Dear Traveler,

Today is Thanksgiving here in Canada. In the spirit of the day, here's the story of one man's undying sense wonder and gratitude, against all odds.

Happy Thanksgiving! With love, rosemary

One day about ten years ago, I was working my regular shift as a visiting nurse in the city. It was steamy midsummer, an asphalt-melting day, and the traffic was awful. On top of that I was sick, and wasn't coping well with the demands of my heavy caseload of patients. All in all I was meeting the difficulties of the day with not so much grace and goodwill as I would have liked.

Minutes before the end of my shift, my pager went off. I was being asked to make an extra visit to an elderly patient who needed extensive wound care to both legs, as his regular nurse had been called home on a family emergency. The dressing change would take a good hour. Somehow I summoned up the will to make that last visit, my seventeenth of the day.

I had never met the patient I'd been asked to see, but found the address in a run-down west-end neighborhood. A volunteer from Meals On Wheels arrived at the door of the ramshackle old Victorian at the same time as I did, and as there wasn't any answer to our repeated knocks we opened the door and stepped inside. The volunteer went  first with the meal tray, and I came close behind with my medical bag and supplies. The scene that greeted us was surreal: dusky darkness revealed the outlines of looming stacks of boxes and garbage bags, bicycle wheels and rusted tools, newspapers and broken bits of furniture piled from floor to ceiling. There was a narrow path through the debris, just passable by one person. Tiny, dark shapes skittered through the shadows at our feet as we passed, and the smell was nauseating. I stopped to put on a surgical mask and offered one to the volunteer. Halfway through the front room, the volunteer began to tremble. She set down the tray, uttered a tortured, breathless apology and bolted for the door. Great; at least there was safety in numbers. Now I was alone. I knew I could call for a police escort if I truly felt endangered, but that would take time, and I was running out of strength. I decided to push on.

I made my way back to the kitchen, where I came upon a lovely-looking old white-crowned gent sitting fast asleep in a wooden chair. All around him the counters were littered with small piles of garbage, dirty dishes covered in mould, old food containers and the like.

I greeted "Mr. O" by name, but he didn't respond. I called out to him - still no response. I thought at that point that he might have passed on, so I went closer to check his vital signs. Finding that he still had a pulse, I yelled into his ear a couple of times and he finally stirred. Once awake, he was lovely and gracious - and almost completely deaf. One more challenge! The old fellow laboriously extricated himself from his chair and led me to his bedroom, where he could lay down for his treatment. I anticipated the same scenario there as elsewhere in the house, but instead found a tiny, sun-filled "back porch" room which Mr. O's regular nurse had set up for him to receive his care in. Bless her heart; it was clean and orderly, and all the necessary supplies were there. What ensued was a long session of bending over the low bed, cleansing and dressing the many leg wounds while shouting at the top of my lungs in response to Mr. O's friendly questions, all the while sweating like a champ in the 35 degree heat.

I was completely drained by the end of the visit. Mr. O, having perched himself on the edge of the bed, continued his friendly chatter as I cleaned up the room and got ready to leave. Finally he asked:

"May I tell you something?" then waited for me to give him my full attention.

"Of course, anything" I responded. He went on:

" I have a sister in M__________. She's very wealthy... has lots more money than I've ever even seen in my whole life. But she won't even speak to me because I'm poor and have to live like this; she's embarrassed by me. But you know what? She's the one who's poor. She thinks she's rich, but she's poor, because she has a bitter and selfish heart. It's I who am rich. Would you like to know why?"

He smiled beatifically at me... he had the look of a child who’s bursting with a secret. His eyes sparkled; his heart and soul shone in them.

"Why?" I ventured.

"May I sing for you?" he asked me then, the innocent smile never leaving his face. Here I have to admit I was a bit taken aback. All I could imagine given Mr. O's age (late 80's) and deafness was that it surely would be some pretty awful caterwauling that would issue forth once I gave the go-ahead. But it seemed to mean so much to him, so I steeled myself inwardly, smiled back at him and told him I'd be delighted to hear him sing.

