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Serendipity

Plan on being surprised.

On this cross-country trip, we’ve already been rewarded twice with the unexpected — stuff going on we had no idea of, until the very moment that we stumbled right into it. One of the joys of a spontaneous journey.

Remembering the Alamo -- 175 years on!

Take last Sunday. We had no idea of the import of March 6 in Texas history — until we took the bus to a tour of the Alamo. All these guys in period dress: What’s going on? The celebration of the 175th anniversary of the fall of the Alamo! And so we got to enjoy a re-enactment of the siege and the fall. In adversity at the Alamo, Texas found its inner strength and soon prevailed at the Battle of San Jacinto.

Then yesterday. We had arrived in Natchez with the hope of driving past, just seeing, some old antebellum mansions. But it turns out Saturday was the opening day of Pilgrimage, the five-week stretch when the finest preserved mansions of old Natchez — a center of extraordinary wealth in the days of King Cotton — are open for public tours. Again, Who knew? So we got to go inside and visit with folks who live in mansions we had only hoped to drive past. What can you say about a structure, its occupants and a locale where the same family has lived amid the same furniture in the same house since 1849? It’s not so much the land that time forgot as it is people who don’t want to forget.

So serendipity had struck again, and we consider ourselves blessed to have had these two small but enriching surprises.

Have you ever noticed that when good things happen in life, no one ever wonders, Why me?

Yo! Adrian!

Push-ups, Saguaro National Park, Tucson

I try to do all I’ve been told to do to counter my cancer, like eating a proper diet and paying attention to cancer-fighting nutrients. And pursuing rigorous, daily weight and cardio exercise, including a weekly session at the gym with Bryan, my personal trainer. Bryan’s a self-described, “certifiable ‘Rocky’ freak.” He saw the movie when he was in middle school, and, like Rocky Balboa, he’d go running through the streets in his standard-issue, old-fashioned, gray sweatsuit. You know, the kind before workout clothes became fashion statements. Rocky’s near-victory, despite the tremendous odds against him, still resonates powerfully with Bryan as a singular message about life and how to live it. And, thanks to him, that message has also become the mantra for my own fight against cancer:

“You can’t control the outcome, but you can control the effort you put into it.”


Movin’ Right Along

U.S 93 Hoover Dam Bypass

The Hoover Dam Bypass opened in October 2010.

Despite cancer, our lives move on. We’re driving across America, including a test drive of the new Hoover Dam Bypass, which relocates U.S. 93 traffic 1,500 feet away from the old Rte. 93 atop the dam itself. The Bypass is a stunning, spanning arch of concrete 900 feet above the Colorado River. Hoover Dam, well worth a stop and a $30 tour, was built during the Great Depression, but it wasn’t a Democratic New Deal public works project — its origins were Republican, back in the days when Republicans believed in government investment in the future. Hoover Dam provided water and power to transform vast areas of the desert Southwest, a region now populated by folks who like to oppose government and government spending. Funny to hear Tea Partiers rally themselves against government and then go home to air-conditioning and running water, thanks be to Hoover Dam.

Quoth the Raven

She came into the room on a walker, the 80-year-old woman with bladder cancer, and she sat next to me during a presentation at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. And at one point in the discussion, she spoke: “Cancer’s not the end of life. It may be a journey to the end of life, but it’s not yet.” Then, just in case you missed the Attitude, she added: “I’m a fighter. I won’t let it get me down.” Nevermore.

Freakin’ Radiation Conundrum

With the early return of my prostate cancer, my oncologist has raised the option of rad treatment to the pelvis — even though there’s *no certainty* that all of my cancer resides there. That’s thanks to the freakin’ tumors the pathologist found in two lymph nodes snipped out at surgery. I mean, once it’s in your lymph glands, where else has it gone? My armpit? My leg? What I’m grappling with now are unknowable trade-offs: How much good stuff happens? How much risk of nasty side effects? I don’t know squat yet — will see a rad oncologist April 4. Stay tuned.

But should I proceed, radiation would be my third cancer therapy in four years — yikes! — and it would also be the most visible to others and the most disruptive to daily life. It finally became time to talk about my cancer more publicly. Ergo, a blog, My First Cancer.