It's Not Always About the Big C..... Part 1
It's not always about cancer, is it? Sometimes it's just about living. That's why I'm not going to mention the "C" word again, for the rest of this post. I'm just going to show you pictures of our trip to Hawaii, even though it makes me want to go back. Right now.
Distortions of Space, Time, and Sound
Friends and Family,
Genevieve and I have had our sense of reality severely tested. Time, space, and sound have all been distorted.
Let's start with sound. Genevieve and I went to the same appointment together with Dr. Patel two weeks ago, and we both heard something very different.
Here's what I heard Dr. Patel say: "The good news is that your scan results look great and everything seems stable. However, OHSU compared these results to the ones you had nine months ago, so we really can't tell if there's any change."
Here's what Genevieve heard Dr. Patel say: "The good news is that you're still in remission." End of story.
How could I hear, "We really can't tell," while Genevieve hears, "You're in remission?"
I haven't heard the word "remission" from anybody except Genevieve for the last four years. When people ask her how I'm doing, she says, "He's doing great. He's in remission." I always took this as her affirmation, her imposing her intentions on the situation, her creating the reality that she wants to happen. Now, my doctor is teaming up with her to do this?
I don't know what to call it, or what he actually said. All I know is that I'm feeling great, my scans haven't changed, and we're going to keep celebrating.
OHSU had compared results from my CT scan, done two weeks ago in Portland, with ones done nine months earlier, also in Portland. The time in between, when I was having scans in San Diego, ceased to exist. The space/time continuum was then burst, as our UCSD (San Diego) radiologist said he would compare the last Portland scans with the most recent San Diego scans.
Next (I think), time moved backwards, as we waited for the results. Eventually time started creeping forward again, and we received Dr. Patel's email: "No results back from the radiologists yet, but I eyeballed your scan and it looks great." He eyeballed it? Did I just slip and fall into the rabbit hole? Since when do oncologists trust their eyeballs to compare scans, when they don't even have another scan to compare it to? How do we know he's not in some kind of spacial distortion?
Months later, in an email dated only three days later (proof of the time distortion), Dr. Patel emailed again: "CT of head and chest have been evaluated, and there's no change. Still looking great. However, we can't find the scan of your pelvis and abdomen to compare. Can you have OHSU burn another disc for you?" But before I even got to this email, time sped up and he sent a second email. "Never mind, we found it on the same disc. Won't be long now." Except it was. Very long. Weeeeeks (possibly hours) later, he emailed again. "CT of pelvis and abdomen have been evaluated. No change!"
Of course, with this great news, Genevieve and I went into a time loop and celebrated the CT results all over again. NO CHANGE! WOO HOO! TIME IS STANDING STILL FOR MY LUNGS!
Maybe we'll even celebrate by watching some 4th of July fireworks next week. :-)
Love,
Dann
Portland's First Annual Lung Love Run/Walk was a Success
Here's something that gives me a lot of hope: The Lung Cancer Alliance held their first annual Lung Love Run/Walk last Saturday in Portland. It turned out great. 500 people participated. That is great for the heart - and lungs!
My own team, Live Lung and Prosper, had 11 participants, and many others who donated. Thanks to all of you for your part in this!
Most impressive to me was Kathleen, who was diagnosed eight months ago, and the amazing amount of support she brought with her. Team Big Kat had 100 participants! That's a whole lotta love in one place!
Of course, there are pictures:
Look at all these lung cancer survivors!
Strong lungs!
Keep us in mind next year, and we'll make it an even bigger success!
Independence Day Came Early
Friends and Family,
Genevieve and I just got back from our latest trip to San Diego to see my oncologist. A few minutes into the meeting, we were celebrating like it was the Fourth of July. Now this is the first and only time in my life I hope to ever utter these words:
The fireworks went off prematurely.
