The More Things Change...

      Greetings everyone.  Last weekend was the autumnal equinox marking the end of summer and the beginning of fall. The changing of the seasons always brings to me some contemplation and a sense of large gears meshing and turning and a chance to stop for a moment and take stock of oneself.  This equinox is no different.  It has been a very long, hot summer here in SoCal, the hottest I can remember. It was only two summers ago that we practically didn't have a summer; it being so overcast and cool that our tomatoes had a hard time ripening.  That was not a problem this year.  The humidity in August hung around like a bad house guest that doesn't know when to leave.  This created some very hot conditions for the weddings I have been officiating. If you had told me 30 years ago that I would be donning a black wool suit on a hot and steamy August afternoon to go to work, I would have told you you were crazy!  But there I was, sometimes performing two wedding on one weekend!  Lot's of work for the dry cleaners, at least.  But even amisdst the heat, I was part of some very wonderful and memorable ceremonies, and I will cherish the memories of the lovely couples I have had the honor to meet and be part of their wedding day.
     Last weekend was also the birthday of my son Myles, his 24th to be exact.  As Amy told him, he is now in his "mid-twenties" instead of  "early twenties".  I suppose that means something to someone somewhere.  All I know is that the older he gets, the older I feel and I wish he would stop it!  He is, if I do say so myself, a fine young man, thoughtful, creative and sincere, and a helluva surfer. His birthday is usually on the first full day of Autumn.

Myles of Smiles

     And with another season passing, it is of course time for another visit to the oncologist, since I am on a 3 month schedule. This is a tough assignment, as on many days I can almost forget that I was diagnosed with stage 3 pancreatic cancer in March 2011, which carried a 1 YEAR survival rate of 23%! The uphill grind after surgery, the horrors of chemo, sometimes it seems far away.  That is, until I have another oncology appointment.  But the day always arrives and I once again gird up my loins for a venture into Medical World, an alternate universe of air conditioned grimness. If you recall, I had a bit of a scare last spring with my last CT scan.  Actually, there is nothing with cancer that is a "bit"; it is either cancer or it's not, and that is quite a big difference.  The deal I struck at the time was "cautious monitoring" with another CT scan after 3 months. But as the time drew near, I realized that my heart and mind were not on board for another CT scan in such a short time. That's a lot of radiation, and I don't want to irritate any nascent or lingering cancer cells.  Besides, I was still glowing from the last one! And the contrast that one must drink does not agree with my newly redesigned digestive tract.  So I convinced my doctor, or just told him, really, that it was a no go for the CT. He had me take a series of blood tests instead, including 2 cancer markers, a full metabolic panel and a CRP, or C-Reactive Protein test, which can show the level of inflammation in the body.
     Again, the waiting for results never really gets much easier, but I suppose I am getting better at distracting myself. Well folks, the results are in, an my cancer markers are good; low and normal.  My metabolic panel looks good, too, with just a few values outside of normal ranges, but only by a fraction of a point, so nothing to worry about there.  However, the C-Reactive Protein value, which at last test was <1, the lowest possible reading, had shot up to a very troubling 12!  This made no real sense, since any significant infection or inflammation would probably show up in the metabolic panel, and this was not the case. Apparently, this is no cause for alarm with the doctor, and his head nurse said that monitoring for a trend is probably the way to go.  Then I found out that excess Vitamin D can skew the results of this test, and I realized that the 2 drops of liquid vitamin d I was taking was more like 5 drops or more, according to my wife.  So perhaps it is nothing to worry about. That's what I'm going with.
     And I am still figuring out the limits of my jerry-rigged upper GI tract. I have an interesting story in that regard. My sister Stephanie, who works for a TV production company in LA,  had occasion to visit a psychic that was recommended by some colleagues.  This man is from India, in his 80's and is know as Chakrapandi.  Well, old Chakrapandi sits down with my sister, looks at her and says, "You have a brother with digestive problems, yes?"  Stephanie, surprised of course, affirmed that this is true. "He must avoid all milk, and curds, nothing, not even ghee!"  (Note: curds is the subcontinent's name for yogurt  and ghee is a form of butter) Stephanie passed this information along to me and I thanked her but was dismissive at first.  There are already so many restrictions on my diet, I chafed at any more. And I rationalized that I didn't really eat that much dairy, just some unflavored kefir and a little cheese on occasion and some milk in the occasional cup of coffee I allowed myself, not really enough to make a difference. But a few night later I woke up with a stomach ache after a cheesy meal, and then there were other correlations that kept creeping into my consciousness. Finally one day, sitting in my favorite chair, the scales fell from my eyes and it all came clear: I shouldn't do dairy!  I audibly uttered an expletive. Twice.  I didn't want to be that guy with the special diet! That guy who has to be accounted for when out for a meal or at a dinner party. But alas, I suppose I am that guy. And I suppose old Chakrapandi was right all along; and how he could diagnose me from afar, I have no explanation.  I will share that the transition away from the food of young cows has been easier than I thought. And I do feel better, with fewer stomach aches!  Thank god for almond milk!
   One more thing.  I invite you all to check out my garden blog at The Gardener's Footsteps
I use it as an excuse for my lack of posts on this blog.  Also check out  my daughter Carmen's blog at
Mint Blog  It is about fashion, vintage clothing, etc.  The family that blogs together.....

