tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35451055419688469502024-03-13T20:59:40.768-07:00Race Sherpa RisesA journey through lifeTim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-53147861965527662552019-12-31T16:31:00.000-08:002020-01-10T15:33:43.896-08:002020: Living The Life Between<br />
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If you landed on this page via www.livethelifebetween.com, welcome. You are in the right place.<br />
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While we work on the formal The Life Between website, this blog, the one that I started back in May of 2015 when I received my cancer diagnosis, will be a temporary place holder.<br />
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If you want to begin your journey with The Life Between by learning more about my story, the best way to do it is to start at the very beginning, my first post, which you can find here: <a href="http://www.racesherparises.com/2015/05/">The Beginning</a><br />
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Navigating through the story in chronological order isn't always easy on Blogger because of the layout, but if you work your way through the entries, week by week, month by month, it will unfold for you exactly as it unfolded for me.<br />
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I have not gone back and edited any of my posts. I want to keep them as raw and as genuine as possible (even though the writer in me would love to go back and polish it all up), so the posts remain today exactly as they were written at the time, and reflect my "in the moment" thoughts and experience. <br />
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[UPDATE: I now have most of this blog converted to a PDF, which is much easier to read. If you would like a copy of it, please email me at livethelifebetween@gmail.com.]<br />
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Additionally, if you like to see the video that Nebraska Medicine made about my story, you can find it here:<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BlSlZrPcjZc">Tim's Story: DPAM Diagnosis - Nebraska Medicine</a><br />
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If you are looking for more information about who we are and what we provide, keep reading.<br />
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<b>OUR MISSION</b> <br />
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The mission of The Life Between is to provide education, support services, and counseling to those living with and/or confronting cancer, encouraging them to live their best lives in the difficult moments that arise when confronting a potentially life threatening illness.<br />
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When faced with an upcoming test result, surgery, or appointment, it is easy to fixate so much on the future event that we often overlook all of the life moments that lie between the present moment and that future event.<br />
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Not only does this future-fixated thinking distract and rob us of precious time, but we often fill this time with thoughts of worst case scenarios, which are rooted more in fear than in probability. While this fear is often justified, it does little to improve our life, our mental and emotional outlook, or our ability to appreciate the life right in front of us.<br />
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<b>OUR SERVICES</b><br />
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To fulfill our mission of reaching as many people as possible, we provide a number of different services, including educational material, online group discussions, individual and group talks and events, and individual and group counseling sessions.<br />
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<b>OUR VALUES</b><br />
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We respect the philosophical and religious beliefs of all people. We believe that regardless of belief system, we all possess the ability to take ownership and control of our inner life, and by doing so, empower ourselves to make the decisions that serve us best.<br />
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<b>ABOUT TIM</b><br />
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In 2015, Tim Sinnett was working as a trainer, coach, and corporate wellness program director when he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer in his abdominal cavity. To go from "very fit and healthy" one moment to "cancer patient" the next moment was quite a shock, but being a life-long student of philosophy, psychology, and hypnotherapy, Tim committed himself to being as positive and as present as possible.<br />
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After receiving many praises for his blog, Race Sherpa Rises, which detailed his cancer experience, Tim decided to use his professional skills and personal experience to help others going through similar circumstances.<br />
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Tim is a trainer, coach, certified hypnotherapist and registered psychotherapist. He lives in Boulder, CO, with his rock star wife, Rose, and adorable daughter, Taylor.<br />
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Social Media<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/livethelifebetween/">The Life Between Facebook page</a><br />
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Contact Information<br />
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Please contact Tim Sinnett at livethelifebetween@gmail.com<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OoLMt8a0iCU/Xgvnz6PDc2I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/j6oEOQFFLmcAy7KaB4TneRoruFnjeV1kQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Family%2Bat%2Bthe%2Bfarm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OoLMt8a0iCU/Xgvnz6PDc2I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/j6oEOQFFLmcAy7KaB4TneRoruFnjeV1kQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Family%2Bat%2Bthe%2Bfarm.png" width="320" height="217" data-original-width="746" data-original-height="506" /></a></div>Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-38201295176669367682017-08-10T19:55:00.001-07:002017-08-10T20:05:48.159-07:00A Gift<br />
Yesterday, Rose signed us up for an Infant Massage class at Aditi Yoga. She also scheduled a massage for herself following the class. I was a little concerned that 3 hours in a row would be a lot for a 12 day old baby, but Rose figured she could time Taylor’s feeding well enough to buy her some solid massage time on the table.<br />
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The plan was for me to put Taylor in the wrap (or stroller) and walk around with her for 90 minutes (or as many minutes as she would allow). I decided to go with the wrap, but because it was really warm outside, and the air quality was still poor due to the smoke from the fires in B.C., I chose to do all of my walking in the yoga studio. It was midday, and there were no classes, so it seemed like a good option. Besides, it was way bigger than our small living room, where I usually do my indoor walking with her.<br />
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On my second trip around the room I really started to settle in. The room, and energy held within it, was the perfect setting to turn it all in to a walking meditation; something that I hadn’t done in years.<br />
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I have spent many, many hours of my life in studios and in rooms like this. Yoga, meditation, martial arts, qigong, satsang, movement classes, etc.. It has been awhile, however, and on my second trip around the room, some inner bell sounded and it all came rushing back.<br />
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I grew up “solidly Lutheran,” where religion and living a “spiritual life” were a large part of my upbringing. Like many, I had more questions than my particular belief system could answer, so I started seeking out other sources of information. I don’t know how many hundreds of books I own, but at least half of them are on the topics of early Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism (I don’t love that term, by the way), Sufism, Native American religions, and the like. <br />
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In-depth study typically involves both reading and practice, and for me, much of that practice took place in rooms much like the one I was currently walking in.<br />
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About 25 minutes in to walking big circles around the room, being mindful of each and every step, a deep sense fell over me as I slowly paced around with my baby daughter. A reminder.<br />
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“This is all a gift.”<br />
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All of it. Not just the surviving of cancer, and the birth of my daughter less than two years later, but all of it. Everything. <br />
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The ups, the downs, the freedom, the opportunities, and even the anxiety and crushing tediousness of daily life with a newborn.<br />
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It is funny how easy it is to get caught up in everything in our lives, especially our hopes and desires, and overlook the profoundness of such a simple thing; that regardless of our circumstances, the fact that we are alive and conscious is a pretty incredible and precious thing. <br />
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Whether you choose to define this in spiritual terms or in statistical terms is up to you. The fact remains that being here is absurdly unique. We are on this planet for a short time and then we are gone; shorter than a flash of lightening, relative to the history of “live-ness.”<br />
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I don’t know that this deep understanding needs to soften our desires, even though some religions seem to suggest so. If anything, I say let it enhance those desires, but with less anxiety and more gratitude. Let it be the ground that you stand on as you reach for everything that you want. You are starting from a place of “gift.”<br />
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Tonight, there is a good chance that my daughter will cry, and that I will get caught up in that crying. In that moment, it is not likely that I will be able to hold on to the thought of this being a unique and precious life, but if I can, if only for a few seconds, how much richer might my life be?<br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-2358791389028501232017-07-21T10:26:00.001-07:002017-07-22T20:12:40.506-07:00Dragging the Pivot Foot; NED, Pulmonology, and a Baby Makes ThreeI was a bit shocked to see that my last post was back in November, because in my mind, I have written hundreds of posts since then. <br />
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It seems like every time I was sufficiently motivated to sit down and start typing I found a reason to wait a little longer in order to include more relevant information; I will wait until after my cancer follow-up appointment, I will wait until after my next pulmonology appointment, I will wait until after I drink one more cup of coffee, etc.<br />
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If you wait enough times, you never get around to writing. Which seems obvious, on one hand, but deceptively enlightening as well.<br />
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The downside to letting so much time and so many details pass before writing about them is that you end up losing a great number of them along the way. Or perhaps one could argue that that is an upside, for you, the reader, to not have to be subjected to the minutiae of it all, even though it is sometimes in those details where the meat (and entertainment) of an issue lies.<br />
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At the same time, I am rapidly approaching a day by which I HAVE to have this posted, because after that, the world turns upside down. So let's just skip all of the witty, creative filler and get right to the heart of things.<br />
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N.E.D. (yeah, you know me)<br />
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That's right. I had my 18 month follow up with Dr. Foster on May 5th and my MRI and lab work show that I am still cancer-free. This cannot be taken too lightly. While I don't write about it a lot, I am super thankful for the result. <br />
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I started this blog as the result of my cancer diagnosis, and writing about the experience has given me an opportunity to not only pay more attention to the deeper aspects of life, but it has also allowed me to share my insights and opinions with all of you. One of the unintended by-products of this is that a number of people who are confronting this same type of cancer and/or surgery have reached out to me for advice and support.<br />
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It has been an unexpected gift to be able to provide this service to others, and I owe a lot to a great number of people. I owe a lot to Dr. Foster and Nebraska Medicine for the incredible care I received there. I owe a lot to all of those people who showered me with love and support throughout my surgery and recovery, especially Rose and my family. I also owe a lot to all of the people who helped make me who I am today, because much of who I am and how I look at the world is a function of my life experiences, and the impact that other people have on our lives via those experiences often goes under-appreciated (if not unnoticed).<br />
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This isn't to discount all of the work I have done as well, it is just to acknowledge the multitude of variables that go in to creating "our lives." We say "our" because we are the only ones who have a first person perspective and experience of it all, but it is still deeply intertwined with (and as a result of) all of those around us.<br />
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PULMONOLOGY<br />
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My mysterious breathing issue remains. Unfortunately.<br />