Let me back up and fill in the missing pieces. Although making trips to San Diego for this clinical trial is a gift, it hasn’t been without stress. Every travel day, we get up at 3 AM to make sure we’re at the airport two hours early because you never know when the security line is going to take an extra hour. That’s what I’m told, anyway, and like any good husband, I listen. This is not the stressful part. It’s just the sleep deprivation part. Who am I kidding? Lack of sleep probably does add to the stress.
If we arrive on schedule, we have just enough time to take a shuttle to the rental car company, get a car, then keep all four wheels on the ground and watch for patrol cars while heading to the hospital for a tightly scheduled CT scan. There have been snags along the way, like the occasional late plane arrival, and learning the hard way that Firefly (Hertz’s low cost stepchild) has only one meandering shuttle bus. Being 15 minutes late for anything else doesn’t do this to me, but on that occasion I thought I would pop the blood pressure cuff as soon as I got to the hospital. Hey, I’m a low-key guy, right? Hang loose! It all works out in the end. And so far all these worries about being late for my scan have been for naught. Even the time when my scan was scheduled at one hospital but I showed up at their other location, they still they found a way to fit me in.
But there are more reasons than stress why this system has needed some fine tuning. Genevieve comes to these appointments in large part so that together we can discuss the results of my CT scan with my oncologist. But here’s the problem: The scan results have never been ready by the time we meet with my oncologist.
The appointments have turned into an anticlimax. I tell Dr. Patel I feel great, he tells me I look great, I ask about new research, and then Genevieve and I leave. What’s left to talk about, with no test results?
Sometime later that night or the next day, when the CT report is completed, Dr. Patel calls me with the results. I relay the news to Genevieve. This lack of face-to-face contact for something so crucial to my well-being leaves a critical gap in communication.
Finally, after nine months of this, I discovered that I could have the scans done in Portland, the day before I meet with Dr. Patel. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the drama?
Call me a spoil sport, but I made the change. This time I had the scan here in Portland on Monday, and on Tuesday I carried a disk to San Diego with the images and the report.
Ta-da! We had the report ready when we met with my doctor! At last, we have better communication and less stress! And the report was great news! In short, the report said that I had massive shrinkage of the tumors. This was time for an instant party! Can you see the fireworks going off? It was time to celebrate!
But wait a minute… isn’t there something familiar about this “massive shrinkage” business?
Dr. Patel threw in his own “but.” The Portland radiologist was comparing this CT scan with the last scan I had in Portland, which was done last September.
The results were meaningless. They were comparing these results to my scan from nine months ago. Our celebration was premature.
Still, all three of us – Genevieve, Dr. Patel, and I – were in a great mood, because we’re expecting everything to continue going well. This is all based on feeling good, having no obvious signs that it’s getting worse, and ignoring a cough that suddenly got worse two weeks ago. That was too sudden, we all agreed, even though we were basing this on no real data. Never mind the facts – my mind is made up.
Dr. Patel said he would pull up the last San Diego images and compare them side by side with this last CT scan. I’m expecting his call soon... Very soon... Any time now... And I’m not thinking about it at all. Really.
When I get the more timely comparison, I know it won’t be Independence Day, because the new scan showed tumors are still present. Still, this apparently “useless” comparison to nine months ago has been a great reminder of just how much better I’m doing now than then. And “stable” is the next best thing to being cancer free, so I’m ready to celebrate a second time. Perspective is a great source of gratitude.
I hope you find plenty to celebrate in your life as well. With a little perspective, I bet you can.
Love,
Dann
An Open Letter to the Newly Diagnosed
Dear Friend,
There is so much I want you to know. Let’s get started:
1. Have hope. Cancer treatment is exploding right now. It’s just incredible how fast things are changing – for the better.
2. Finding out is the hardest part. The first days, or weeks, are overwhelming for everyone. You will get past this - we all do. Just remember that what you are going through right now is harder than everything else you will go through. Everything else combined. The reason? You don't have any tools to deal with it yet. That will change.
3. Let people in. My life is much richer and more full of love now than it ever was. That only came from sharing my trials and vulnerabilities. I have no doubt that I am alive today because of the love of, and for, family and friends. Rarely people vanished because they couldn't cope with my cancer, and I can understand this. Much more often, people surprised me with their outpouring of caring and love. Take the risk. Still it's easier if you...
