Monthly Archives: August 2011

More than excited…

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Just as I’d returned from the ‘Bloodsuckers’ and leaving several vials of good looking red behind, Cameron called. He’d researched ticket pricing and routes. Just to say the names of these European stops and how they roll of my tongue, even though a bit awkward. It’s like great tasting candy. Soft, mellow and then a few teutonic R’s thrown in (like Frankfurrrt). Then, there’s Bilbao which I confused more than once with “Bilboa’ something other entirely. But, it has not dampened my excitement and my cells are jumping with joy, like on a trampoline. This is an effect that NO medicine can provide.

Tomorrow I am hiking again with back pack. Training, training for the Camino. Bought some lambs wool belt cover to put on pack straps, to soften the shoulder pressure (suggestion from Connie) and it makes the world of difference.

The other thing that happened which is soo great. My friend Billy found another of our old friends whom we’ve tried to find for years. He lives in Huntsville, Al. (Imagine. I lived there as well. Maybe just a few streets apart? Such is fate.)

 

Triumph Over Inertia

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Cameron at Port (2)

Since I last blogged here I’ve been in Newport Beach, then back to Bend; then I drove down to San Francisco to see if we still had that old chemistry (we did). Drove back to Bend. Worked on my Bend vacation rental (which I link to here more for the search engines than for you, I’m afraid), and drove up to Seattle; met with some Earth Class Mail alumni (Rajeev, Ross, Steve) and Dr. Bob (whom I met 20 years ago while he was on a year-long sabbatical at Harvard and I was in law school), and continued to wonder if I might feel myself again anytime soon.

That’s something for a different post.  My post here today is evidence that I have somehow triumphed over the inertia that considered a trip to Spain, in the midst of so much change, a sort of distraction from the real business of post-divorce:  selling house, screwing up the courage to sell house now, deciding where to move (considered by some one of the most important decisions a person can make), selling contents of house, finding an apartment in a new city, packing, moving to the new city, building revised coaching and writing and entrepreneurial career in the new location, constructing a new social life, and so on.  Oh, and stick a five-week trip to Spain in there somewhere.

But of course you will say that a month-long meditation through rural France and Spain is exactly the sort of “distraction” I need, and perhaps as much as I could possibly hope for.  It would certainly go a long way toward slowing down the thoughts, the indefatigable thoughts, that motor through my mind.  Dr. Bob believes, on the evidence of a recent dinner meeting, that I am engaged in “frenetic” activity.  Perhaps that’s a nice word for “compulsive”?

I suspect that in time the timing of this trip will seem more providential than a scary disruption of some other ideas of life.  It’s starting to feel one step closer to that way already . . .

Today I held my breath and took the step of booking myself for a five-week trip thatCIMG4650 disconnects me from normal life, for better or for imagined worse.  On September 16, I’m flying from Newark, NJ (month-long stay in Jersey City sponsored by Adam Weiss and his partner-level legal recruiting) to Bilbao, Spain, home of Frank Gehry’s world-famous Guggenheim Museum (and its contents, which people tend to forget about) and, as if that weren’t enough, home to our uber-trekker friend Julio (who has been on the Camino himself, and therefore has been silent for as long as I have been).

Once we walk from western France to northeastern Spain, it will be time for another kind of reward:  European civilization, a defining passion of both Mom’s and mine.  We decided today that we’ll head down through Porto, Portugal, home of Port wine, and then farther south, through the teeming cork fields (corks also invented in Portugal) to Lisbon, once home to a great empire and now one of Western Europe’s most affordable cities.  On October 22, we’ll fly back, I to Newark and then to Bend, Mom and our new teenage companion (to be announced soon!) to Montrose.

In the meantime, let’s see how many of the questions I have receive an answer.

Crepes filled with veggies

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When my daughter, Candy, was little, she’d ask me what a crepe was. I would tell her a crepe was a pancake that had gone to the Sorbonne.  🙂

This is a really good, simple dish. You can use whole wheat flour (1 and 1/2 cups) 2 eggs, milk, 1/4 tsp salt. The batter should have the consistency of (liquid) whipping cream. Let the batter rest in fridge for at least 2 hrs.