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For months I have been wanting to share all of the frustrating stories. Stories like doctors telling me that my breathing issue is just due to the fact that I am 50 years old, or telling me it is asthma, even though no steroidal inhaler or albuterol seem to improve the situation. Stories like me fighting my way through a cardio pulmonary exercise test, struggling, at what feels to be about 60-70% of my normal capacity, only to be told that I "did better than predicted" based on "average 50 year old males in the U.S." (duh). Stories like one doctor explaining how things "just got harder for him when he was in his 50s, too" (by the way, he also said he uses a steroidal inhaler and albuterol every day). <br />
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A few weeks ago I decided I needed to do two things: 1) I needed to go a little deeper in to the woo-woo and investigate all possible mental/emotional/spiritual avenues, and 2) I needed to take a break from specialists and give inquisitive students a chance.<br />
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The student path has been fun. There is a Naturopathic medical school in the Seattle area called Bastyr. They run a community clinic staffed with students and attending NDs. I decided I was going to go in and challenge them. I told Rose, "I want this case to keep them awake at night."<br />
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The first appointment did not disappoint, as they were captivated by my case. Later that night, after I was already in bed, I heard my phone ring. It was probably around 11:30pm or so. Concerned it might be something serious I looked at my phone and it said No Caller ID, so I just put it back down and went back to bed. In the morning I saw that whoever called had left a message. Guess who? One of the student doctors, calling about something regarding my case. It gave me a big smile.<br />
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I have had a couple of appointments with them so far. Any big revelations? No, not yet, but they continue to be intrigued and they find new avenues to try. <br />
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As for investigating deeper mental/emotional/spiritual issues, well, we all have plenty of areas to pursue there. I have been a deeply reflective and contemplative person for most of my life, so it is pretty easy for me to dig through the past, looking for unresolved things. And yet, being trained in hypnotherapy, I know that we all have blind spots. <br />
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Trying to discover our blind spots is about as tricky as it gets. You can try hypnotherapy or some other non-cognitive technique, but sometimes, if you are really paying attention, you might be able to notice little aberrations. Things that, when taken by themselves, are easy to look over, but when taken with a bunch of other random observations, may start to point in a similar direction.<br />
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I have recently discovered a few of these peculiarities. They may not indicate anything at all, but they may be guideposts to a path I can't quite make out through the darkness. My goal is to just start writing everything down, in some organized way, to see if something pieces together.(And don't worry, I won't do it here in the blog.)<br />
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There is no denying that our genetic makeup and our exposure to environmental elements play some role in the things that happen to us. But I have become more and more fascinated by those aspects that are a result of our thoughts and emotions. You don't have to get all New Agey to prove this. We already know that our thoughts and emotions affect numerous aspects of our chemistry and physiology. We like to pretend we understand this by using phrases like "mind-body," but I don't think that most of us realize just how powerful this influence can be.<br />
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My gut feeling is that this is a "wounded healer" situation for me. Not only is it something I need to work through to resolve my physical issue, but I expect that the meaning that arises out of the search, and the result, will propel me in to the next orbit of my own personal evolution.<br />
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And speaking of....<br />
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AND BABY MAKES THREE<br />
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Just how long has it been since my last post? Well, I know that it has been at least nine months ago, because when last I wrote, Rose was not pregnant. And our due date is this week. How could I have not written for nine months???<br />
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More importantly...holy cow! Life is about to change.<br />
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Upside down, inside out, and all of that other stuff. It is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. And yet, our plans are to keep moving forward on the path that we started three years ago; Rose wants to continue to pursue being an athlete in the OCR/ninja sports world, I want to continue to pursue my own business endeavors, and, I will continue being the Race Sherpa. <br />
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Race Sherpa with a Baby Bjorn.<br />
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This little girl will love us or hate us for all of the travel and racing that lies ahead, but it is such a great life, and a great community, how can we not introduce her to this world and these people? <br />
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So as you can imagine, Race Sherpa Rises is about to make a giant pivot. A pivot in to parenthood. <br />
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A number of people have suggested that I update my blog to make it a bit more, uummm, visually appealing. I think that is a great, and needed, suggestion. So hopefully, as we move forward, we can make all of this look pretty and add lots and lots of photos. Oh, and remember that you can follow the Race Sherpa Rises Instagram account as well! There are always plenty of photos over there. :)<br />
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Oh, as for dragging the pivot foot...<br />
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To me, dragging the pivot foot is a hesitation or uncertainty. When you plant your pivot foot you are committing; whether that commitment was the result of something proactive or reactive doesn't matter much the moment after you do it. What matters is what you do next. You shoot, you pass, or, if you still have your dribble, you determine which direction you want to go and you go there. Either way, it is a powerful moment that demands action.<br />
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There is no dragging, no hesitancy. We pivot on this spot and we start out on the direction of our next choice.<br />
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And very, very soon, we do it as a family of three.<br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-67107177146508653402016-11-15T13:20:00.001-08:002016-11-15T13:20:14.824-08:00The Confidence Suck and the Conservation of CausesIn most of my posts I have accentuated the positive. Of course, there has been negatives present all along, but why dwell on them longer than necessary? (I have a personal method for determining "necessary," but that will have to wait for other time; probably in my 2017 Free Rein Resilience material).<br />
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For all of you who have grown tired of my on-going optimism, you will be happy to know that this post is a little different. I am not promising that I won't end on a positive note, but the bulk of the post will be about "the great suck."<br />
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If you have tuned in along the way, even if just for a little bit, you know that my breathing issue has been on the front line of this journey. Now, one year post cancer surgery, my entire attention has turned towards the issue. And since no one seems to be closer to any answers I continue to pursue many possibilities at the same time.<br />
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A BRIEF REVIEW<br />
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My pulmonologist continues to remain perplexed. He has seen the abnormal, asthma-like numbers on my PFTs (thankfully) so he knows there is something going on other than just "trying to keep up with my 34 year old professional athlete wife" (his words). Two different steroidal inhalers haven't made a difference, so I am currently on a 12 day prednisone trial. Today is day 6.<br />
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I also continue various forms of bodywork because my perception is, and always has been, that something is "stuck," and that my breathing is getting "pinched off" some how. It may be a strange thing to say, but it seems as if changing my body position (bent over, lying on my side, etc) affects the "depth" of my breath. I also have this sensation that if I could just crack my back in just the right place I would be able to breathe again. I can't really explain the feeling any better than that. It is worth remembering, of course, that even though I have had this "stuck" feeling years before my surgery, I did have a mucinous tumor surgically removed from underneath my diaphragm (as well as from other areas), so there is a lot of physical trauma to consider.<br />
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I have also reconnected with my doctor to pursue the potential mold/mycotoxin issue. I know that this is outside of the medical "norm," but frankly, the medical norm doesn't seem to have any answers for me right now. And what I do know, for sure, is that I noticed my breathing issue not long after a big mold exposure. It is interesting to me that potential mycotoxin issues are shrugged off so quickly by most MDs when mycotoxin-related problems have been demonstrated in livestock, and researchers actually use a mycotoxin (alfatoxin) to cause liver tumors in rats. I suppose the assumption is that a healthy and robust immune system handles these issues just fine. And while that might be true for most, the research I have been doing seems to indicate that it might not always work very well for everyone.<br />
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My labs definitely show some abnormalities. My non-ceruloplasmin bound copper is very high. Also, my TGF-Beta 1 is extremely elevated (3500 is upper limit of normal; mine was 9500), and my MSH is pretty low. Are these due to mold/mycotoxins? Hard to say. They aren't specific markers, but they do fit in to a mycotoxin exposure profile. Technically, it is just called CIRS (Chronic Inflammation Response Syndrome). There is a protocol to follow, however, so as soon as my prednisone trial is over I will start it up to see what happens. [It was interesting to me that my Vitamin D was low, even though I spent almost every day outside in sunny Colorado this summer, and it was a little shocking to see that my B12 was low as well.]<br />
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Finally, I have not completely ruled out "dark and sinister forces." I suppose I may as well keep all options open at this point. Perhaps a shaman will be my next consult. :)<br />
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THE CONFIDENCE SUCK<br />
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While I do not solely self-identify as an athlete/physical person, it has always been a very large part of my life, as well as my career for the last thirteen years. The limitations that I have in my athletic life due to this breathing issue are significant. Fortunately, one could say that they are not "significant" in regard to my "normal, every day life." <br />
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Except that, well, MY own personal, normal, every day life involves a higher level of performance due to my career, so it circles back to "yes, it does affects my normal, every day life." Being so intimately tied in to how I make a living and generate revenue makes the experience feel that much more oppressive.<br />
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It is frustrating, it sucks, and it starts to grind down on my self-confidence.<br />
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Not my self-confidence as a all-around person, or of what I know or how I act in the world. Fortunately, those aspects of my self-identity seem relatively immune (thus far). But it grinds down on my self-confidence as a trainer and a coach. Obviously, my knowledge isn't less now than it was 3-4 years ago, but I have always had an intuitive-kinesthetic style to my training/teaching. I not only like to sense and feel things out (internally) as I move throughout a session with a client, but I try to maintain a solid practical feeling in my body in general. And the fact is, I cannot maintain much of that right now. Either my breathlessness prohibits me from doing the things that would give me access to that body-sense, or, even more sadly, the expectation of the breathlessness reduces my desire and willingness to even attempt those things.<br />
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Interestingly, age, in general, does this as well. I can't lift as much weight or box jump as high or run as fast as I could ten years ago, but that never created the same confidence void that I feel now. Truth be told, it has been an interesting study in how things like this affect both our bodies and our minds. I bow to the experience as a teacher, but it frustrates the shit out of me as well, and makes me want to punch the teacher in the face. :)<br />
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Frustration experienced long enough usually wears down in to a valley of sadness. I suppose I experience that from time to time, but for the most part I am fired up to find a solution. Residing in a state of sadness would certainly not be unreasonable, given everything, but it is not going to help me get the answers that I seek. And that is why I always encourage the idea of finding gratitude in the moment, acknowledging any vulnerability or negativity that needs to be acknowledge, and pushing forward with a positive mindset. It is not an either/or kind of thing; it is holding all three simultaneously. Or at least holding all three as close together as you can manage.<br />