4. Plan how you are going to share your diagnosis with others. I found that by emailing people I cared about before talking with them about it, it saved me from endlessly re-living those first moments after being diagnosed, after the cancer had grown, or spread, or didn’t shrink when I had high hopes. This gave friends and family time to compose themselves before they talked with me, and because of that, the conversations went much better. This way I could also set the tone that I hoped that they would reflect back to me. It works.
5. Throw the statistics out the window. If you've been diagnosed for longer than 12 hours, you have probably already done an internet search and tried to calculate your survival odds and/or your new life expectancy. Finding statistics that match your specific situation is nearly impossible. For example, the average age of diagnosis for lung cancer is 71. I was 49. Do you think treatment outcomes will be the same? General health, environmental factors, location/size/number of tumors etc. – there are too many variables to make the stats make any sense for an individual.
6. More importantly, whatever statistics you find are probably hopelessly out of date. New treatments are coming online too fast for the statistics to keep up.
7. A diagnosis is not a prognosis. I was at the LUNGevity HOPE Summit a few weeks ago with 150 lung cancer survivors. Most of us attending have, or had, Stage IV lung cancer, and a dozen have been alive for at least five years. If that's not enough, I am your living example. I was first diagnosed nine years ago. The same diagnosis yields different results for different people.
8. Do your homework. Your survival chances are directly related to the quality of the treatment providers you work with. Is your oncologist a specialist in your specific type of cancer? As a general rule, the more people that your doctor and your treatment center have treated that have the same type of cancer as yours, the higher their success rate. Experience makes a difference. Who are the recognized experts in your type of cancer that are within a radius that you are willing to travel?
9. Get molecular testing. The most promising breakthroughs in cancer treatment are at the molecular level. This includes both targeted genetic treatments and immunotherapy. If your oncologist doesn't think you need it, consider the possibility that your oncologist is out of step with the latest research. You may want a second opinion.
10. Re-think clinical trials. "Clinical trials" used to be considered the last gasp desperation approach to treatment. The reality is that, for lung cancer and many other types of cancer, this is where you will find the most promising, cutting-edge medicine, with the best results, and with the least side effects.
11. Exercise, sleep, and diet all make a difference. They impact your mood and your ability to cope. More importantly, you will recover from medication, radiation, and surgery better and faster if you are in the best shape you can be. Take care of yourself. Exercise, sleep, and diet. In that order. One man's opinion.
12. Attitude matters. Treasure the moment. Live in gratitude for what you have right now. Choose hope. These things not only improve your quality of life, they also improve your chances of living a longer life.
13. Love yourself. Treat yourself like you matter. Because you do. This may be your last chance to act like it.
14. Choose your own path. I’ve laid out the way I see it. You may see it differently. Find your own vision of the future, and own it.
If you are newly diagnosed, I wish you the very best in your journey. Contact me if you would like. If it has been some time since you were diagnosed, I welcome your comments.
Love,
Dann
Hope is Human
These are images of hope that never crossed my mind without your help. Steve and Violet sent this photo of their new grandson, Luke. What says hope better than new life?
Proving that you don't have to be a baby to be the embodiment of hope, Marje sent this photo of her grandson, Zan, "who is all about hope."
Finally, this living taste of hope has been on my refrigerator for months. Meet my niece Melissa and her fiance Pete. Can you see the hope (and love) in their eyes?
Before I could even post this, Steve and Violet came through again. Meet their newest granddaughter Katelyn. And yes, she really was born yesterday.
Thank you to all for sending these images of hope. They're doing the trick! I'm feeling more hopeful with each new image. I hope this is doing the same for each of you as well.
This Hope is Hard to Miss
Craig forwarded a link to this photo of Hope that jumps out to grab you. Megan Kowalewski's comment on her Instagram photo: "Never lose hope. Well, at least this one you can't."