That was all he needed. Before I could draw a breath, the room rang with a voice so sweet and extraordinary that it jolted me like an electric shock - the utter beauty of it searing, crystalline... and so profoundly incongruous with that impoverished environment. My tears came fast and in my heart I felt myself humbled to my knees. Encouraged by my reaction, Mr. O sang on and on, and in his songs and hymns were the mountains and rivers and flowers of his native Wales, unfolding in colours more real than any that could have been captured on canvas or film.

I stood transfixed, beyond time and circumstance, lifted into Mr. O’s world. He had spoken the truth: he was, indeed, a rich man. As for me, I was far richer for having met him.

  Dear Traveler,

Serious illness changes us. We find ourselves on a fast track to transformation (whether we like it or not), and there’s no way of knowing who we’ll become as we shed the old “me”. Today I feel like a seed that’s just beginning to sprout. I’m in the dark, longing to reach the light that beckons me to break through and blossom into – what? 

We can gather our courage and obey, or wither and perish. Scary, isn’t it? These days, if I resist the moment-to-moment call to be fully open to seeing things in a new way, everything suddenly stops flowing and I feel stifled and anxious. I think that’s nature, goodness, life, saying “change - live!” So I’m gazing at the brilliant maples and birches a lot lately, observing the graceful ease with which they cease to be summer trees, and become autumn trees. And how, when the leaves have finally fallen, the magnificent, unfathomable architecture of trunk and twig is revealed.

Illness brings with it a certain burden, yet it also has a way of stripping us of all the weight of illusion, obligation and expectation we’ve been accustomed to shouldering. Therein lies an immense gift: it’s our big chance to break free. What will happen if we allow this transformation? And of our many relationships, which ones will flourish in this new freedom, and which will fade? Are we ready for the possibility that some of the people we’re close to may not elect to make the change with us? Even more important, are we prepared for the possibility of finding love and community in places we have never looked before, in ways we’ve never experienced?

There is an immediacy to life when we finally comprehend how easily it might be lost; an intimate, beautiful wildness.  I can no longer tame my days, or myself, into something neutral and “acceptable”. I hope you won’t, either. I hope if we ever meet on the street it will be as wide-awake, fully lit-up souls with selfless courage in our hearts and love in our eyes.

I’ll be the one in the red shoes.

With love, rosemary

Dear Traveler,

Do you want to know what will save you?

I sure did. From the moment I learned my life was under threat, I yearned to know how to save it. I already embrace a healthy lifestyle; I got sick anyway. Obviously, there are other factors involved. Who could I ask? If I asked a doctor, I would get a medical answer, but medicine (allopathic or naturopathic) is not a perfect science. If I asked a friend or family member, I’d receive an empathetic response but probably very little in the way of wise guidance. I needed an answer! I wanted to take the proper responsibility for my situation, in a constructive, participatory, (not controlling) way. Where to turn?

Maybe you felt this way, too.  If you found a truly helpful solution, please share it (that would be a wonderful use of the “comment” option on here.)

As for me, it occurred to me that I should ask myself. After all, where is God, Goodness-by-any-other-name? Within. Where have the great spiritual Masters of the ages found their timeless wisdom? Within. Was there a better option? I couldn’t see one. This may seem like a highly presumptuous (or whimsical, depending on your thinking) approach, but a drowning person doesn’t hesitate when tossed a life ring, and neither did I. In fact, I believe that turning within for strength and guidance in times of peril is the most natural reflex in creation… we’ve just allowed it to become flabby from too much comfort.

So it came to be that one day I respectfully asked the goodness-within-me, with all the sincerity I could muster: “What is the most important thing I can do in order to help save my life?” And I waited, and I received my answer. To my great joy, it could not have been simpler or more do-able.

My answer is for me, and your answer will be for you. They will likely not be the same, as we each have our own path back to wellness that’s as unique as we are. But I can tell you what is written on the main trail marker, where we all have to start: “Be True To Yourself.” Go down that trail when you find it. Here’s how you’ll know when you’ve found your answer: you will be standing face-to face with the part of yourself you love most. You may not have crossed paths with him/her in a while, maybe not even since childhood if your life’s been a rocky one, so don’t be surprised if you don’t recognize her/him right away. If you get to the end of the trail and there’s no one there, that’s ok. You’ve sent out the invitation; be humble and patient, and try again another day. When you do make the connection, it will bring you much happiness.