I wish you all peace and a happy autumn.
Swami bruce

Myles w/camera

So Long, Sally

Another interesting and groundbreaking American succumbs to pancreatic cancer.  Sally Ride was the first American woman in space. She lived with her partner for 27 years, and they authored some books together. It always hits a little close to home when another person succumbs to this disease.  I have personally met several, mostly women, who,along with myself, are in this small fraternity.  When one passes, it is hard not to feel a little diminished, as though a fellow soldier has fallen.  May she rest in peace.

Yes, I scan, scan...

Greetings all ye followers of this blog.  I hope this entry finds you all well and happy.  I would like to update you on some goings on in my life.  During my last appointment, my oncologist told me that I had put off another CT scan long enough.  I had been just about a year since my last one, and relying on blood test wasn't going to fly with modern medicine.  As some of you know, I have a distrust of the radiation inherent in such imaging technology.  But I also understand that a clear view into the inner working of the human body is a valuable tool.    So on a cloudy Monday morning a couple of weeks or so ago, there I was, at 7:10am in the imposing medical building, signing forms and being issued a large bottle of clear fluid that I must drink in the next hour.  It is a contrast solution for the scan, and one must finish consuming it 1/2 hour before the scan commences. It does not taste good.  It also messes with your bowels for a couple of days or so.  But it is part of the process, so drink it I did.  Then you are escorted to another inner chamber of medical mischief for an IV line.  Not just any IV, but the biggest line they can give you, sort of like getting a garden hose installed in your arm.  Finally, one is led into the scanning room, where the medical tech makes the best of the situation with pillows and blankets as you lie down on the sliding cot that is your entry into the scan zone.  The IV line is hooked up and after one pass, the IV is unleashed.  An immediate bad, metallic taste come into your mouth and a strange warm sensation comes over your torso and legs, leading some to think that one has urinated on themselves!  But ever so quickly, no more than 2-3 minutes, and the process is over. Two hours or so of prep and 2 minutes of actual scanning.  We were home by 10am.

I tried to put the mornings activities behind me and get on with my day, and just rack up the experience to the totality of cancer survivor-ship. But later that afternoon, just before I was about to leave to teach my Monday evening Intro to Yoga class, I received a call from my oncologist.  He had already received the report on the CT scan and now was telling me he wanted to see me at the earliest available appointment.

It is hard to describe what went through my mind at that point. The sinking feeling of being pulled back into the maelstrom of intensive cancer treatment tugged at me.  I demanded the good doctor tell me more right there on the phone. Understandable, he said.  There was no "mass" he said, but it seems there was some lymph nodes that were enlarged and a couple of small spots on my lower lungs.  The doctor ordered more tests. 