If You are Looking for Hope, You Will Find It
My buddy Todd loves sailing, along with just about every other kind of watercraft. So where would Todd find Hope? - A ship, of course. Thank you, Todd!
Steve's Sunrise Brings Hope
Steve sent this photo he took of Sunrise at the Oregon coast. What brings more hope than the promise of a new day?
Thank you, Steve!
Hope is in the Eye of the Beholder
Keith reminded me that hope comes in many forms. Perfect! Thanks, Keith!
Violet's Flowers Bringing Hope
Violet sent these images of hope. "If this flower can bloom on a sand dune, you can beat the record!"
“She also sent this one: “Buds in Spring - A sure sign of hope.”
Thank you, Violet!”
New CT Results, and Requesting a Little Hope
Friends and Family,
My latest CT scan results are in, and things remain spectacularly unchanged. Can you see my smile from there? :-) I feel increasing gratitude after every scan, because I can’t count on this lasting forever.
I know this because the New England Journal of Medicine just published the Phase I trial results for AZD9291 (http://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMoa1411817). The average time people stayed on the drug before their cancer started growing again was 9.6 months. If my results are average, I have a couple of months before things change. I don’t plan to be average. I’m treating the stats like you would a pole vaulting competition. Somebody has to set the record.
Ever since I ran into a guy at the LUNGevity Hope Summit who had been on Tarceva for eight years (roughly seven years longer than average – and still going), it has raised my level of hope.
How much difference can hope make? How much difference can love and support make? This is where I’m asking for your help.
Two things. First, I’m asking if you will send me your images of hope. In my last blog entry (below) I posted a couple of images of "Hope" that I found in Washington DC. I’m hoping you will help me expand that list by emailing more images to me. It makes more difference than you can imagine. As proof, those images you sent to me of light zapping the cancer and healing light a few months ago kept me (and many others) flying for months!
Second, I’m inviting you to join me for the Lung Love Run/Walk on Saturday, June 20th. My very own team, “Live Lung and Prosper,” welcomes new members and/or donations at http://bit.ly/1Kj9tbk. If you join by this Friday, June 29th, they can still guarantee you a tee shirt. After that it’s a gamble. (Sorry, it’s the real estate agent in me. Gotta create a sense of urgency.)
OK, I held back the best part of my CT scan results. It showed that my Swiss cheese hip bones and spine are turning solid again. Was this improvement caused by the AZD9291? Was it caused by the bone strengthening (Zgeva) injections combined with calcium supplements? Was it the healing light sent by y’all???
Hoping everything is going well for you, too.
Love,
Dann
Footnote: If you don’t have my email address, go to the Contact tab at the top of the page and give me your email address. I’ll reply with mine.
Hope is Where You Find It
After the LUNGevity HOPE Summit in DC last week, I was pumped. I was feeling the hope, and I still am. I even found Hope in a couple of unexpected places. First there was this:
That got me excited to look for more Hope. I found this in the Smithsonian Natural History Museum:
Hope Diamond
James Bond taught us that "Diamonds are Forever," but now you know that Hope is forever, too!
So now I'm looking for signs of Hope everywhere, and I would love to have your help. Share the Hope! Send me your pictures and I'll share the Hope with others. Be as creative about what "Hope" means as you like.
If you don't have my direct email address, click on the "Contact" tab above and email me that way. I'll email you back so you can send your photos to me.
A Little Disaster Can be a Good Thing
Friends and Family,
I spent last Friday to Sunday at the LUNGevity (lung cancer) HOPE Summit. I bet you weren’t expecting to see “Hope” and “lung cancer” in the same sentence, but there you go. That’s why we needed a summit, and it hit the spot.
I got fired up hearing about new research and treatments that are changing so rapidly that even oncologists are having a hard time keeping up. It gave me hope to meet 150 survivors, most of whom are Stage IV (spread beyond the lungs). It inspired me to find out how many of my peers are going on TV, writing articles, and organizing walks.
But that’s not my story. I thought it would be more fun to tell you about our little disaster. In a conference organized down to the minute, a tad bit of chaos erupted.
