lot of other factors that we are not even aware of, even with present day advances in cancer treatment.

Elle has even stated that her treatment is not for everyone. Who knows, she might have said this for legal reasons…because you can see what’s going to happen. While Elle, as a former supermodel, businesswoman, etc., might have access to whatever specialists and level of care she desires, most of us will not.

Do you feel lucky? Rejecting conventional cancer treatments in favor of clinically unproven ones can be a big gamble.
(Photo by Chris Liverani on Unsplash)

Elle asserted: “I want to help and encourage others to follow their heart and give things a go.” Sadly, when it comes to something as slippery as cancer, following our hearts is not always the best choice of action, no matter how much we want it to be.

My concern is that a newly-diagnosed breast cancer patient, fearful of the admittedly-harsh treatments that modern medicine offers, might decide to take Elle’s path (“she did it so I can too!”). But unless this person is independently wealthy or otherwise connected, they will have to cobble together a questionable plan with minimal support, and possibly fall prey to unscrupulous players looking to make a buck out of someone’s desperation.

And in these days of growing suspicion of science and the advice of doctors—brought on by pandemic-related missteps or perceived draconian measures—the chance of patients rejecting well-worn treatments is even more likely. Statistically, this would result in more lives lost to the disease.

When I made my own treatment choices, I didn’t go with the harshest stuff that my oncologist offered, opting for very effective (and, yes, cardiotoxic) Herceptin immunotherapy instead of lobbying my insurance to cover the even-more-effective (but even more toxic) Perjeta for my HER2+ cancer. I also had to cut my hormone therapy short by a number of years due to how it affected my ability to exercise, which has also been shown to have a strong effect on preventing cancer recurrence. These were measured choices, as it’s clear that Elle’s were.

At the same time, in the back of my mind I know I can’t say I did everything I could to blast my cancer into submission. But I do feel that taking everything into consideration, I did enough. My oncologist agrees.

As far as Elle’s treatment is concerned…I also did a number of things that she did, including meditation, exercise, therapy (our cancer center was very supportive of complementary therapies) and more. I cannot say how much conventional treatments vs. complementary ones contributed to my remission, but I assume each played a role. And the combination gave me peace of mind, which I would not have had, had I chosen only alternative therapies.

Ultimately, I hope we get to the point where we can eliminate the most toxic treatments and heal ourselves more gently. Ideally, we’d even prevent cancer. Huge strides have been made in cancer treatment, but we are not there yet. Every time we decline a proven treatment, we roll the dice. I’m hoping that Elle’s story does not unnecessarily put people with fewer resources at risk.

I Saw My Oncologist…and Left Ridiculously Happy

(Title image: Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash)

Yep, this is another installment of “I had another oncologist appointment today”. This time I’m marking seven years since completing my chemo treatment, which I can assure you at the time was a very happy event…

…marred only by that little nail infection a few weeks later. But don’t go there unless you have a strong stomach.

Regardless, I had a great meeting with my oncologist. The concern now is about whether I’m experiencing anything cancer-related, either long-term side effects or—perish the thought—a recurrence. Today the answer was neither.

We talked about the recent death of my father…and that’s pretty much the way the appointment went–catching up on the last six months. Naturally, I forgot to tell him about a bunch of the other concerns I had, little weird things in my body. But really, they’re not unusual given what I’ve gone through.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I need to slow down when interpreting body sensations as health problems. Usually they’re not. (Even though once they were cancer.)
(Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash)

We did, however, discuss how it takes a little while to get used to all those sensations in your body. After cancer, I was on high alert. My medical team was asking detailed questions about what I was feeling, and as a result, I was laser-focused on every twitch and twinge…and maybe some that I just imagined. At one point, I was sent for a brain MRI because of what I feared were serious cognitive issues. But in reality it was anxiety, not a tumor.

Seven years out, however, you kinda get expect all those funny sensations and don’t interpret them as being dangerous anymore. Even the heart palpitations that I would get from time to time…yeah, I still get those, maybe once a week, maybe a couple of times a month. But they only last a handful of seconds and I no longer think that my heart is failing (especially not when I can turn around and do a HIIT workout). I haven’t been back to the cardiologist and my oncologist agrees that it’s not necessary.

He asked if I wanted to come back in six months. Sure, I like being back in the Cancer Center as *NOT* a cancer patient. It’s nice being there and remembering doing jigsaw puzzles in the radiation oncology waiting room, or even feeling well-taken-care of after my treatments were done. There ARE positive memories in a place that you’d think would only be negative.

That can change very quickly, of course. But for the time being, I’m feeling happy.

Staying Present in Discomfort: Being Here When You’d Rather Not

Title image: Photo by Tolga Ulkan on Unsplash

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Thank you everyone for your patience during this time of my father’s passing from cancer and dementia. I have appreciated the quiet visit to my childhood home, supporting my mother and being comforted by close friends and relatives.
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There are times that the present moment is an uncomfortable place to be in.

That’s when things are not going well and you want the current situation to be over so that you can move past it and onto healing. But one could argue that this is exactly the time you need to sink even deeper into the present moment.

And even more important to get more granular and still. To observe what is going on even more closely. To understand the important of this very point in time, how it will never come again in the same way. And even in this discomfort there is something to learn, something to lean into, something to accept.

I felt this strain while my father was still in in-home hospice, declining at a pace that was both quick and slow depending on what you’re focusing on. It evoked an axiety in me: wanting to hold on to him and save him–but knowing that this was an impossibility. The tug of time is unrelenting, taking everything with it like a glacier or a tsunami that continues onward no matter what is in its way.

But this is also an opportunity to remember that the impermanence of life does not take away from the joy and beauty of it. Dropping down into what is happening right now, taking a front seat on top of that glacier/tsunami, and allowing everything to be here is the way to appreciate all of this.

So while I would rather that the things that were happening not be happening, I couldn’t stop them. I sat here trying to understand my feelings and allowing gratitude for my father’s long life to remain in the forefront. There was peace in knowing that he was living his last days at home, in familiar surroundings with my mother there.

I could have made all sorts of stories up about what he was feeling or thinking, but the reality is that I didn’t know. So I didn’t pretend and instead noticed the sounds around me, the feeling of the air on my skin and the knowledge that my father’s imminent passing unscored all the many things about him and my own life that I have to be thankful for.

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It’s easier to ignore reality and think about other things, but that doesn’t help us deal with them.