It was a week before I could get an appointment, and I must say, that was a stressful week of waiting and wondering.  My poor wife Amy was beside herself, and I felt so guilty putting her through more of this.  I felt like a dragging anchor on my family, and wanted to somehow free them from the burden that is me and these health challenges, but I felt so powerless.  Her wisdom reminded me that we were going to enjoy our time this week no matter what the outcome of the tests, and we did, to the best of our abilities. One tends to retreat into a very interior space during such times, so if I have seemed out of touch, I hope you understand.

I really had to take a hard look at my mental state, and I realized just how much I have been struggling with the realities of my situation.  

Interestingly, during this time, I read an article about this:

http://thechart.blogs.cnn.com/2012/05/19/some-doctors-unaware-of-long-term-side-effects-of-cancer-care/?hpt=hp_bn12

This set me off on an internet journey researching the psychological aspects of life after cancer treatment, something that until recently had been largely ignored.  It seems that depression and anxiety are always lurking in the weeds, and the fear of the cancer returning is a constant presence, which I can attest.  Some researchers liken the condition to something akin to PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  It is funny, formerly I didn't fully understand the nature of soldiers returning with PTSD; it seemed like I wanted to say to them, "You're safe now, relax"  but I knew it wasn't nearly that simple. Now I understand.  It seems as thought I was caught or suspended between two separate worlds: the world of cancer and the large and impersonal medical-industrial establishment and then the real world of everyday people going about their everyday business. I felt like I had only a tenuous connection to either world, and would find myself lost in thought (or maybe, non-thought) and would have trouble concentrating for very long.  I assume something similar happens to soldiers after combat. Such levels of stress actually change the very structure of your brain.  And as I am fond of saying, my brain is my second favorite organ! But in all seriousness, I am thankful for the mindfulness training and yogic techniques (breath exercises,etc) that I have experienced.  Without them, this difficult time could or would have been much worse.

Finally, the day of the appointment came, and as Amy and I waited in the little exam room, finally a calm came over me.  I could only wait.  Yet, when the nurse walked in with the results of the cancer marker tests in her hand, I literally (and rudely) grabbed them from her. Leafing through I looked for the important CA1-99 test results and to my (and I suppose, everyone else's) relief, it was unchanged.  Perhaps this was all a false alarm.  The doctor was not far behind, and the upshot of the appointment was that the lymph nodes could very well be lymphedema, a not uncommon occurrence when lymph nodes are removed, and I had 26 of them taken out during surgery.  Breast cancer patients are particularly familiar with this.  The spots on my lungs are more problematic, but could still be nothing but a slight infection or even nothing at all.  They are too small to biopsy, thank goodness, because the thought of someone sticking a needle into the lower lobe of each lung is not a pleasant thought.  We agreed to another CT scan in 3 months to compare. If there was a phrase to describe the outcome, I would say "cautiously optimistic".

Interestingly, the activities that seemed to provide the most relief from the anxiety and lurking depression is doing what I have done for many years: working in the garden and working with my clients, both with bodywork and teaching yoga. So if you want to be part of Swami bruce's mental health program, simply book a massage appointment or get your butt into yoga class.  That's what I call a classic "win-win"!!  
(" Call today, operators are standing by!")  It really seems that in helping each other and the earth we are ourselves helped and healed. 

Thanks for listening to my latest chapter in this ongoing saga. I don't like to burden people with my drama, but it does feel good to get some of this off my chest. 

I would also like to note that today is my lovely and amazing  daughter Carmen's birthday!  Happy birthday to one beautiful and smart young lady.  May there be many, many more.

As always, I wish you peace and health and happiness.

Until we meet again,

Swami bruce

Eight

Eight.  I’ve always liked that number.  8.  Turn it sideways and it is infinity. Eight is said to be the first “free” number.  Eight is enough. The eight wonders of the world.  In numerology, my lucky numbers are 3 and 5 which add up to….8.  An octave has 8 major notes.  Spiders (and all arachnids) have 8 legs, and octopi (and their cephalopod relatives) have 8 “arms”.  Eight is considered a very lucky number in Chinese culture; a license plate that was solely the number 8 sold for $640,000 in Hong Kong.  And don’t forget that the Beijing Olympics started at 8:08 (local time) on the 8^th day of the 8^th month of 2008. Eight is the atomic number of oxygen. The Dharmachakra, a Buddhist symbol, has 8 spokes.  Ashtanga yoga, the lineage that I study, is known as “eight-limbed” yoga (“ashto”=eight).  In Wicca, there are 8 yearly festivals, considered spokes of the “Wheel of the Year”, and there are 8 trigrams in the Ba Gua of Taoism.  There are 8 beatitudes as taught by Jesus.  In computers, a byte is 8 bits. 