Just one more thing, dear traveler: Once you’ve received your answer, remember to be thankful, and to take time to honour it and give it expression every day. Then, whatever else you may need to do in order to heal your body - and even if it can’t be rescued - you will know your life has already been saved. And as the song says, “save yourself and we’ll save the world.”

With love, rosemary

Dear Traveler,

I believe what I’m about to write is so important it deserves a post of its own. I hope you’ll agree.

My primary physician, a trusted, lifelong friend and person of great integrity, offered me the most helpful gem of cancer treatment wisdom I could ever have hoped for. I want to share it with as many people as I can. I had just shared my post-op revelation with him (please see post #2, below), and told him I was now open to considering chemotherapy. Here, to the best of my memory, is his response:

“Chemo is not for everyone. But if you think you have it in you to ever consider it, even as a last resort if all else fails, the best approach is to just go ahead and do it first. You’ve already had surgery, and the best outcomes occur when the window of time between surgery and the first treatment is as small as possible. When people wait and use chemo as a last resort, it’s usually ineffective, and it’s because that critical moment when its efficacy would have been greatest has long passed.”  (I've since learned one of the reasons for this:  primary tumours often secrete substances which mitigate the growth of smaller, younger tumours, preventing them from "stealing" circulation and nourishment from the larger growths. Once those primary tumours are removed through surgery, that mitigating force is no longer there, leading to a sudden "blossoming" of the smaller, remote tumors and micro-tumours.)

At first I felt stunned, then grief-stricken. So many people I’ve known had followed exactly the route my doctor described, trying numerous other healing methods first, and leaving the fearsome spectre of chemo to deal with later “only if necessary.” How many thousands of people have been deprived of the opportunity to make an educated decision based on this equation? How many of them would have been happy to follow the wise counsel I’d received, if they’d been offered it it? How many may have, in fact, lost their lives on this point alone? In all my time as an R.N., not a single one of my cancer patients has ever mentioned this concept when relaying discussions with their physicians regarding treatment options.

More conversation ensued, but the point had clearly been made. I’ll always be profoundly grateful for my doctor friend’s advice. It guided my decisions, and come what may, I will never have any regrets about my choices; I will know I have done my very best to meet this challenge face on, eyes open. Surgery and chemotherapy are forceful and immediate solutions when such is needed. If (o happy thought) they do their job and buy me a future here, I will have lots of time to repair the damage done using the natural, time-honoured methods I have always embraced and trusted.

I wish the very same good fortune for you. I wish the same for everyone. Please share this with as many people as you can… we all know someone who is dealing with cancer.

With love,
rosemary

Postscript: Some cancers are very slow growing, and when detected early, can be eradicated or managed very well using a naturopathic approach. I have also witnessed complete healing using prayer alone. I am not advocating for one treatment option over another - only for educated decisions. You and I will find the greatest success in that, and by following the guidance that speaks in our own hearts.

Dear Traveler,

I hope all is well in your world as I write post number two.

It’s been a few months since my diagnosis, and I didn’t start writing about my experience right off the top. I figured I’d better see if I could learn a few things first. So I’ll just play catch-up now, starting with the day of my surgery in late July of 2010. Something extraordinary happened to me that day, and I think it could happen to you, too, if it hasn’t already. I hope the story will be helpful, and worthy of the precious time you spend reading this.

You and I each bring a certain amount of conscious and unconscious baggage (both helpful and not so helpful varieties) to the table when making any kind of decision. Here’s a wee insight into mine, to give some context to whatever conversation might ensue. As a community nurse working in one of the most multi-cultural urban centres on earth, I cared for thousands of patients with every conceivable illness. I’ll never find words to describe the value of the education I received behind the doors of every kind of home Toronto has to offer, from Post Road mansions to crumbling, roach-infested rooming houses and shelters – and sometimes no houses at all. The most important thing is: I came to see that illness is a great equalizer; it strips away all illusions of “difference” brought on by privilege or poverty. Through my work, I came to have a profound respect and fierce love for humanity – that includes you - and for the miraculous, resilient, transcendent human spirit. A human being – any human being - is the most beautiful garden on Earth.

