Trail Magic

One of the good things about a scary diagnosis is that it forces you to take what was previously an abstraction (death) and inch it a little further along the continuum toward the concrete. It's unpleasant work, but it's important and likely even inevitable for all of us to grapple with. As I sit on the beach this week, I consider all the good news I've received vis a vis my health status and I feel thankful. But I also have to sit with the fact that what I am facing is both serious and dangerous and that cancer is one of those diseases that seem to have its own dictates. I not only find it very hard to believe, I also find it very hard to accept. Like old-time sailor who relied on the stars to chart and correct their course, a diagnosis begs you to look up and around and ask the big questions. Like wat else might we do with these wild and precious lives we've been given?

This year I had the best fourth of July ever. Picture this: a beautiful New England day with a sun-washed blue sky. My family, including all neices and nephews, gathered at my parents house on a lake. We did the usual; sat on the porch, talked, and drank beer (not me). My dog was the star. She got in the water with the rest of us and dog-paddled her little fanny ight into the middle of the lake. When she got tired, she regally perched on a knee board so that she could stay with us. The thing about the day that touched my heart most was when my sixteen year old nephew invited me out in the lake to float with him. He talked about school and football, I asked him questions, and we held hands periodically to avoid drifting apart. My heart swelled then and it swells now just thinking about it.

As my kids and I piled into the car, stuffed, sun-burned and tired, I was considering my course to this point. How am I doing? Is this the life I'm meant to live?  My conclusion feels almost too simple. My answer, with a capital Y is yes. This is the life that feels true to me. This is the work I'd do if given a choice. These are the very kids I'd choose to invest in. The remarkable truth is that there isn't anywhere I'd rather be nor are there people with whom I'd have rathered share that day. It was my best fourth of July ever.

My aunt sent me an interesting book called Wild: Lost and Found on the Pacific Trail by Cheryl Strayed. I read all 300 pages in two days at the beach. The author entered into a dark period in her life at the age of 22 when her mother died of cancer and her family fell apart. She made a series of increasingly dangerous choices (infidelity, heroin, and on and on) until a stray idea crossed her mind;  that she could be saved by hiking the Pacific Coast Trail. While she was outdoorsy, she'd never backpacked before. Her journey was long and difficult to say the least (she lost 6 toenails, to give you an example) but indeed, the physical hardship did help her resolve her emotional unrest. Along the way, she described what was painful and scary in great detail and much of the journey was. But she also found, in the verncacular of the PCT,  a generous share of "trail magic." In the book the author defines it as, "the unexpected and sweet happenings that stand out in stark relief to the challenges of the trail." I can't help but parallel this to my experience with breast cancer treatment. I'm doing really, really well and... it totally sucks. I hate chemotherapy. It's hard to understand why I have to sacrifice my overall health for the sake of 4 centimeters of evilness but I do. By far, the hardest part is the terrifying metabolic roller coaster that surges with such force I have to sometimes curl up in a fetal positon. And yet, I'm experiencing my own brand of trail magic;  holding hands with my nephew in the lake, hearing my daughter's laughter on the porch, watching my previously timid son ride waves for hours on end, receiving the care of my sisters with such gratitude. I was speaking with a friend at the outset of this journey and she suggested that it will likely be a crappy summer with a few good moments. I ventured cautiously that it also could be a good summer with a few crappy moments. At the time, it seemed incredibly naive or optimistic or both. But I'm just about halfway there and it's starting to feel like it's actually true. I'd love to not be going through this. That would be my first choice, gifts and all. But since I'm here, I'm glad and grateful to be present to trail magic as I am learning to experience it. And I appreciate the right book at the right time for giving me the words.