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At any rate, the point is, yes, it sucks, and the experience definitely takes the wind out of my sails from time to time.<br />
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I am not the kind of person that thinks that "everything happens for a particular reason," at least from a metaphysical standpoint. But I do think that every experience provides an opportunity to learn, whether you think the experience was divinely inspired or the product of a series of "random" events. As for "meaning," well, I think we find and create meaning as we see fit. With all of the filters and biases that are coded in to the software of our brain's operating system, it seems highly likely that we will always fall short of finding "Ultimate Truth and Meaning" in the events of our lives. But meaning aside, I would always like you to think about causes.<br />
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THE CONSERVATION OF CAUSES<br />
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Most people are familiar with the Conservation of Energy, at least by name. Well, the Conservation of Causes has very little in common with the Conservation of Energy, but I hope that momentarily linking the two ideas here, plus the catchy alliteration, will serve as a mental device that will provide you quick recall of the concept.<br />
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And the concept behind The Conservation of Causes is this: "everything has a cause."<br />
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As you go about life you are going to hear a lot people tell you "well, just because."<br />
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"Well, you are getting older..."<br />
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"Well, you/it are/is just too (insert adjective here)..."<br />
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"Well, these things just happen..."<br />
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But things don't "just happen." We might not always know WHY things happen, and we might not be able to PREVENT things from happening, but the concept of "things just happen" is not only incorrect, it is very disempowering. The "things happening" are the effects of causes. <br />
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I want you to embrace the idea that things have causes because I want you to understand that as long as things have causes, you have the POTENTIAL to maybe do something about it. Obviously, there are a lot of things you are not, ever, going to be able to change. Things (some terrible) happen to people every day due to things they have no control over. But having no control does not mean that there wasn't a cause.<br />
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I also think it is important to not automatically confuse "cause" with fault or blame, or to think that it is inherently embedded with any particular higher meaning (remember, meaning is largely self-created). You can assess the WHYs after you discover the HOWs.<br />
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This is all a round-about way to say that if something isn't the way you want it to be, see if there is a cause that you can change. My breathing issue has a cause. I don't know for sure what the cause is, and I don't know for sure if I can change it, but I know that I have the power to keep searching for an answer. Even if you have something going on that you deem to be due to "just getting older," well, what does "just getting older" mean? It means there are certain physiological changes happening in the body. What are those changes? And are there some that you can affect by doing things differently?<br />
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Likewise, you can start planting new "causes" today that will bloom in to new "effects" in the future. I have a saying on the back of my business card that I always like to refer to: <br />
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"What can you do today that your future self will thank you for?"<br />
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The ebb and flow of Life is inherently composed of ups and down. The Confidence Suck that I experience is off-set by an equal and opposite energy of desire and will to excel and to thrive. The amount of time that I spend on either side is frequently determined by my state of mind. Just keep moving. Keep moving forward. <br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-35653777322019321712016-10-30T17:24:00.000-07:002016-10-30T17:24:05.798-07:00A Year Later: An Update and a PursuitIt has been almost a year since I had what some call the Mother of All Surgeries (MOAS). Whether it truly deserves that title or not, its extensiveness and seriousness cannot be argued.<br />
<br />
I have certainly written a lot about the weeks and months that followed my surgery on 11/10/15. It seemed only fair that I update everyone on the situation since then.<br />
<br />
THE GOOD NEWS<br />
<br />
The good news is that after two CT scans and one MRI, everything looks great. The oncology surgeon is very happy. Tumor labs are back down to "normal" levels and the rest of my routine labs look good. Instead of having scans every three months I can now wait six months.<br />
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I am so grateful for such a positive outcome. Dr. Foster and the rest of the staff at Nebraska Medicine were amazing, and I really appreciate all of the support that both Rose and I got from everyone, via phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages/posts, etc...<br />
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Of course, with something like this, it is never really "over." I will have to continue to keep my eye on it, and hope that it doesn't come back. But for now, I celebrate the life that I have in front of me.<br />
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<br />
THE MYSTERIOUS PART<br />
<br />
With the cancer variable set aside, I continue to investigate my breathing/fatigue/low strength issues. I think I have mentioned before that I suspect a number of things, and I am guessing that, in time, we will find that there are a number of different variables at play. In the spring, my pulmonary function tests revealed a surprising asthma type thing happening. I have never had any type of asthma issue before, so it stands out as highly unusual. I also still experience what feels to be some physical restriction in my diaphragm (and other respiration related muscles).<br />
<br />
My pulmonologist is extremely perplexed by the situation. He deems it a "very interesting case." After trying two different steroidal inhalers, neither of which seemed to improve my condition, his next step is to put me on a prednisone trial. My N.D., who is helping me investigate a potential mold/mycotoxin/other issue, just reported that my labs seem to indicate that there is something going on (high TGF-Beta 1, low MSH, low B12, high non-ceruloplasmin bound copper, plus others).<br />
<br />
So I will follow through with those two plans and see if something makes a difference.<br />
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As for the restriction that I feel, I know that being hyper tuned in to what I am experiencing might lead me to believe that there is something happening that isn't really happening. But as someone who has spent so so many years paying attention to my breath (via sports and pranayama and martial arts, etc) I feel confident that there is some structural piece to this as well. Whether it involves a psoas-diaphragm tie in, or some organ/fascial positioning, what I know is that different body positions allow me to get a different quality of breath. I have been saying for years that I can't get my normal inhale, that something feels pinched off, especially when I am standing up. Given that, it makes sense that I notice it even more when I am running; not just because my need for oxygen is higher but because of the position my body is in.<br />
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And whatever may be true with that, it is probably even more so now that I have had major abdominal surgery.<br />
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Sooooo....the search continues. In the meantime, I am happy that I am able to get out there and run and hike and lift and all of that. I just do it slower and with a higher heart rate than normal. :)<br />
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<br />
THE PURSUIT<br />
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Throughout the last seventeen months, so many people have written to me, telling me how inspirational my positive mindset and optimism has been to them. I know that there are others who seem to be nauseated by it, or who think it is not genuine. <br />
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But their opinions are really a reflection of their own lives and their own states of mind, not mine. I could care less about what they think because I fall asleep every night with the peace of knowing what is in my heart. <br />
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Being human means we all experience the highs and lows of the human experience; and that includes a very wide range of emotions. Of course it is not always possible to be "happy" all the time. To think so is a bit naive. There are plenty of things in life that might cause us to feel unhappy, and we are entitled to the full richness and expression of that feeling.<br />
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The question, however, always remains, "How do you want to feel?" You really have a good deal of choice in the matter.<br />
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So my parting thought is this: There are those in life who, for whatever reason, like to linger in and relish unhappiness and fear and anger and resentment. That is their (and all of our) right to do so. But many of those people also like to use their own darkness to diminish or extinguish the light of others. <br />
<br />
If you are not one of those people; if you are someone who experiences those aspects of life but then makes a conscious choice to rise out of it and move onward with the most positive mindset you can manage; ignore those who would try to bring you down or get you to shine less brightly.<br />
Their judgements are about them, not you. <br />
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So shine on, and help be a light to others.<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-23497452646919252182016-08-05T17:34:00.001-07:002016-08-05T17:56:49.347-07:00The Road Warrior, NED, Chasing After Breath, and Free Rein ResilienceI am pretty sure that months ago, when I last wrote, I mentioned I was going to blog more often and with shorter posts.<br />
<br />
Oops...<br />
<br />
In the last few months my "posting" was primarily done via the Race Sherpa Rises Instagram and Facebook pages. Being on the road and traveling around lent itself more to photos and short text that could be composed on my phone rather than typing out lengthy pieces on my laptop. So I went with what was easiest.<br />
<br />
<br />
Since the end of April I have been a Road Warrior; putting in 9000 (driving) miles in about three months time. And that does not include the flights I have taken (and there have been many).<br />
<br />
One of those road trips was back to Omaha for a follow-up post-op MRI and an appointment with my oncology surgeon. The MRI revealed what every cancer patient longs to hear; NED. No evidence of disease. So great news!<br />
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On the other hand, I still have that breathing issue that has been dogging me since late 2012. In May, I had some pulmonary function tests done and the numbers seemed to indicate that I have some type of asthma thing going on. I have never been prone to asthma, so I am, yet again, suspicious of the mold I found in our house in 2013 and the air quality of the building I worked in from 2012 to 2015. I have tried two different steroidal inhalers and neither one seems to have made much improvement. I had a Chest CT this morning in Seattle. Given the cancer I found last year, I needed to make sure there wasn't something going on in my chest as well. (No results yet.)<br />
<br />
So for now, I keep chasing after the breath that I so long for. I still run pretty much every day, just not as far or as fast as I otherwise would. <br />
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<br />
I am hoping to make more frequent posts in the next few months, but I will also be turning my attention to a project that has been on my mind for a long, long time.<br />
<br />
I created Free Rein Athletics a number of years ago with a grandiose vision. So grandiose, in fact, that it sputtered along as I tried to distill the broad objective in to something that was tangible and manageable. Being a business of one person, and being caught up in other jobs and projects, it has taken me awhile to start building out the vision.<br />
<br />
Getting cancer last year, and seeing all of the coaches out there putting together programs for OCR, convinced me to flip-flop the order in which I released things. Instead of adding to the "uber functional" fitness protocols that are already out there, I am starting with the mind and building outwards. Many people have asked me how I stayed so positive throughout my ordeal, so I decided to build it out like an instruction manual.<br />
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The result is Free Rein Resilience, and the goal is to coach people to develop greater physical and mental freedom, power, and resiliency.<br />
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The Free Rein website is still under construction but if you would like to stay in the loop, like the Free Rein Athletics Facebook page for further announcements.<br />
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Relative to past posts, this one was pretty brief. So I got that part right. :)<br />