A local restaurant agreed to host us for a dinner away from our hotel. We loaded into five limo buses, with me on lucky #5.
Did I say local restaurant? The ride was so long that the natives started getting a little restless. Questions about where we were going and what state we were in popped up. Eventually, our bus pulled off the freeway. Moving slowly through an intersection, the bus weaved back and forth indecisively between lanes. The driver turned, stopped in the middle of the intersection, BACKED UP, and got back on the freeway in the other direction.
About that time, somebody spotted the driver Googling the restaurant address.
That did it. The backseat drivers couldn’t hold back any longer. At first it was one or two. But the more indecisive the driver got, the more people joined in. Soon, there were seven drivers, all telling the driver behind the wheel where to go. I get the parallels here: “Take charge of the bus before it gets out of control” looks an awful lot like, “Take control of your own treatment.”
The driver acted like he didn’t hear them.
It gets better. Bus alarms started going off, and the bus started sputtering. Fortunately, those noises were drowned out by the backseat drivers.
The front seat driver got more indecisive, weaving between lanes, taking no head of several people commanding him to pull over. A woman in a convertible passed us, first using her turn signals, and then using a hand signal not found in the Driver’s Ed book.
Katie, who has organized just about everything at LUNGevity since it has been around, got resourceful. She called the bus company, who called the driver. Problem solved? Surely you know where this is going. The driver wouldn’t answer his phone.
You would think this would be the time things would get more tense, wouldn’t you? HA! You don’t know my peeps! This isn’t even a PIMPLE on a problem. Cancer this big, bus problem this big. Ya gotta love the perspective. This is when the laughter started!
There was, however, one person who began having panic attack symptoms. She was flooded with offers to help. “I’ve got anti-anxiety medication of you need it.” “Would an antacid help?” “I’ve got just about any kind of narcotic that you might need. Name it.” As the panic symptoms start to fade, we decide that we had an entire pharmacy available on this bus, which makes us laugh even more. This isn’t a disaster, it’s an adventure!
Sputtering up a hill at half speed, the bus finally pulled off at an exit. The driver called his bus company and started talking in Spanish to his boss. This is great! Six backseat drivers, and the driver doesn’t understand any of them!
The more ridiculous it gets, the more laughter erupts. People start taking pictures. “Make a scared face.” “Eeeeeeeeee!”
Making the most of the situation, a lot of us get off the bus and admire the Camp Marcy (wherever that is) scenery. Someone suggests “I survived the bus” tee shirts, which evolves into “I survived lung cancer the bus.” At this point people are taking pictures of other people taking pictures, because everybody wants to remember this.
Then Katie, our fearless leader, breaks out the big guns. She turns it into a promo video clip: “What takes my breath away? A BUS THAT RUNS OUT OF GASSSSSS!” Don’t let lung cancer take your breath away!”
Finally, the bus company shows up… in cars. They offer to take some people in the cars while we wait for the next bus. We’re all hungry, and maybe a wee bit thirsty, but nobody wants to go. Through this “tragedy,” new bonds have been formed. This busload of strangers has become a tight group that didn’t want to be broken up.
Finally, a few reluctantly get into the cars, just as the next bus arrives. We all arrive substantially later than planned. The owners of The Old Angler’s Inn, who have graciously hosted this event, extend their hospitality even more by keeping their doors open until we have all been well fed and plied with alcohol.
So this is what I love about this group. Every person was focused on what they could get out of the moment, not on what went wrong. A potentially ruined evening turns into one of the highlights of the weekend. Warm friendships are forged over events that would sour the entire weekend for people who aren’t blessed with the gift of perspective.
I recently saw someone’s blog post that said, “If cancer is a gift, can I return it?” Sure I’d like to return my gift, now that I’ve had it for a while. But this little disaster, and these great people, reminded me what a gift it has been.
Here’s to the gifts in your life, whatever they may be.
Love,
Dann
Love and Trash
Friends and Family,
Things are pretty spectacular right now, and only partly because of trash.