Now, one can be “behind the 8-ball”, and this is not a good place to be. On my keyboard, above the 8 is the asterisk. (The symbol that should be next to the names of Barry Bonds and Mark Maguire in the baseball statistical record, I might add).  The asterisk in all this is that yesterday I met with my oncologist, and got the results of a blood test, called a CA1-99, which measures cancer “markers”.  Normal ranges are from 0-37.   My test came back at 8.  A good, beautiful, healthy “low-normal” eight.  An eight that bought me four more months of freedom! Eight never looked so good.  Eight is enough.

Soon,

Swami bruce  

One Year Anniversary

Greetings everyone.  I hope this post finds you all well and happy. Today is an anniversary of sorts.  It was one year ago today, March 23, that I had surgery, 4 ½ hours worth, that probably saved my life.  A kind and sweet text from my dear sister Sarah last night brought the point home.  What a year it’s been.  I shudder to remember how sick I was before the surgery, and how weak I was afterword.  The week in the hospital may have been the hardest thing I have ever been through.  Being so completely helpless and reliant on the help of everyone around me opened my heart in unforeseen ways. When I was diagnosed, I had no real clear prognosis; only that it was grave.  The survival rate for pancreatic cancer is only 23%.  That was the reality I was up against.  It wasn’t so much that I feared dying, it was that whatever time I had left might be spent in pain and illness.  That is what I really feared.  

                The amazing care of the nurses in the hospital made me cry.   It is noted in the medical literature that the Whipple procedure leaves one very emotional. When I came home with surgical drains and a feeding tube, my dear Amy was the best nurse ever, gently starting my digestion up again, and encouraging me to eat when it was the last thing I wanted to do. I weaned from the painkillers while still in the hospital, so it was a painful month or so of recovery at home.  I became far too intimate with the living room couch, and it was such a joy when I could finally lie on my side.  There is a stand of giant Torrey Pines about  4 blocks away and I remember it took me three tries to finally reach them, and it seem like such a victory that I could walk that far.  But little by little, some of my strength returned, and I started to feel better.

      Better enough, that is, for the horrible experience of chemotherapy.  Never have I felt so awful.  It turns out I had a sort of allergic reaction to the chemo drug and it made me very, very sick, in fact my reaction was so intense that for the second time in the year I was near death.  We must find a better way to treat this terrible disease.

On top of all this, and around the same time was the passing of my dear father. He was a giant among men, and Amy and I still feel his loss most every day.  What can I say, it was a tough year. But here I am, still alive and kicking!

     As I look back over this year, I am compelled to share what I have learned.

I have learned that sugar is evil.  At least in the quantities that most Americans eat it.  It leads to inflammation, heart disease, diabetes and is a contributing factor to all the degenerative diseases, including cancer.  People, do yourselves a favor and embrace a diet that is “low glycemic”.  Avoid foods with added sugar at all costs.  Trust me on this.

I now know that skilled surgeons are modern day heroes.  The talent and care of my surgeon, Dr. Sunil Bhoyrul is a very big part of why I am here today.

I have learned that there are two kinds of dietary fats- the kinds that decrease inflammation and the kinds that increase it.  Indulge in the former and avoid the latter.  Trust me on this.

I have learned that naps rock.  Anywhere, anytime, but especially in the afternoon.  Trust me on this.

I now wash my hands and floss my teeth more and wash my hair and jeans less. Go figure.

I have learned that green tea is a very healthful beverage, and should not be brewed with boiling water.  
Trust me on this.

I have learned that life’s little pleasures can loom large when they are taken away from you.  Trust me on this.

I have learned that a good acupuncturist is worth his weight in gold.  Many thanks to Mr. Alan Toyofuku, L.Ac,  who has helped me get through this year. I encourage you all to try Traditional Chinese Medicine.  Trust me on this.