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ALWAYS MOVING FORWARD!<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-67574191277189775772016-05-02T09:25:00.000-07:002016-05-02T13:37:42.573-07:00A Pivot Point; to New Beginnings and Grand AdventuresI started this blog in May of 2015 to document my path through my PMP diagnosis, treatment, and recovery. To say whether that documentation was, in the end, written for you or for me is still not clear.<br />
<br />
What is clear to me, however, is that now, a year later, it is time to pivot and chart out on a new trajectory. <br />
<br />
Despite my insistence upon "not living the narrative of the disease," this blog, for the most part, still existed within the context of disease. And while my message may have been about living life and staying positive, the dark shadow of cancer was always there, cast on the ground, following closely behind. <br />
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I suppose one could say that it was precisely the contrast against that dark shadow that made the words seem so bright.<br />
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But there are other ways to build contrast beyond grappling with the dark. One way is to try to shine brighter than the light around you. It seems as if the human condition is predisposed to default to "normalcy;" a kind of sleep-walking through the relative highs and lows that exist within one standard deviation of life's mean. (And here you thought you would never need to know statistics...)<br />
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So if we tend to live most of our lives in the "dusk" of consciousness, there is a way to build contrast, and to shine out brightly, without needing the threat of so much darkness. <br />
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That is the New Beginning of this blog; living Life, not against the backdrop of Cancer, but against the backdrop of our normal default patterns.<br />
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I will be writing about what this looks like for me, but what does it look like for you? In what ways can you rise out of your ordinary patterns, even if just for a moment, to feel the full radiance of Life?<br />
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THAT, in my mind, is the ultimate Grand Adventure. <br />
<br />
But, Rose and I are about to embark on another adventure as well. On Thursday we leave on a grand road trip. The first stop will be the Montana Spartan Race; then on to Boise, where we will fly to OK City (and back) for American Ninja Warrior; then we will continue on to our temporary summer home of Woodland Park, Colorado.<br />
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Where are we going after that? Well, you will have to follow along! Race Sherpa Rises is now set up on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and yes, even Snapchat (did I seriously sign up for SnapChat?). We have a van, we have some sponsors, and we have the courage and the desire to make this an epic year.<br />
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We hope you tune in and join us on the adventure!!<br />
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A final thought: the other day I wrote out "cancer survivor" and started thinking about the fact that we have all survived something, right? Very few of us have gotten this far in life without having to deal with numerous trails and tribulations. So, in essence, we are all in the same boat. Get out there and Giddy Up!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gn1-ddsVEUc/Vyd-eYN8nCI/AAAAAAAAAvE/JngeS2pw0mAPOqwIOoTG9_duQLr16OxGQCLcB/s1600/We%2BWant%2BYou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gn1-ddsVEUc/Vyd-eYN8nCI/AAAAAAAAAvE/JngeS2pw0mAPOqwIOoTG9_duQLr16OxGQCLcB/s320/We%2BWant%2BYou.jpg" /></a></div>Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-15082639921804308502016-04-16T09:53:00.002-07:002016-04-17T13:36:05.473-07:00The Social Complications of a Speedy Recovery; and the Start of Something NewIf you have been following the journey thus far, it doesn't take astute observation to notice that the time between blog posts has greatly increased. This is primarily a function of being in "giddy up and go recovery mode," but it is also due to the fact that we have so much going on right now. Every day has been full of a multitude of things. And there is a lot to wrap up in Seattle before we take the Race Sherpa/Running Rosie show on the road. But more on that in a bit... (if you want to go right to that part, page down to the last section now!)<br />
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Back to recovery.<br />
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I am so grateful for how well my recovery has been going. My strength has been coming back, and eating and pooping appear to be back to normal. Unfortunately, my breathing has not been so cooperative.<br />
<br />
My experience is that the breathing issues that I have right now are the exact same as those that I experienced in 2013/2014. I have mentioned a few times in this blog that I have never been convinced that my breathing issue was related to my cancer issue. Dr. Foster thought that given the amount of mucinous tumor that I had under my diaphragm, it could easily account for the breathing difficulty I was having. And I suppose that now the same could be said for scarring and adhesions in those same areas. So, it is still possible that the two are related.<br />
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And yet...<br />
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I am just not convinced. I continue to think the bulk of the problem is due to something else.<br />
<br />
My intuition keeps whispering two things to me: 1) posture/structure, and b) back/spine. What that means, or how they could play in to it all, I have no idea. What I do know is that the quality of my breathing seems to change, based on my body position. So who knows, really. I just hope that I can get to the bottom of it all, as it not only affects my daily life (unless I am very focused on something else, I am aware of it on almost each and every breath), but it really puts a damper on my fitness/performance life!<br />
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On the other hand, it feels a bit petty to complain about it given where I just came from. I have friends who are in the process of dying and/or going through cancer (or other serious illness) right now. I also belong to a Facebook page composed of people who have what I have/had. Every day I read the posts that pop up in my newsfeed. Some of the people who write are still disease free many years after having the same surgery and HIPEC treatment that I had. Many others have had numerous surgeries and/or continue to deal with chemotherapy treatments and complications from the surgery. A number of them have died.<br />
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So every day, in addition to taking in the magnificent beauty around me, I have a constant reminder of how close death and disease really are.<br />
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When I was walking to the gym the other day, soaking in the beautiful Seattle spring day, I started reflecting on the things that keep people from being able to fully embrace the wonder and beauty around them. I am sure that it is a combination of many reasons, but three came to mind in that moment:<br />
<br />
1) We are pre-occupied with other thoughts, and therefore our attention and focus are turned inward.<br />
2) It is the nature of the mind to "ignore" the familiar in order to focus on the unfamiliar and/or potentially threatening.<br />
3) We assume that we will be able to pay attention to it all the next day, or the day after.<br />
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It is interesting how quickly (1) and (2) fall to the wayside if you truly understand that (3) isn't necessarily true. Sure, it is probably statistically true that you will survive the night and wake up again the next morning to do it all over again. And that is partly why we make the assumption and go with it. We consciously or unconsciously understand the odds, and ignore them or set them aside in order to immerse our faces back in to the soup bowl of daily life. <br />
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It also keeps us from freaking out every single day.<br />
<br />
But on the distribution curve, those improbable events aren't just data points on a graph but real people; each one representing a life very much like your own. And when you speak to those people, many of them share the same insight; don't take it for granted. ANY of it. If you can find even just a few moments of your day to snap out of that self-spun trance to take the reality of everything in, you might just find yourself not only looking at the world, and your life, differently; you might find that you want to change course and live your life differently as well.<br />
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I feel as if I came to this conclusion way back when I was 25 years old. And yet, it is human nature to get pulled back in, over and over; hopefully to an orbit that is a little further out than the one you were in the time before. The less gravity there is, the smaller the event required to jolt you free again. Sometimes, despite what you have learned (numerous times) before, it takes another big event to rocket you back out in to the open space of context and perspective; where you are able to, once again, focus, re-evaluate, and orient the ship of your life, pointing it in the desired direction.<br />
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<br />
Interestingly, there is an aspect of recovering well that I did not anticipate. I have called it the "social implications of a speedy recovery." While most people are genuinely happy that I am way in front of the healing curve, I can tell that there is a small subset of that group that are raising their eyebrows, and wondering why I (since I am doing so well) am not " getting back to normal life."<br />
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Let me tell you why, if you don't know.<br />
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Physical recovery is one thing; psychological recovery is quite another. Not that I have residual psychological or emotional "issues" from everything that has happened, but rather the experience cemented even more firmly the thoughts I had about life before all of this started.<br />
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At times I think that "normal life" is part of the problem. At least for me. I can't speak to what is true for you. Nor can I conclusively define what "normal life" is, because it changes based on the decisions that I make. Technically, the next set of fixed patterns and beliefs become "the new normal." Despite all of that, I have my own "working definition" that I am using here.<br />
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As things are right now, I don't think I am a "F*ck Cancer" kind of person. I say that because I frequently wonder what part of my disease I could have be responsible for. You don't have to frame it as "blame," but rather "ownership." Could I have been living in a way that played a contribution, however small, in to this diagnosis?<br />
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When considered from that viewpoint, suddenly "getting back to normal life" makes one pause, and reflect, and wonder about what changes one wants to make in one's life going forward. So not just gaining the perspective that I described above, and choosing to live with less certainty and more gratitude, but embracing the idea that we are, in some part, responsible for the lives we are creating.<br />
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Again, I am speaking for me and my current experience. I am not projecting this on to anyone else. I don't know what is or isn't true for another person. What I do know is what events were true in my life before this all happened.<br />
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I imagine if I had a young child who had cancer I might be all "F*ck Cancer," too. A child hasn't had much time, in thoughts or behaviors, to bring such a thing upon themselves. It is a shitty deal. But adults? I don't know. I am sure we could find plenty of examples where we could (seemingly) absolve a person completely for having anything to do with their medical condition. I 100% believe that. But I just don't know that that is true in every single case. And so, putting myself "at cause," even if just a little bit, gives me pause in how I want to move forward.<br />
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Sometimes there are financial imperatives or social obligations that require one to "get back to normal life," regardless of what one would LIKE to do. Definitely true. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. But I have been afforded a small window of opportunity, and I am taking the best advantage of it that I can. I don't want to be one of the stories where I resume my life as it was and then the disease returns. I want to shed all of the crap; to leave behind everything that could have played a part in that situation; and start anew in the best way that I can right now. And if it still comes back, after all of those changes, then I can be more at peace with my part in it all.<br />
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Before ending, I need to state one more time: if you have or have had a serious disease or condition, I am not saying that you brought it on yourself. I think that can be a bogus blame-game that can create a lot of harm. I already know that there are some people who will get immediately defensive about what I have written here. All I am suggesting is that, SOMETIMES, and in SOME CASES, our thoughts, our lifestyle habits, our stress compromised immune systems, our decisions about how we spend our time, etc might play a part in it all. In some cases, a CRUCIAL part. And when I consider those thoughts and behaviors in relation to how I was living my own life, it shows me areas where I want to change course.<br />
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That's it. Got it??? Good. :)<br />