I know that isn't what you would expect me to say when I'm telling you about a trip to Hawaii. You might be expecting me to tell you about the sunny, breezy, tropical weather, or the warm water that has been perfect for body surfing and boogie boarding. Maybe you're thinking I'll tell you more about the five mile sunrise walks on the beach with Genevieve, where we have the beach almost to ourselves.
You would be right to guess all of those things. But the trip gets much better.
The stars aligned so that my son Mike and his wife Victoria were able to join us. Since Mike hasn't lived with us since he was a troubled teen, and since he hasn't even lived in the same state as we have for the second half of his life, this time has been special.
It's pretty obvious from this picture where Mike gets his muscular build.
We've had a chance to hear about Mike's and Victoria's accomplishments and challenges as missionaries for the past four years in the Philippines. Making a dad even more proud, it would be hard not to see the love in his relationships with his wife, Victoria, with his children (unfortunately not with us), and with everyone around him. It's been a special time, a chance to reconnect. This time of love and sharing has been a father's dream.
This time with Mike and Victoria has been the richest part of our trip, but it isn't the only thing we did that left us feeling full of love. We also picked up trash.
Even with their "aloha spirit" ("love"), the Hawaiian people are still learning how to treasure their environment. We've been collecting trash on our morning walks for years, hoping that when the beaches look beautiful, everyone will want to keep it that way. It's our gift of aloha.
This is where the healing comes in. Love heals. It heals our cells, and I believe this includes cancer. It heals our soul. It holds true whether it's the love of family, the love of everyone, or the love of the world. Even if we're collecting trash, it feels good to leave the world a better place than we found it. It's all love.
So what gives you the aloha spirit? I can't wait to hear your ideas. You know why? Because your sharing will be healing for you, and for me, and for everyone else who reads this. Please share your stories or thoughts about healing love, whether it is two words or two pages.
Aloha,
Dann
We All Want to Know What the Cure Is...
My friends Chaz and Virginia often leave me with terrific ideas that ripple through my brain for weeks. This time they left me with even more. They gave me a video called "The Cure Is...?"
You think attitude is important to me? These experts in their fields take attitude to a whole new level. Bernie Siegel (my favorite), Bruce Lipton and others show how our thoughts impact our cells, which impact our health. I am always looking for whatever I can do to continue to beat cancer. "The Cure Is...?" gave me more ideas, more motivation, and more hope. I made a couple of important changes in my everyday life immediately after seeing this video.
This metaphysical approach isn't right for everybody, but if you're curious, go to http://thecureismovie.com and decide for yourself.
It's Complicated.
Friends and Family,
Have you ever had times when you just knew that everything was going to go your way, except for maybe one little niggling doubt? That’s how it was for me before my CT scan last week. I was feeling great, with no real doubts. Except that I was irritable for two days before my scan. Hmm…
It was easy to feel optimistic because my back has been feeling better and my lungs are feeling great. I’ve been able to run around the gym like a 50 year-old. I would have said like a 25 year-old, but hey. Let’s be real.
I was feeling faster than a speeding bullet…
"Bullet"
More powerful than a locomotive…
And able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
For those of you who didn’t grow up when Superman was on TV in black and white, those words are a direct quote from the announcer at the beginning of every show. The power of feeling good was intoxicating! I was feeling like Superman!
It’s times like these that I forget about the future, feel great for now, and don’t worry about what will come next.
In case you haven’t guessed, my scan results were spectacular! That means they were unchanged. Six more weeks of still having cancer in my lungs, but not having it grow, seems pretty spectacular to me!
So why was there still another niggling little something bothering me? What was it?
Digging a little deeper, I figured it out. I was feeling guilty.
I know, this doesn’t seem to make any sense. Except it does.
It's complicated. First, there are the recent deaths of two people I know who had cancer. One was more of an acquaintance to me, but the other person, Larry, had become important to me in a very short period of time. He was making a remarkable recovery from esophageal cancer, and I had been vicariously thrilled at his successes with cancer – and with life. His passing was sudden and unexpected. I hurt for him, I hurt for his family, and I hurt for me.