Dice and saute small carrots, zuccini, and celery in coconut oil. Use a little Mrs. Dash for seasoning. Then use coconut oil to sautee and fry the crepes.  When each crepe is done, spread cashew butter on it then add veggies. Add salad greens and a sliced tomato for garnish.

A beautiful Crepe is a highlight of the day...

My young days

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This is one of the only pictures as a child. In 1944, when I was born

in Erlangen (Bavaria) Germany, war was still going on and there was no money for a camera.

A Photographer came and took  pictures at the Kindergarten when I was 4+ years old.

(Lovingly mended sleeves on a hand-me-down

dress from my sister.

 

First day of school in 1950. We all had our ‘cone’ an old tradition. Filled with sweets and school supplies.

Mother Nature’s Jewels

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These are great choices for a summer salad collection.

Either by itself or as a elegant first course. The green one is ‘Lambs lettuce’

or Rapunzel. In the store it’s under Mache’. A little apple cider

vinegar and walnut oil, Then we have red beets,

a dash of cinnamon, raspberry vinegar, and 2 Tbsp walnut oil.

Cucumber and tomato salad, grated daikon. These have only

seasoned rice vinegar and same amount of water.

 

Enema bag for sale….

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The past few days have been extremely busy, what with all this cleaning, juicing, preparation of food, very early morning enema, and occasional adjustment of attitude. After all this I have come to the conclusion that I am not cut out for this particular therapy at this time. I am still juicing just not hourly.

The sheer amount of food and cost was staggering as well the exhaustive way to implement all of it. Friends came and helped out with tasks as well as buying bags of raw veggies. (God bless good friends!!) My emotional equilibrium had hit a few pot holes, trying to manage it all. I had to stop hiking which gave me such peace and joy and this whole thing was becoming overwhelming and stressful.

After the fourth or fifth juice I was nauseated. No matter what I said to myself, I was a hair away from vomiting and my stomach revolted. No matter what I tried and I did try, I could not hold the enema liquid for longer than three minutes. ( I fixed the connecting tubing problem with Duct tape. My best friend.)

I remember, after the last cancer I’d said: ‘I’m almost grateful for the cancer because it taught me so much and I learned so much about myself and loved ones and attitude, faith and gratefulness toward things.’ While this was true, I know I carried this acceptance too far. The object is to get rid of it. That’s why I did not wish to ‘own’ it, this time.

I should not have created such a nice, cozy environment for cancer to move into. (Of course worry, problems, financial matters, errant cells, etc) did the rest as well. Cancer is a symptom. We must find out the cause and must become our own detectives in this search. Having a medical professional, who is supportive certainly makes things easier. Not always the case when opinions differ from main stream medicine. An Italian oncologist believes that cancer is a fungus.

I am in search of another workable solution to treat myself. It’s like the Holy Grail. Everyone you ask for directions gives you a different one.

I remember when I talked to Senior Physician at the ‘Hufeland Clinic’ in Germany. She said that, in some cases they opt for lowering a person’s blood sugar. Cancer cells are really hungry for sugar, so they receive it as it along with a low dose of chemo and this does the trick, sneaking past the guard. The cancer cells really slurp up that sugar, then sneaking to those cells and  ‘BOOOM’. In this case the cells get poisioned, not the patient. Do we know this approach, here? Makes sense to me. This is different than toxic overload chemo usually done here.

What I remember too, is that each Physician that I saw, here and across the big pond, was telling me how lucky I am. I was of course puzzled and not only a bit irritated. Here I sit and have cancer and they’re telling me I’m lucky! Then explanation was added. To have had that many years without recurrence is extremely rare. (It had been nine years). Especially with ovarian cancer. My Doctor had told me, way back that if cancer would come back, it would be very difficult! I really wish they wouldn’t tell you things like that. I stays in the back of ones mind. So. To have ‘only’ a few small, tumors and they had not spread, was amazing. The one in the lung, was right at the edge. Clean, without creeping ‘fingers’ and easy to pluck out. Which we did. Only one left. At the spine attached to the aorta. What a place to be. Very hard to get to. This one, I’ll walk off on the camino. (There’s a plan B as well.)

Tomorrow, more tests to see the internal picture and cancer marker. I have stopped all supplements, vitamins, etc. I want a true reading.