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Now to the the last section...<br />
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<br />
***** IF YOU PAGED DOWN TO GET TO THE LAST SECTION, START HERE *****<br />
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It has been almost a year since I started this blog. I hoped to capture a slice of my life and my perspective as I confronted my cancer diagnosis and the road that was in front of me. Now, that road continues forward, but I travel it with a slightly different mindset.<br />
<br />
So, in terms of The Start of Something New, there are a number of things to mention.<br />
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First off, Rose and I are preparing for our road trip back to Colorado for the summer. I am looking forward to some more Rocky Mountain time, and I hope to have some on-line training options available for those who are interested (more on that soon). We might have a special announcement to make regarding our trip, but we have to wait for more certainty before doing so. So stay tuned!<br />
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Secondly, the tone of this blog and the frequency of posts are about to change. It is time for the "RISES" part of Race Sherpa Rises. Same philosophical tone, but more about living, and hopefully, much more humor. :) Also, shorter but more frequent posts. To complement that, I am going to change my cover photo to represent that attitude shift. The message of my current cover photo remains, but the focus is now different.<br />
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Lastly, I will be posting across all social media platforms during our road trip and throughout our adventures during the season. If you are following my personal Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram pages, thank you!! But most of this new content will only be posted on the Race Sherpa Rises pages (I will have some duplication, but not a lot).<br />
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Soooooooo....that means if you want to follow the journey, you have to like the RSR pages!!<br />
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They are:<br />
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Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/racesherparises/">https://www.facebook.com/racesherparises/</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/RaceSherpaRises">https://twitter.com/RaceSherpaRises</a><br />
Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/racesherparises/">https://www.instagram.com/racesherparises/</a><br />
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I want to thank you all for following, and for providing all of the support that you have along the way.<br />
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This is just the beginning of the journey.<br />
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Giddy up!<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-12820111747896825252016-02-16T13:21:00.000-08:002016-02-16T13:21:54.521-08:00The Eight Week Recap - In Three Parts<i>I ran across this recently and wanted to share:<br />
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"Before I had cancer, I knew I was going to die, I just didn't know when. After I was diagnosed with cancer, I knew I was going to die, I just didn't know when."<br />
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Before my diagnosis last June, I was fully acquainted and comfortable with the idea of "we aren't guaranteed any time and we could die any day." After my diagnosis, I realized that my understanding of that was purely conceptual. That is, I knew it, intellectually, but I did not have a visceral understanding of it.<br />
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My understanding is deeper now, and all I can say is: in the midst of your normal every day life, the one that hypnotizes and numbs you with its familiarity and struggles, try to find a moment to really FEEL the truth of your vulnerability and impermanence. It might scare you to consider it, but if you can let the fear go, the true sweetness of being alive will be your reward.</i> - Posted on Facebook, 1/24/16<br />
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<br />
I have mentioned before the trade-off one makes when writing about experiences within, or close to, the moment of their occurrence, versus writing about them later. The upside of writing about them in retrospect is the meaning that one can add to the narrative of the experience, due to further reflection.<br />
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But there would appear to be a diminishing return. That is, at some point, many of the interesting insights and nuances that one could provide by writing about an event after thoughtful reflection can also get lost in the continual forward movement of more and more Life.<br />
<br />
Eventually, the subtleties get overwhelmed by more events, and more processing, until the language of (or the interest in) the previous insights dissolve in to an faint shadow of their former selves. <br />
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I fear that seems to be the case here; that my negligence in waiting this long to write reduces the potential for meaningful insight and instead becomes more of a mechanical recitation of facts.<br />
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And yet, I feel it is important to cover at least some small amount of all of the ground traversed in the last two months before moving on to current events.<br />
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Thus... <br />
<br />
PART ONE<br />
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I could list a number of reasons for why it has been eight to nine weeks since I last posted, but if I had to be honest with myself, I believe I could sum it up in one word: restlessness.<br />
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The interesting thing about this restlessness is that both surgeons, Dr. Ong in Seattle and Dr. Foster in Omaha, told me that the primary symptom I would experience post-surgery would be fatigue. In reality, it was the opposite.<br />
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I was restless. Restless on the verge of anxiousness.<br />
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It is possible that if I had been able to do my normal workouts, I might have actually experienced the fatigue they were talking about. But as it was, there were zero moments during the day when I felt like I had to lie down or take a nap. In fact, more often than not, I headed out the door for more walks. And while I did spend large chunks of time on the computer, I couldn't cultivate the mental stillness I needed to write. <br />
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It is a shame, really, because there are a number of things worth mentioning that I will distill in to a few words for now but that I would have expounded on in greater detail at the time they happened. But seeing as how there is no way to go back and do it over, I will just proceed forward.<br />
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<br />
My last appointment with Dr. Foster was on Friday, December 18th. He was pleased with how everything was looking and he removed my last drain tube, even though it was putting out more peritoneal sweat than he would have liked. At some point you just hope the body re-absorbs it, he said, but then went on to describe what I should look out for in case the fluid started to accumulate in my abdomen.<br />
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My biggest concern was that this could happen while I was back in Seattle, and while I could obviously seek out doctors there, my medical support system was in Omaha.<br />
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The moment I woke up the next morning, I knew something was off. Before I even opened my eyes I noticed that my last few dreamy moments were really negative. Definitely not normal for me. And the instant I sat up I felt an uneasy tension in my breathing.<br />
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As the morning went on, it was clear that something was stirring. I was feeling anxious. And emotional.<br />
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It was not uncommon for me to walk continuously throughout my parent's house, as that is how I did my daily walking during my recovery. But that morning, I was pacing. And I could tell. I also kept putting food in my mouth even though I wasn't hungry.<br />
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All tale-tell signs, of something, but I didn't know what to do about it. I am always sensitive to anything that feels like it restricts my breathing, but there was more going on; more that I could not identify. We were leaving to go back to Seattle that day, and while I was excited to get back, I was not very psyched about what I was experiencing. I was just doing what I could to hold everything together.<br />
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But that strategy would not work as well on the plane.<br />
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If you know my personality, it would not be difficult to guess that I am not the type to be prone to anxiety, but "anxiety" is the only way I can explain what I felt on the plane ride home. It was bad.<br />
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Everything felt restricting. I had to take my binder off, and I was constantly tugging on my clothing anywhere it seemed even the slightest bit tight, which felt like pretty much everywhere. I got so warm that I started sweating.<br />
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Every ten or fifteen minutes I would catch my spinning thoughts and think "Dude, c'mon...this is all in your head. You can pull it together." And occasionally, I would succeed. I would start to feel calm, and I would cool off to the point of having to wrap my jacket around myself. And all would be good until the cycle started over again.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, it was not a short three hour flight, and I was very happy to get off the plane. Our friends picked us up from the airport, and I felt pretty normal for the rest of the night.<br />
<br />
In reflecting back, it is possible that all of these feelings didn't start on the last day in Omaha. I think there was always an underlying "restlessness" that I felt, but I was always able to distract myself and shake it off. For some odd reason, this restlessness feeling seemed to increase right before I ate and right before I went to bed. <br />
<br />
Being back in Seattle wasn't easy at first, because Rose flew out of town the very next morning for a photo shoot in Los Angeles. We both agreed that this was the right thing for her to do, but it did leave me at home on my own. <br />
<br />
Normally, being the introvert that I am, I love those days of just hanging out by myself. But these were not normal days nor normal circumstances.<br />
<br />
So, I walked. A lot. Outside and inside. On the first day that that I hit eight miles walking (according to my iPhone app) I am pretty certain that almost half of those miles came from walking inside the house. I would walk a figure eight pattern between two open rooms or just walk around from room to room. <br />
<br />
Walking was the only real activity I was allowed to do, so I did a lot of it. <br />
<br />
I also experienced a certain amount of vulnerability when I was walking around outside. It was difficult to explain to people, but when I wrote about it on Facebook a number of women commented that they felt the same way when they were out in public while 8-9 months pregnant, or while walking around with their infant. It is a question of "what am I capable of if something comes up or goes wrong?"<br />
<br />
The irony of this feeling, of course, is that even in my current state I was probably stronger and fitter than many of the people who were also out walking around. We evaluate situations based on our own baselines more than how our situation compares to others. It provided me with some interesting insight in to how we perceive our "diminished self," whether it be from injury, medical issue, or age/frailty.<br />
<br />
The pre-bed restlessness seemed to increase when I was alone, so I would turn on the TV and watch it until it was much later than my normal bed time. Basically, I would create a situation of exhaustion. Despite this pre-bed restlessness, I never had problems falling asleep once I actually lied down and closed my eyes.<br />
<br />
Within a week or two, things started to normalize a bit. I joined a gym that was about a mile and a half away. I walked there every day, did a few light weight exercises, and then did some easy cardio on the treadmill or the stepmill. Eventually, I was able to ramp my cardio up to an intensity that allowed me to sweat and breathe hard. Not only did this do wonders for my soul (sweat salvation), but it helped relieve some of the pent-up restlessness.<br />
<br />
I have thought a lot about the origins of that restlessness. I am guessing it was the product of a number of things. While one could say that being able to be physically active again allowed me to "burn off" all of that excess energy, one could also argue that that same physical activity allowed me to cover up and ignore a deeper restlessness. I don't really know for sure which one is more true. I am still processing it all, and I imagine the answer will lie somewhere in the middle.<br />
<br />
PART TWO<br />
<br />
In all of my years as a "healthy person," I was always very aware of people who were currently dealing with, or had previously dealt with, serious medical issues. My father had a heart valve surgery when he was seventeen years old, and my mother had breast cancer twice, so even in my own immediate family there were plenty of reminders. <br />
<br />
I also worked in a level one trauma center for three and a half years. So between my personal experiences, and everything I saw at work, I had more than enough data to be aware of what misfortunes were possible in life, to be compassionate and empathetic towards those dealing with medical or traumatic issues, and to be grateful for my own good health.<br />
<br />
But never once did I feel GUILTY about being in good health.<br />