And I again found that poets are awesome!  My first venture out (excepting doctor appointments) was to the Poetry Ruckus at Ducky Waddle’s Emporium.  My poetry tribe was so warm and supportive, but they really just wanted me to read some poems!  It was so very healing.

I have learned that if you work to heal the planet, the planet will work to heal you.  When I was recovering, the only thing that made sense, and the one thing that really made me want to get up off that couch was to tend to the garden and compost.  It helped me and healed me and continues to do so. Trust me on this.

I have learned to speak the truths that are in my heart, not holding it in or waiting for some imaginary “perfect” time in the future to bring them forth.  There is no such time; in fact the very idea that we have time is an illusion.  Some things come into sharp focus when we confront mortal realities. Clarity is a great gift to try to share among us humans. Interestingly, this has brought me closer to some and estranged me from others.  Go figure.

My kids are wonderfully amazing.  And amazingly wonderful. Go figure.

I have learned that the value of human relationships is bigger than the value of anything else in this world.  To all my kin, colleagues, friends and clients who have been so incredibly generous and supportive over this ordeal, I humbly offer my deepest gratitude.  Couldn’t have done it without you.  I will never be able to repay the debt of love and caring that came my way.  But lets hope I can try for many years to come.

I get the results of the latest blood tests on Monday. 
 Fingers crossed.
I have learned that every day is a gift.  Trust me on this.

With love,

Swami bruce

Cacophony

Many weekend afternoons will find me, at some point, beside the compost bins of our yard. Turning the compost, arranging the materials, making good soil for the garden is one of the most basic activities of anyone who would attempt organic gardening. This is where I once again found myself, pitchfork in hand, putting together the pieces that will be, eventually, the quality garden soil that will support the vegetables that we will consume with gusto. As I labored, I was surrounded by the sounds of my neighborhood.

There is a juvenile disco beat emanating from a few doors away, a soundtrack for the kid’s party with the big inflatable bouncy house that peeks up through the trees. And right nearby, my little flock of chickens are lined up at the fence of their run, watching me and letting me know that a worm or two tossed in their direction would not go unappreciated. Down the block comes the ice cream truck, with its looped tune designed to attract the sugar starved youth. Above me in the bottle brush tree humming birds are chirping their territory while a toddler in the next yard is plinking on a toy of some sort.

Now often I deplore the nearly constant noise of modern day semi-urban living. I can find noise bothersome, irksome and don’t get me started about gas-powered leaf blowers. But today, the sun is out, the garden is watered, and the compost is full of red worms and smelling sweet. I feel strong and happy. I open my heart to the cacophony of my neighborhood, to the Buddha-nature soundtrack, to lighten my task. The pitchfork is earning its keep and compost is being turned.

In the middle of this, I notice the most interesting thing. Somehow, for a few beats, all the disparate sounds entrain, as if they had all become the most amazing and unlikely jazz combo. A sudden and strange meshing of agendas into the uber-song, some arcane meta-rhythm heretofore unheard.

And then it happens.

A crescendo then a silence for a beat or two, all the sounds quieting at once, in perfect timing. The chickens and I pause, and lift our heads, suddenly together in the crystalline stillness. It seems as though a curtain was pulled back for a glimpse into the pattern in the chaos, into the great synchronous clockworks of the universe. I open my heart to the silent rhythm, to all of life, to the whole world, to the cosmos. A Rhode Island Red named Maggie bounces her head twice to the invisible but still existant beat, and with a poultry caw sets off the refrain. The toddler starts up again and is a half step ahead of the disco beat. Above me in the bottlebrush the hummingbird chirps a syncopated tune to a new loop from the ice cream truck, saying stay out of my territory. The cacophony returns and the uber-song retreats to the shadows of our synapses once again, only to appear in dreams and the deepest meditations.

The compost should be ready in about 3 weeks.