More recently, my buddy Craig, who has been on AZD9291 longer than me, has had some growth in his cancer. He is still in the process of working out with his doctors how they will manage this change. If you have a minute to pop by https://craigblower.wordpress.com/ and say a word or two of support, I’m sure he would appreciate it.
But why should I feel guilty about being alive, while others have either passed on, or are dealing with increasing symptoms? Is it fair that it’s not happening to me? I’ve never asked the question so many people in my situation ask, “Why me?” From the first day I was diagnosed, I have believed that things randomly happen to people, just like some people are unlucky enough to die in a plane crash or when a tree crashes through their roof. However, the question I have often asked myself, and I have even asked you, is “Why not me?”
I have been telling you for almost nine years about everything you and I are doing together to help me stay alive, and yet I still feel guilty that I’m alive. That’s a little self-defeating, isn’t it? There’s a name for it. It’s called survivor’s guilt.
This is where having a great therapist comes in. Duane nailed it for me. “It sounds like you’re assuming that only a limited number of people get to live, so if you live, you’re taking someone else’s place.” Booya! That one hit me between the eyes. So this is what it means to have survivor’s guilt! Just getting this crazy logic clear in my head makes it easier to move on. Not immediately, but I'm getting there.
Why does there have to be a limited number of survivors? Can’t everybody survive? That's the goal, isn't it?
Things started looking brighter again. Let’s help everybody survive! Let’s help everybody thrive!
Tell you what. I’ll keep telling you what I think is keeping me alive, and you keep helping. Together we’ll do the best job possible to help other people see how they might do it. And as many of you have told me, the same things work if you want to live a fuller life, even if you don’t have a life-threatening disease.
For me, it all boils down to love and attitude. Your love, and your supportive and upbeat attitude. My love, and my upbeat attitude. There is a lot of action behind both of these words. But for me, love and attitude are at the heart of it.
That’s one reason why I end each email by saying:
Love,
Dann
LUNGevity HOPE Summit
I'm going to Washington!
Every year LUNGevity holds a HOPE Summit in Washington, D.C. This year it is on May 1st to May 3rd, and I'm going.
I learned about the conference last year, but didn't want to go. Just like Groucho Marx once said, "I wouldn't belong to any club that will accept me as a member."
I thought that getting a couple of hundred people with lung cancer together in one place could lead to all kinds of negativity, despite the name of the conference. So I didn't go.
HOWEVER. Over the past year I have gotten a different view. I've looked at it with much more, well, hope after more contact with a number of bloggers, people in online open forums, and people who have commented on my blog. The view from here is looking pretty positive. Maybe it actually COULD be a Summit of Hope.
Craig https://craigblower.wordpress.com/ told me that LUNGevity was providing scholarships, including travel, accommodations in a fancy schmancy hotel, and a couple of meals a day to first-time conference attendees who simply apply. So I did, and, surprisingly, it was that easy. Free. No catches.
If you're interested, go to http://lungevity.org/ and click on the Events tab. This is a great site for a lot of reasons, and this conference is just one of them. Look around while you're there.
I'm going to find out who actually pays for these scholarships. I have one more reason for gratitude, and I'd like to thank the benefactor.
More Healing Sunlight
In early January I asked people to "Think of sunlight shining in on each of the little spots in my lungs, hips and spine, and let that sunshine fry each of the little critters." I've been overwhelmed by the inspiring pictures that people have sent. While some of the photos have focused on "frying the little critters," many others have been awe-inspiring healing light. So which is more healing? Killing the cancer, or having healing light? You decide.
These two beautiful photos were taken by my cousin Kevin.
This photo was taken on the fall equinox at Stonehenge. No, not that one. This one is in Maryhill, Washington. The Stonehenge may not be the real thing, but the sunrise definitely is.
This sunset photo was taken in Santa Cruz. If this doesn't inspire you to heal, what does it for you?