<br />
How interesting, then, that it was only after I had this rare cancer, and a seemingly successful surgery and recovery, that I harbored my first feelings of guilt. Similar to when soldiers come home from the war, knowing that some of their buddies didn't make it, or like when people survive accidents when others died, I experienced my first sensation of guilt just weeks after my surgery.<br />
<br />
I had friends who were going through very unpleasant cancer surgeries and IV chemo, and I saw people posting not so great things on the Facebook PMP page. It was not lost on me that my surgery had gone well and that my recovery was speeding along. I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of "survivors guilt."<br />
<br />
I have been spending some time thinking about this feeling of guilt; wondering what lies at the root of it all. Is there an underlying belief of personal unworthiness? Is it a function of one's world view; ideas about fairness or lack of fairness? Or, might it just be based in fear, confronting what could still be the real possibility that things could still turn in a bad way?<br />
<br />
While I am a hypnotherapist, and I love learning about how we create and form beliefs, I haven't spent much time thinking about survivor's guilt, per se. But having now dipped my toe in to the stream, and felt it first-hand, I am fascinated by it. Of equal interest to me is what my own attitude and outlook has played in all of this, if any. In other words, what do we and don't we have the ability to affect? I imagine that this will be high up on my list of things to research this year.<br />
<br />
PART THREE<br />
<br />
At the end of the day, my recovery is going well. I go to the gym 5 to 7 days a week. I am increasing the intensity and the volume of my cardio workouts and I am slowly starting to increase my strength training. I fear I am only going to be able to do something like two pull-ups (when I finally try), but, it is all a journey, I suppose. :) I have also been able to run, outside, twice. I huge step forward for me.<br />
<br />
I have mentioned a number of times throughout this blog that I thought my breathing issue was unrelated to my medical issue. I still believe that to be the case, as I continue to experience the same issue that I experienced prior to my surgery. It is possible that the bulky mass of the mucinous tumors were restricting my diaphragm before, and now it is restricted by swelling or post-surgery adhesions. But intuitively, I keep thinking that somehow, in some way, this restriction I am sensing is related to the position of my spine.<br />
<br />
What do I mean by that? I'm not sure, exactly. Only that I think I can find a way to resolve the issue by concentrating on position and posture. I am open to the fact that there could be a psychological/emotional aspect at play as well. I have certainly heard enough stories to not rule anything like that out. But for the time being, the focus is my back.<br />
<br />
<br />
There are many things that are being left out of this post, but at some point, you have to just cut it off and start anew. That is how I am feeling internally...in how I look at my life, and at life in general...so I am applying it to my blog as well.<br />
<br />
Not every experience or lesson needs to be shared. In some ways, having this post hang over my head for the last two months has been holding me back, in the sense that I have been trying to keep the ideas and concepts alive long enough to share. The most important thing is that I have integrated the insights and learning in to my own life along the way. The "me" of today is different than the me of eight weeks ago (or even the me of eight days ago). <br />
<br />
My focus now is on what my focus has always been on; moving forward. I have not been one to cling on to the past, and there is certainly no reason to start that now.<br />
<br />
Giddy up!<br />
<br />
<br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-32143774969693586672015-12-16T17:20:00.002-08:002015-12-16T17:20:40.926-08:00My Tribute to Three Important PeopleThis is the post that is long overdue.<br />
<br />
This is the post where I pay tribute to three people who had a profound impact on my current state of affairs. Without these three people, some aspect of where I am, and how I am feeling, right now, would be different.<br />
<br />
Of course, many more people deserve to be mentioned. The nurses and my family and my friends have all been instrumental in this surgery and recovery. But there are three who deserve their own personal shout out.<br />
<br />
<br />
HOLLY<br />
<br />
I've written about the story before, both on this blog and on Facebook, but a special shout out goes to my friend Holly Holycross Chandler. Holly is the reason I came to Omaha to have this procedure done at Nebraska Medicine.<br />
<br />
The short version is that Holly and I went to high school together (in the 80s) and are Facebook friends. When I received my cancer diagnosis in May and started this blog, Holly wrote to me to tell me that she works on these surgery cases, and she encouraged me to come see Dr. Jason Foster about my case.<br />
<br />
At the time, I had already started the process with Dr. Evan Ong at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle. I was happy with my appointments with Dr. Ong, so I just thanked her and moved on.<br />
<br />
But she didn't stop...<br />
<br />
She kept writing. The next email was a little bit stronger, and talked about all of Dr. Foster's outcome numbers; percent of re-occurrence after five and ten years, percent of complications from surgery, etc... By this time I was living and training in Colorado with Rose, so while I was still happy with my decision to move forward with everything in Seattle, I was less connected to Seattle at the time. In fact, Rose and I had already been weighing the other options regarding having the surgery in Omaha versus Seattle. (Specifically, that I am from Omaha, and my family still lives there, so I have a huge support system available there, AND, my father has been having some medical issues as well, so it would be a lot easier on my family if I had the surgery in Omaha.)<br />
<br />
Holly's next email included Dr. Foster's cell phone number. She had spoken to him about my case and he agreed to give her his cell phone number to give to me so that I could call him. She insisted that I at least see him for a second opinion.<br />
<br />
As it turned out, I had already been thinking that I really needed to seek out a second opinion on such an aggressive surgery, and suddenly, Dr. Foster stood before me as the perfect option.<br />
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It took a few weeks to make the connection, but we finally made it work. I had a great talk with him on the phone, and made an appointment to see him after Rose's championship races were over.<br />
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As they say, the rest is history.<br />
<br />
Throughout this whole experience, Holly has called me "inspirational" and "a hero." I can't speak to that, although if my words have found their place in to someone's life in some positive way, that is terrific. The truth is, it was Holly's adamant persistence that made all of this possible. <br />
<br />
So I send a special shout out to Holly, for both her kindness and her insistence. I am very grateful to her for her part in all of this.<br />
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[A local news station did a story on us, you can find it <a href="http://www.ketv.com/news/a-new-diagnosis-an-old-friend-a-lifesaving-suggestion/36923042">here</a>. They didn't get everything right (the pain, the chemo, etc), but you get the idea. :)]<br />
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<br />
AMBER<br />
<br />
In every story there is usually an unsung hero. A person who is doing a lot of work in the background but not getting a lot of credit.<br />
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Amber Burke is that person in this story. Amber is Dr. Foster's nurse. I know what she has done for me, so I can only imagine how involved she is with all of his patients.<br />
<br />
Five days (five days!) before my scheduled surgery, there was a discrepancy between what Nebraska Medicine was saying about my insurance coverage and what my insurance company was saying about my insurance coverage. Nebraska Medicine said that Dr. Foster would be considered "in network." LifeWise told me, repeatedly, that Dr. Foster was "out of network." There was no way I could afford to have the surgery in Omaha if he was considered out of network.<br />
<br />
Four days before my surgery, and the day before I was scheduled to fly out of Seattle for Omaha, Amber stepped in and started making the calls to LifeWise herself; updating me any time she came up with new information.<br />
<br />
The day before my surgery, when I was already admitted in to the hospital, Amber continued to jump through all of the hoops to make it all happen. I don't know how much extra time she spent on it, but I imagine it was quite a bit.<br />
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And somehow, almost as if by magic, she pulled it all together.<br />
<br />
Holly got me to Omaha, Amber got me to the operating room. <br />
<br />
So I send a special shout out to Amber for all of her extra hard work to make the surgery happen. She is also pretty good at removing stitches, for your information.<br />
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<br />
DR. JASON FOSTER<br />
<br />
Perhaps the real hero of the story, and not just my story, but many people's story, is Dr. Foster.<br />
<br />
Dr. Foster gave Holly his cell phone number for me to call, and he made the time to speak to me on the phone for 20 minutes. I have worked with many doctors in my life, and Dr. Foster has a unique combination of skills. In addition to his surgical expertise, he is very personable, funny, knowledgeable, confident, and just has a great overall "bedside manner."<br />
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It was Dr. Foster's confidence and his communication style that really won me over. That his outcomes seem to be awesome did not hurt the decision. :)<br />
<br />
So I send a special shout out to Dr. Foster for being the surgeon and the person that he is.<br />
<br />
As kind of a post-script shout out, I want to say that I think it was Dr. Tellman who did the open and close at my surgery. If so, fine work, young man. The incision looks great.<br />
<br />
<br />
It has been said that no man is an island. And I tend to think that even those who claim to be "self made" might find, on closer inspection, that they had people along the way that gave them the means or the confidence to push onward. If I have written something inspirational, or acted in a way that someone found meaningful, it is a result of the teachers and the supporters I have had in my own life.<br />
<br />
And when we look back at the tapestry of our lives, and identify how the strands were woven together in a particular way, the three people listed here will all be noted as some of the most influential people in this event of my life. Another thank you to all of them.<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-59414250173640904642015-12-06T09:38:00.002-08:002015-12-06T09:38:34.719-08:00The OCR Community, Peritoneal Perspiration, and Counting ChickensI have never been quiet about the fact that I have an amazing family and amazing friends.<br />
<br />
This has been true for as long as I can remember. Even though I have traveled around and lived in different places, I have always been blessed with a really great group of friends and acquaintances.<br />
<br />
But I want to give a well-deserved, and specific, shout out to the OCR/Spartan community. In addition to the GoFundMe account that Matty and Amelia set up, and that so many people contributed to, I heard about the support shown for me and Rose at the LA Spartan Race this weekend; from moustache wearers to people running with Rose and Tim hashtags written on their bodies. There has been so much support from the OCR community, many people whom I don't know or haven't met personally, that it has been a little overwhelming. <br />
<br />
Being a healthy and fit person my whole life, I never imagined that my name would be after one of those hashtags. And yet, here I am, recovering from cancer surgery and intraperitoneal chemotherapy, drain tubes still coming out of my abdomen, listening to stories about all of the community support. It is really amazing.<br />
<br />
Of course, I know that this benefit is primarily the result of being Rose's significant other. She is the "popular" one. I have been at a lot of races with Rose. I know that whether she finishes 1st or 5th, the same number of people come up to her afterwards, wanting to talk to her or to get a photo with her. By association, much of that love spills over on to me. :)<br />
<br />
But that aside, it doesn't change the fact that the OCR community has rallied around us in a way that I have not experienced from such a large group before. It is really remarkable, and I want to thank each and everyone of you for it. You, collectively as individuals, are why the community is what it is.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ok, so, the drain tubes. They are still in because, apparently, my peritoneal keeps "sweating." I have the ok to have them removed as soon as the output gets below a certain number. But nope, they keep draining. <br />
<br />
Of course, first and foremost, I am all for the best long-term recovery outcome. If that means leaving them in for another week, so be it.<br />
<br />
But...I confess that I am ready to not be plugged in anymore. I have to wear a binder on my abdomen right now, and it is suppose to be a little snug to provide "support," both to my healing incision and to my (still in shock) abdominal muscles. But the binder also presses down on and rubs against the drain tubes sites, which is a bit uncomfortable. Probably the most discomfort that I have at this point.<br />
<br />
And then there is also the logistics of the tubes and bulbs; pinned to my flannel shirt, tucked in to the internal pockets of a fleece vest, in the way of showering and washing, etc...<br />
<br />