The Turning of the Seasons

Greetings everyone –

            I hope the New Year finds you both well and happy.  As usual, I must apologize for the time between posts.  We all rode out the bounce pass that is the winter’s solstice. I feel blessed in a way by these past holidays, as at one point this year I was so unsure of what the future held I wasn’t positive I would see another holiday season.   But it was a good one.  With the passing of the solstice, I felt the page turn on the year, with much relief.  Perhaps the hardest year of my life, yet I am sincerely grateful, from the bottom of my heart.  But first the news.

          December 6^th brought another oncology appointment, with blood test and all, and I passed with flying colors!  My cancer marker score was a new low! And my other, more routine blood values were all in good ranges. Then the serious Dr. Mason smiled and said he didn’t think I needed another CT scan (hallelujah!) and that he didn’t want to see me for four (4) months! That really felt good.  A positive start to the holiday season.  We spent the actual solstice with my pagan friends in Leucadia, and at the moment of the solstice (conveniently at 9:32pm), we threw our notes into the fire; notes upon which we had written three things we were starting and three things we were finishing. I was so ready to say goodbye to the year, a year that has had the sadness of my father’s passing and the uncertainty and pain of my battle with cancer. As we drove home shortly after, I really felt a huge release of tension.  The year was really over! (I guess I really feel the years pivot on the solstice rather that the calendar new year about 10 days later) There was a new cycle to start, a new series of downs (or seasons, I suppose).  I felt almost giddy with the possibilities. 

            During the holidays we were visited by Scott and Marlene, my wife Amy’s brother and sister-in-law. They live in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, right near where the Wright brothers had their first flight.  Scott is a brewmaster/owner at a Micro-brewery there, and shipped some special brews here ahead of them.  It was, by all accounts, a “very beery Christmas”!  Myles, his friends and some of mine availed upon Scott’s vast and encyclopedic knowledge of all things brewing related, with a blind beer tasting and a critique of some home brew.  A good time was had by all.

            I was able to surf both on Christmas Day and New Years Eve.  How lucky I am to be living in such a place where this is possible, and strong enough to do so.  Although my new, leaner physique makes me much more sensitive to the colder winter water, I have dug out the extra neoprene (and shortened my sessions) to deal with it.  Always, an immersion in Mother Ocean seems like a baptism, and when I emerge, a rebirth.  I have thought that on our planet, the oceans are the dominant feature, 70% of the earth being covered by water.  We really don’t have “oceans” and “seas” but rather one ocean that is contiguous with every other ocean, sea, gulf, bay and inlet.  When you are in the ocean, you are part of this, and the swells are like the very pulse of the planet. The ocean is a healing place for me, and gives me strength and calmness.

            My Master’s Composter class has started to pay off. I have begun a business of consulting with folks on their gardening/composting aspirations, and it is fun! Urban agriculture is the wave of the future, on in which I will try not to be ahead of the curve for once.  I have been collecting coffee grounds from a new café in Leucadia which have been integrated into our composing system at home.  For the first time in a long time, we have a plethora of wormy compost for the garden!  A wonderful problem to have, I must say. My compliments to Pete Ash and the folks at Solana Recyclers for doing the good work of educating the people.  It is interesting; when I was so weak after surgery, when I was so unsure about my prognosis, the only thing I wanted to do was to be in the garden, and make sure the compost got turned.  It was the only activity that made any sense to me at the time.  And last weekend as I was doing the dormant pruning of the apricot, fig, butterfly bush, etc in my garden, it struck me.  While we are healing the earth, the earth is healing us. (I do some of my best thinking while pruning) I encourage you all to get your hands in the dirt, to nourish and grow something consumable, something for its taste, scent or sheer beauty.  And call me if you have any questions about your compost/vegetable garden/ fruit trees.  I’m here to help.

            I look over the past year, and I am struck by the joy that can be found in the simplest of activities.  One of the hardest parts of facing my own mortality was not so much a sense of personal transience but the loss of the joy of watching the younger generation grow up. My daughter and son and their friends, my nieces and nephews, all of this younger generation that brightens my day and makes me feel part of something larger.  Over the holidays it was a chance to connect with them all, and it made me awash with so many emotions: love, pride, curiosity, connection and hope.  The passing on of wisdom; the passing of the torch.  I wish all of you a healthy, happy and fulfilling 2012.

Peace,

Swami bruce