As long as their choices couldn’t potentially cause harm I always supported my patient’s treatment decisions, no matter how unusual, because I understand how important a part belief plays in healing. My own beliefs about healing were shaped during a very nature-inspired upbringing by a European immigrant mother who considered diet, herbs, baths, and an attitude of courage to be the best doctors. I still agree, though I would add prayer to that list. So when I learned my own diagnosis, and heard that surgery was necessary in short order if I didn’t want to be pushing up asters by Thanksgiving, I had a real dilemma on my hands. All the healing methods I believed in take time*… clearly not one of the features of ovarian cancer, which is typically diagnosed at a late stage because of the absence of overt symptoms. I was not mentally or spiritually prepared for the battlefield approach that seemed the only reasonable course of action to save my life.

After deciding without a doubt that I wanted to live and therefore would take the advice of several trustworthy physicians who had my best interest at heart, I was able to embrace the idea of major abdominal surgery. But I pulled up short at the prospect of chemotherapy. Although some drugs used in the ovarian cancer protocol here in Canada are plant based (ex:Taxol) , they are all highly refined and extremely toxic, and there are several additional medications one must take in order to endure the effects of chemo upon the body. No, this was not for me; I felt sure of it. I made the decision to have surgery, followed by a rigorous program of herbs, prayer, diet, and supplements. I felt confident with my choice, was otherwise healthy and strong in every way, and my doctors were not expecting to discover a worst-case scenario at surgery. Dilemma solved with a minimum of compromise - or so I thought.

If by any chance dear traveler, you’re a mother who, let’s say, entered into the childbirth experience with clear and noble ideas about how you wanted to welcome your little one into the world (no anaesthesia, no hospital, for instance), and subsequently needed an emergency C-section in order to save your child’s life, you already know what I’m going to say here. In the final analysis, it’s about preserving life. The stakes are high, life is precious, and in the searing moment of reality it’s not about ideas and ideals any more, it just IS. The axis shifts; the light pours in. It’s no longer about the birth; it’s about the baby. Suddenly, the decision is easy. Sometimes that same kind of illumination happens simply by grace – with no emergency at hand, and without you or I ever realizing the need to re-examine our ideas. That’s what happened with my plan about not doing chemo.

When I awoke from surgery, before reaching full consciousness, everything was so still.  I felt saturated with peace. Eyes still closed, I observed within my little cocoon of peace a warm light, and glimmering somewhere in the light was a concept. The concept was “Now it’s time to do chemo.” I lay there smiling and felt strangely, deeply happy, as if some well-loved voice had announced: “Now there is no more suffering in the world.”  Seconds later, my mind sputtered “Wait a minute - Chemo? That can’t be right – I’m SO not doing chemo!” In my utterly simple state I decided I didn’t like the feeling of this second "voice". I focused on the lovely light again. The peace returned. I thought “How can this be? Am I really supposed to have chemo? How can I reconcile that with everything I believe?” But I didn’t turn away from the peace. I just thought to myself, well, it must be that the soul knows things the mind does not. I decided to trust this, and see what would unfold. Later, after hearing the results of the surgery from my Doctor, I would learn why chemo was the right choice for me. But it’s not those cold facts that give me the courage to stay the hellish course. It's my decision to trust in the absolute clarity of that moment of peace, when I listened to my inner voice, that brought me the strength I need to rise to this challenge.

You and I have the privilege of choice. Even when severely constrained by outer circumstances, we have limitless inner choices: how we will view things, how we will judge, how we’ll act if action is possible. For any given scenario there’s always a path of least resistance – usually a lazy one, well worn by habit and paved with notions that have little basis in reality. There’s a path of obligation, the one we take when pleasing others is our priority. There’s a path of hard knocks, where we wilfully and self-destructively – for various, unsound reasons - turn away from what’s in our best interest and put ourselves in harm’s way.  There are myriad paths and you and I have been down most of them. Now I'm learning there’s a very different kind of road we can travel.. I call what I experienced after surgery “the path that unfurls.” There’s a natural ease, and a beckoning, and a sense of “rightness” on this path, and if I pay attention to those feelings as I navigate this illness, I can tell when I’m veering off course. It’s not always easy; I end up in the ditch a lot. It takes practice. The road’s never familiar; it springs, perennially new, from the still-glistening edge of the previous moment. But when I can stay with it, it always carries me safely to my next crossroad. None of this is to say that planning is a bad thing; quite the contrary. It's just that often our best-laid plans don't unfold as we'd envisioned, because we can't always see the big picture at the outset. That's when the "path that unfurls" can show us the detours around whatever obstacle we've encountered. Wouldn't it be amazing to always live this way, feeling the welcoming road unfurl before us like a beautiful carpet, always sure of which way to go?