There have been a couple of times when the output has drastically dropped, and I'm like "sweet!" And then, eight hours later, there will be 50-100ml in them again. Ugh.<br />
<br />
It's a mystery. I don't know how to stop my peritoneal from perspiring. :)<br />
<br />
My next appointment with Dr. Foster is on Friday, 12/11. It might be my last appointment with him, outside of a CT we will have done the following week to get a "baseline" for future reference. At that point, I imagine the remaining incision stitches and the drain tubes will come out.<br />
<br />
<br />
When I first received my cancer diagnosis back in late May, and I decided to blog about the experience, I thought long and hard about what to call the blog. I decided not to piggyback it on to my old blog (<a href="http://mydharmadays.blogspot.com/">http://mydharmadays.blogspot.com/</a>), which I started back in 2005. <br />
<br />
Instead, I chose the Race Sherpa theme, and went with Race Sherpa Rises for two reasons:<br />
<br />
1) Back when I started using Race Sherpa on Facebook (in private, I used it long before Rose got involved in OCR), I began every race travel morning with the line "Race Sherpa rises." Simply meaning, rises from sleep and off to action.<br />
<br />
2) I knew that after surgery, there would come a time when I would have to battle back and reclaim my previous health and fitness. In this case, "rising" from the "ashes" of post-surgery/chemo.<br />
<br />
I am not one to count my chickens before they hatch. At this point, I am still in full-on recovery mode (even though I am now past the point where most of the complications can arise). BUT, my mind is starting to create the template that I will use to re-create myself.<br />
<br />
In many ways, this is a great opportunity. As a personal trainer and strength coach for the last 12 years, I have a lot of resources to draw from, but as sometimes happens when you are self-employed and busy, I had let my own training fall back in to a rut.<br />
<br />
In my mind I was still seeking and innovating, but I wasn't spending enough time translating those new ideas to my body. I noticed this at least 2-3 years ago, but I continued to let the daily life stressors keep me from implementing all of the new ideas. I usually just defaulted back to the old tried and true routine.<br />
<br />
But now I have the opportunity to start over, and to build from a different base. I am 49 years old, and have been an athlete all of my life. I don't want to just recover my old strength and fitness, I want to re-engineer myself, and embody the broad spectrum of what I think it means to be an athlete.<br />
<br />
This doesn't mean I won't eventually find my way back in to the gym to push iron, but that isn't where I am going to start. I am going to lay a different foundation, and I have a lot of resources to draw upon.<br />
<br />
First, yoga. I used to be a "yoga freak." I was really fortunate to be immersed in the yoga scene when I was (1998-2005 or so), because so many top teachers used to travel around and give amazing workshops. I had the opportunity to study with some of the best instructors in the world (at least those who visited the US), and I loved how each teacher had their own unique interpretation and expression. Many of these teachers are the primary teachers of people who teach today (or perhaps, by now, we are on the second generation).<br />
<br />
At any rate, I took a break from yoga, for reasons that are too numerous to go in to now, and I never really went back. Not in earnest, at any rate. This winter will be a great time to re-immerse myself. My goal is not to become an asana master. Long ago I lost the desire to pursue the perfection of as many asansas as I could. I have some specific goals in mind, and knowing the principles of yoga very well, I will carve out and pursue my own unique practice.<br />
<br />
Second, there are so many people out their doing cool work; bodyweight, clubbell/kettlebell, gymnastic/ground based movements, parkour, etc... I already own a lot of material/resources from these people, and I've dabbled it in for years, but I haven't really committed to it. And while there is way too much material here to do everything, and while each and every "system" might be complete in and of itself, I have already started to compose my own personal integration of it all. Mostly because that is just what I do. I am an integrator. I look for themes and principles and try to find the best ways to express them. Find what works and what is useful, and let the rest go.<br />
<br />
There is no way I could list all of the people who are doing cool work in these areas, but here are some of my own personal favorites:<br />
Ryan Hurst (Gold Medal Bodies) <a href="https://gmb.io/">https://gmb.io/</a><br />
Chip Conrad (BodyTribe) <a href="http://www.bodytribe.com/">http://www.bodytribe.com/</a><br />
Ross Enamait (Ross Training) <a href="http://rosstraining.com/blog/">http://rosstraining.com/blog/</a><br />
Coach Sommer (Gymnastic Bodies) <a href="https://www.gymnasticbodies.com/">https://www.gymnasticbodies.com/</a><br />
Mike Fitch (Global Bodyweight Training) <a href="http://www.globalbodyweighttraining.com/">http://www.globalbodyweighttraining.com/</a><br />
Scott Sonnon (TACFIT/CST) <a href="http://www.rmaxinternational.com/om/home.php">http://www.rmaxinternational.com/om/home.php</a><br />
Pavel Tsatsouline (StrongFirst) <a href="http://www.strongfirst.com/">http://www.strongfirst.com/</a><br />
Erwan Le Corre (MovNat) <a href="https://www.movnat.com/">https://www.movnat.com/</a><br />
Too many parkour-based resources to list<br />
<br />
Of course, there are a lot of people in the traditional strength and conditioning world that I love as well, but because I am going to hold off on that piece until the rest of the foundation is in place, I won't bother listing any of them right now.<br />
<br />
Three, climbing. Truth be told, I haven't done much climbing, and I have never excelled at it. As a traditional strength/power athlete, it always seemed so counter-intuitive. And that, along with it's high level of "function," is precisely why I want to do it. Besides, most of the climbers I know are good at so many other things.<br />
<br />
Four, OCR. I don't mean the actual races. It will be a while before I am anywhere close to that. But I have always been an advocate for the OCR training paradigm. In fact, I had been conceptualizing that kind of training for quite some time when I went to my first ever Spartan Race (Washougal, 2013). I remember walking in to the festival area, looking around, and thinking "Holy crap, they are already doing all of this stuff, in a race format." It was pretty cool to see.<br />
<br />
Of course, much of the stuff that I would clump in to "OCR training paradigm" can be covered in the groups listed above, but there are still the uber functional movements, or primary human movements. The ones you could label "farm/rancher/contractor training," especially heavy and awkward lifts and carries.<br />
<br />
Fifth, and finally, running. I have been running for quite a while, so this isn't actually new. But my breathing issue forced me to do all of my runs long instead of fast. I would like to see what times I could drop to with my breathing back and with the correct training. I'd also like to get even better at what I am already decent at; running up mountains.<br />
<br />
So those are the resources upon which I am drawing (plus others not listed); the bedrock from which I hope to rebuild my foundation.<br />
<br />
<br />
Again, baby steps first. Recover, get my drain tubes out, get my stitches out, and ease back in to normal, every day activity. After that, it is game on. <br />
<br />
Race Sherpa rises.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-48272855003483019312015-12-01T13:59:00.001-08:002015-12-02T05:07:17.369-08:00Part Two: The NG Tube Blues, Awesome Nurses, the No Good Very Bad Day, and a Rose By Any Other NameIn the tackling of every major challenge, we typically have our share of ups and downs. Battles that we win that propel us forward, and battles that we lose that temporarily set us backward. You can usually sense the overall progress forward, even in the losses, but it is the small wins that build and sustain the fortitude to push onward.<br />
<br />
Within this obstacle of cancer and surgery, one of these early battles stands out above the rest...<br />
<br />
The NG Tube.<br />
<br />
<br />
The NG stands for "nasogastric." I also believe it stands for "not good."<br />
<br />
Although, to be fair, it is only "not good" from an experiential standpoint. From a functional standpoint it is a very useful and helpful (albeit uncomfortable) medical tool.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KnswXMVKS1Q/VlxUSKtQUJI/AAAAAAAAAq8/tmAdVOt1uAg/s1600/NG%2BTube.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KnswXMVKS1Q/VlxUSKtQUJI/AAAAAAAAAq8/tmAdVOt1uAg/s320/NG%2BTube.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Let's let Wiki step in here:<br />
<br />
"<i>Nasogastric aspiration (suction) is the process of draining the stomach's contents via the tube. Nasogastric aspiration is mainly used to remove gastric secretions and swallowed air in patients with gastrointestinal obstructions.<br />
<br />
If the tube is to be used for continuous drainage, it is usually appended to a collector bag placed below the level of the patient's stomach; gravity empties the stomach's contents. It can also be appended to a suction system, however this method is often restricted to emergency situations, as the constant suction can easily damage the stomach's lining. In non-emergency situations, intermittent suction may be applied giving the benefits of suction without the untoward effects of damage to the stomach lining.<br />
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Suction drainage is used for patients who have undergone a pneumonectomy in order to prevent anesthesia-related vomiting and possible aspiration of any stomach contents. Such aspiration would represent a serious risk of complications to patients recovering from this surgery.</i>"<br />
<br />
So as you can see, it serves a very important function. And, truthfully, not one person misrepresented my need for it, nor the "suckiness" of having it in place.<br />
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Way back in June, during my first appointment with Dr. Ong in Seattle, he told me I would need an NG tube and that it would suck. Every person who I talked to since then corroborated that sentiment, including Dr. Foster, when I met with him in October. Although, for the record, I do not believe he actually used the word "suck."<br />
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It's worth pointing out that to say that the NG tube "sucks" is true on at least two different levels; a coincidence that hadn't occurred to me prior to having that constant suction sound whirling away twelve inches away from my ear, all day and night.<br />
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While uncomfortable, I didn't really dwell too much on my NG tube the first few days after my surgery. It was late Friday night (my surgery was on Tuesday), that it all set in. The nurse that evening did a flush of the tube, and something changed. I don't know if the position changed, or just my sensitivity changed, but it suddenly became very uncomfortable.<br />
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I had a number of gag responses that night and the next day, and it hurt to swallow. I knew that it was pretty standard to have it in for four days post-op, and and I knew that I was on day four. <br />
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I was determined to try to have it removed that day, and the idea had worked deeply in to my brain. There was no shaking it. I even made a public offer of flowers, donuts, and coffee to the individual who could help me make it happen.<br />
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And after I passed all of the requisite tests, it did come off that afternoon. (And the flowers/donuts/coffee offer was paid in full.)<br />
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It's one of those things, you know? Those things you don't appreciate until it is taken away from you. Breathing and swallowing and being able to quench your dry mouth and throat. Having the NG tube out made me feel like my recovery had increased by 500%. For hours afterward I just lied there and appreciated the experience of it all.<br />
<br />
<br />
Each day in the hospital was pretty similar to the others. The surgery team typically came in between 6am and 6:30am to do rounds, my vitals were taken and my meds were given every four hours (with miscellaneous IVs and other asundry things happening in the spaces in between). The pain team came in mid-morning. Dr. Foster made his way in some time during the day, depending on his schedule. And, of course, I had my daily walks, which began with a walker and progressed to just the IV pole.<br />
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A highlight of all of those days were the nurses. I can't say enough about the staff at UNMC. Everyone was so great and helpful. If you ever have to have this surgery, I highly recommend you at least consider Dr. Foster and the UNMC team.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qahrc1eNhUs/VlyHDpO53EI/AAAAAAAAArM/K7RCxGTj__E/s1600/Hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qahrc1eNhUs/VlyHDpO53EI/AAAAAAAAArM/K7RCxGTj__E/s320/Hospital.jpg" /></a></div><br />
And speaking of the UNMC team, Dr. Foster is the Man. His numbers (complication rates, days in hospital, re-occurrence rates of disease, etc) are excellent and his bedside manner is unparalleled. He is loved and admired by so many people and when you meet him, you will understand why.<br />
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Again, if you are confronted with having to have this surgery, I highly recommend you go visit Dr. Foster.<br />
<br />
<br />
But back to me...<br />
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On Wednesday, eight days after the surgery, I was discharged. It felt so good to not be confined to a hospital room, but as soon as I got home I was presented with other challenges. Managing three drain tubes and a wound vac is pretty easy when you are lying around all day, but it adds another level of complexity as you try to navigate life at home.<br />
