A Walk in the Desert: Learning to be flexible with Cancer

We are in beautiful Scottsdale Arizona.  The resort is on the North side of town.  I have never spent much time in the desert.  And here it is mid-February and it is 75 degrees.  The sun has been glaring, every picture I take has this cast of white in it from the blinding sun.  I didn't notice it on the drive in at midnight.  Then it just seemed like a river of strip malls running beside the road.  There was a continuous glitter of neon lights but everything was closed.   

Friday wasn't a big day: out to breakfast and then I needed a nap.  I was rolled up in blankets, curled up on the bed sleeping while my boys wore short sleeves and sat reading.  It didn't feel like we were on vacation until we went out to dinner.  We had booked, weeks ago, dinner at Lans at the Hermosa.  It is an old famous Scottsdale place.  Dinner is served on an elegant patio with trees with little light fixtures nestled in and stars visible in the distance.  I was worried about being cold but they had dozens of patio heaters scattered around.  It was wonderful to sit with a fire in a fire pit off in one corner. 

Day two of vacation is always better.  I don't ever find on day one that I can appreciate where I am.  I am too busy trying to get my bearings and that is even more true with cancer. I find that my short term memory is pretty bad.  But even day two when you are in treatment requires flexibility.  Day one big events: rest, then out for an afternoon drive to scout out possible future events.  Day two, out to breakfast and then we were going to go for a hike in a nearby state park.  Ken had read about an easy hike called Go John Go in Cave Creek Regional Park on the Northern edge of Phoenix.  The hike is a 5.8 mile loop that offers great views of desert flora and fauna.  In the morning, I was fine.  As we are walking out the door to hike my stomach ache started.  Before Ken had driven a mile I am asking him to turn around so I can spend more time in the room.  Three hours later, I am fine again.  Thanks to being flexible, off we go again.  As we drive by where we turned around the first time out I think, "ok, so far so good." The rest of the drive is uneventful.  The sky is blue, clear and you can see for miles, something that doesn't happen in Chicago. We arrive at the state park and start to hike.  It is beautiful, to live here I would have to research and learn a whole new vocabulary.  There are no bugs.  There are cactus that are 100's of years old that grow one inch a year.  The sun is blinding even with sun glasses.  I can see why people ride horses as we walk because nothing seems close.  You could walk forever in this desert and not get to where you can see.   At first,  I can't breathe all that well. But the hiking gets easier as we go. 

On the drive Ken says, it would have been a perfect day for a convertible.  For the first time in my life I agree that a convertible would be fun.  No hair to mess up and sting my eyes.        

Everywhere we went people stared.  I didn't bring any wigs.  Because of the skin irritation (something to do with losing all my hair) I am just wearing soft cotton caps.  People stared.  I haven't spent much time out in the last two months since surgery.  Perhaps it is being North versus being South.  In Chicago and even Washington DC, it is winter and it is no surprise if you wear a hat.  In Phoenix, unless you are a cowboy wearing a Stetson (which I am clearly not) most people are not wearing hats or scarves.  So I stand out.  I think the biker dude in the book store with a bandanna scarf was looking at me with a certain kinship until he got close enough to figure out my story. 

This is the night I scared the waitress.  I was adventurous and told Ken I wanted 1/2 a glass of wine.  It is my first wine since surgery.  Ken ordered a 1/2 bottle of wine for us to share.  But the waitress only brought Ken a glass.  So then wine person who took the wine order, gave me a glass and then waitress came and took my glass away.  So out comes the wine with the wine guy and he has to go find me a glass again.  And the waitress seems mystified and starts to take it away again.  I was laughing.   I don't know, am I not supposed to have a glass of wine during chemo?  So I blew that one.  I'm really living now!  I think waitresses don't know what to say.  They can't quite figure out how to act if you are sick.  Since most of the rest of my time the last two months has been spent in doctor's offices and hospitals when you are wearing scarves, people are much more low key in the hospital and don't look at you.  Maybe in the hospital they have more important things to worry about than what is wrong with me.

Day three of vacation was better yet.  The further in the past my last chemo session, the more energy I have.  The only flaw to that plan is that it also means the sooner my next chemo session is.  In the morning we visited Frank Lloyd Wright's compound, above is a picture of his house. In the afternoon another hour of hiking on a different trail.

Lovely.   And I feel strong and not tired after 3 miles.  No one around to stare at me. A perfect Valentine's Day.  Sweet.