So, dear traveler, here’s what I’d like to share with you about treatment decisions: In truth, it’s not about having chemo or not having chemo.. It's about letting go of old prejudices - no matter how well-founded they may seem - so grace can find a way into your life. It’s about accepting the best choices that life, in its compassionate wisdom, offers you (and it WILL offer). It’s about having faith in the inner guidance that’s available to each one of us.

If you look around in there, I know you’ll find the trailhead to the path that unfurls just for you, no matter how dark it seems at first. And if you don't find it right away, just be gentle with yourself and make the best decisions you can in the mean time. Life is kind and will meet you half way. One more thing: Your path and mine may be very different, even if our circumstances seem similar. My little planet has its own secret highways and byways, just like yours. It’s OK to ask for directions sometimes, but always remember: it’s your little planet; you’re the one with the map.

With love,
rosemary

* with the exception of prayer, which I believe – and have witnessed – is sometimes answered with miracles that operate beyond the limitations of time.

Dear Traveler,

You and I have a tough row to hoe.

This beautiful planet of ours is shouldering the burden of humanity’s cumulative large-scale blunders, beginning with the chemical-and-fossil-fuelled industrial revolution, and shudders in perpetual instability. Our conscience implores us to act, yet the need is so overwhelming we’re paralyzed in the face of it. If you, like me, are also navigating your way through a life-threatening illness, the overall equation seems staggering – incomprehensible. Where to start?

If we look at the long-term picture, we each have to start with our own little “planet” – our body. The way I see it, we can’t be agents of change, in small ways or large, if we’re not around, can we? So the first order of business is to survive, if we can. And if we can’t, to make sure we leave a legacy of hope and wisdom in every conceivable way we're able.

Serious illness has so much to teach you and I; we can look forward to being in a position to offer a deeper wisdom after emerging from this crucible. As we’re transformed,, so we can change the world we live in. With clear and courageous intent (no matter how seemingly small the issue at hand), it doesn’t take long to leave an indelible imprint that will continue to ripple through time. All it takes is action.

This journal is one such small, hopeful action. When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in early July of 2010, I surfed about endlessly on the web for a time, researching the illness and seeking out every kind of wisdom that might shine some light on this shadowy path. I found lots of valuable information, but none that addressed some of the pressing questions of my own heart and soul. Although used to being the odd one out in most respects throughout my life, I thought I couldn’t possibly be alone in my particular concerns. I decided that if I could, by experience, come to some understanding of these issues, I would share what I had realized with others.  I have a personal rule of thumb I follow (most of the time) in my song writing: If I can find someone who is saying what I feel needs to be said, in a way I think most of us can understand, I leave it alone and move on to something new. If not, I try and fill the need. I’ll do my best to follow the same rule here. 

There are some great resources on the web that address the logistical issues around dealing with cancer and other serious illness, and a large number of good medical sites for research. There are also countless blogs describing the personal experiences of people who are traveling the path – some more valuable than others. These are all easy to find through simple Google searches, so rather than spend time listing them for you, I’d like our conversation to focus on the INNER resources you and I (and all human beings) possess; the ones we most need at a time like this.. At some point in our illness, if we’re to learn, grow, and on some level, survive  it, we have to turn inward. For most of us, that can be like sailing under a midnight sky with no stars to navigate by. Intuition, faith, hope, and courage are our best guides.  It's terrifying at first but remember: it’s your little planet… you are the one with the map. It’s in there – I promise - and it's glorious.

So here, in the spirit of a journal (i.e. a stream-of-consciousness offering, with my editor-self turned off  - I mean, how else will we ever have a conversation?!) are the thoughts I hope are worth sharing.

With love,
rosemary