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Wednesday night went decently, and on Thursday I was just trying to focus on eating and pooping; both large steps in the recovery process.<br />
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On Thursday afternoon I was feeling a little "off," and as the afternoon went on, that "off" feeling turned in to a nauseous feeling. <br />
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There are numerous reasons why vomiting is a bad idea for someone in my situation. One, the bowels get sleepy after operations like this, and it is important that you get them to wake up and start moving things downward. So vomiting is kind of a step backwards. Two, when you have a new 8 inch incision in your abdomen, the abdominal muscle contraction of vomiting can be no bueno. <br />
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But vomit I did. Over and over and over. The No Good Very Bad Day.<br />
<br />
We finally made the call to go back to the hospital. I sat in the back seat of my parent's Jeep and continued to vomit pretty much the entire way back.<br />
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At the hospital they tried a few things via IV but nothing was working the greatest to stop the nausea. I kept wondering how it was possible that I could vomit 20-30 times. It didn't seem possible that I had that much of anything inside of me.<br />
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Eventually, the resident came in and said that Dr. Foster had told him that if I continued to vomit, they were going to have to put an NG tube back in.<br />
<br />
Excuse me?<br />
<br />
My will became resolute. I was not going to vomit one more time. And thankfully, I think I had pretty much emptied myself by then. Finally, they administered Compazine, and that seemed to be the ticket. Relief. I think I fell asleep not long after that.<br />
<br />
The next day Dr. Foster explained that this is a common occurrence. It can happen when the bowels are still a bit frozen, and everything just starts to back up. It can also be a side effect of the chemo treatment that was used during surgery.<br />
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At any rate, after a couple of bowel movements I was back on track and ready to go back home by Friday afternoon.<br />
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I've mentioned the drain tubs and the wound vac a few times. See the three photos below:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8U43gLnP5U/Vl4KOipCFOI/AAAAAAAAArc/CoXs1BpuYQo/s1600/Incision.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8U43gLnP5U/Vl4KOipCFOI/AAAAAAAAArc/CoXs1BpuYQo/s320/Incision.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HXxWve3C6so/Vl4KZx8ZAgI/AAAAAAAAArk/HsM287SxUnc/s1600/wound%2Bvac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HXxWve3C6so/Vl4KZx8ZAgI/AAAAAAAAArk/HsM287SxUnc/s320/wound%2Bvac.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kjC8A1ZYWZs/Vl4Kg42DV2I/AAAAAAAAArs/Osa99KBpAhM/s1600/Atlas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kjC8A1ZYWZs/Vl4Kg42DV2I/AAAAAAAAArs/Osa99KBpAhM/s320/Atlas.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The first photo is the incision itself, with Steri-strips over top of it. You can also see two of the three drain tubes coming out of my torso.<br />
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In the second photo the wound vac is applied over the top the incision. The tube that is attached leads to a small portable vacuum type box that applies constant suction to the area. The medical adhesives that are used to apply the wound vac gave me the opportunity to experience an abdominal and upper pubic waxing two times every week. You might think that this free manscaping would be a nice little perk, but another wound vac is just applied over top, so one doesn't really gain the "aesthetic benefits" from having it done.<br />
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The third picture is just for reference. That was on my 48th birthday, in October of 2014. I was probably about 163 lbs in that photo. Right now I am in the 148-150 lbs range. This would seemingly put me in the Matt "Bear" Novakovich boxing weight class, but seeing as how I am not allowed to lift more than 10 lbs, I imagine punching, and getting punched, are out of the question.<br />
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As for the drains, they are called JP drains, and they are used to collect bodily fluids from surgical sites. The suction of the little grenade-shaped bulb at the other end is what helps pull the fluid out. Dr. Foster has, on a number of occasions, referred to this fluid as "peritoneal sweat," but frankly, I have no idea what that is. I will just trust him on that one.<br />
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<br />
I have been home now for ten days, and like in the hospital, those days are all very similar to one another. I watch sports, I read a little, I get on my laptop now and then, and I take lots of walks around the house. The weather in Omaha has been cold and off and on snowy, so outside hasn't been a really great option.<br />
<br />
One of the (many) reasons I decided to have this surgery in Omaha was because my father has also been going through some medical issues, and it was going to be a lot easier on my family for me to have the surgery here. But a result of that is that there are numerous times throughout the day when both myself and my 74 year old father, dressed in sweat pants and long sleeve flannel shirts, are shuffling around the house with tubes coming out of our bodies. It paints a whole new perspective of the phrase "Oh god, I am becoming my father." :)<br />
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As of today, 12/1/15, I am down to two drain tubes. Yesterday, Dr. Foster decided that the incision was healing really well and took the wound vac off. It is great to not have to carry around that little satchel containing the vac system anymore, but for the first 12 hours I definitely felt more "vulnerable." As today goes on it feels better. It is likely that within a week both drain tubes will come out, and at that point I will be "tube free."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dxFIrKIyTkI/Vl4XkNWEczI/AAAAAAAAAr8/-q2effRJRlo/s1600/Tim%2Band%2BFoster.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dxFIrKIyTkI/Vl4XkNWEczI/AAAAAAAAAr8/-q2effRJRlo/s320/Tim%2Band%2BFoster.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
There has been one very important aspect of this whole experience that I haven't written about yet, and that is how Rose has risen up to the occasion. She is basically in a cold, flat, state, away from her friends and family, living at her in-laws house. I will give you a moment to let that sink in.<br />
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Rose stayed with me at the hospital every single night, and for a good part of the day. She read Facebook comments to me at 2:30am during "The Dark Night," and was basically there to volunteer to help out with anything that I needed. Since we've been home she has been just as helpful, while trying to fit in make-shift workouts whenever she can.<br />
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I am both grateful for her, and proud of her. She has been the champion that most of you already know her to be from Spartan Races. It has been a trying time, perhaps for her more than me, and she has held up extremely well.<br />
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Thank you, babe. You are awesome.<br />
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And a special P.S. shout out to Amelia Boone and Matty Gregg who took the time to set up a GoFundMe account to help me and Rose cover our medical expenses. <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/timandrose">https://www.gofundme.com/timandrose</a><br />
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Their kindness is of no surprise to those who know them. They are extremely special people, and we owe them, and all of you who have contributed, the largest thank you. We have the most amazing friends and supporters. We are truly blessed.<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-35249197735496875522015-11-28T06:05:00.002-08:002015-11-28T07:56:40.965-08:00Part One: Dr. Foster's Shake 'n Bake: Surgery and the Dark NightA number of years I was going through a particularly crazy time and I wrote a blog post. While I was writing, it occurred to me how different a post can be when written from "within the storm" versus being written some time afterward.<br />
<br />
Writing from within the storm is raw and uncensored, and can provide a rare and unique peek in to an experience. But it can also lack cohesion; the scribblings of a lunatic inside the asylum wall. <br />
<br />
Writing back on something, even if that something is only hours or days behind us, is where we assign meaning. The narrative that we build around the events of our lives typically happens on recollection, not in the moment of the experience. The downside of this process is that everything has the potential of becoming part fabrication; a composition of the real experience plus the meaning and value we assign to it based on the beliefs and biases that we hold at the time.<br />
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And yet, sometimes that pause between the experience and narrative allows for a fine-tuning; a way of eliminating the static enough to hear just the line of music that you want to express.<br />
<br />
I have considered writing this post for some time. Of course, I didn't have my laptop in the hospital, so the earliest I could have written it would have been the day after my discharge. <br />
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But in reality, my brain wasn't ready. For much of anything, actually.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon marks the one week mark of being out of the hospital. And my continued recovery, along with my increasing level of boredom, seems to have created the spark needed to finally write.<br />
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That said, I am not going to drone on and on about every little detail. There are lots of little things that happened that were interesting or entertaining at the time that are just not going to be so now, no matter how compelling I am at retelling it. So I will spare you those details.<br />
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<br />
I was admitted to the hospital mid-day on Monday (November 9th). The day consisted mostly of hanging out with Rose and eating broth and jello. Oh, and discovering a newfound love for popsicles. I also had some x-rays, took some pills, and was marked for a potential ostomy. To be honest, I don't know what else we did that day. Once you are connected to an IV pole it seems as if life slows to a crawl, as everything becomes more cumbersome and requires more effort.<br />
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Tuesday morning, bright and early, the surgery team came in for a last assessment and pep talk. I showered up and got wheeled down to pre-op. I remember nothing about the epidural. I think all anesthesia drugs work extra well on me.<br />
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I do have one vague memory, almost as if recalling an old dream. I remember someone saying something like "Tim, you have to keep you hands down. Keep them away from your face." I don't remember how many days after surgery I finally remembered this, but I am wondering, if the memory is true, if it was when they were putting the NG tube in place, because it would make sense that I was trying to pull that shit back out. :)<br />
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<br />
Obviously, I have no memory of the surgery. I actually have only faint memories of the night after surgery.<br />
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But it's worth writing a quick recap of the surgery, because I feel very fortunate with how it went.<br />
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The spleen I became so attached to about a month ago did get taken out. The amount of disease on and around it was too much to try to cut away. As I mentioned in a previous post, the risk of bleeding from the spleen was too high (and not something you want to add on to an already long and complicated surgery.) The distal portion of my pancreas was also removed. A neighbor of the spleen, it had just gotten to be a bad neighborhood all around, no thanks to the crack house of my disease that moved on to the block.<br />
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The area of disease on the floor of my pelvis near my rectum, fortunately, came out pretty easily. This was tremendous news. Along with that, no area of my colon needed to be resected. This all meant that I would not need an ostomy, permanent or temporary. And if I had to make a list of wins, this one would be at the top.<br />
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I also got to keep my gall bladder, which is nice. I am all about keeping the organs that you can, you know? Plus, fatty foods. Win.<br />
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There were some pretty heavy areas of disease up around the right side of my diaphragm. Dr. Foster thinks that there was definitely enough to cause some diaphragm restriction, so perhaps all of my breathing issues were directly related to this after all.<br />
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From what I have been told, the surgery part of the procedure went well and relatively quickly. I believe Dr. Foster checked in with my family and gave them an expected time of completion. While he was out of the operating room, the heated chemotherapy treatment (HIPEC) was being administered. <br />
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Apparently, after the HIPEC treatment, they discovered another "patch" of disease on the back side of my liver. Dr. Foster determined it would be best to remove it, so rather than close me up, they went back to work, adding time to an already long surgery.<br />
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Of course, this was of some concern to those waiting in the waiting area, as they thought the surgery was going to be over soon. But because I wasn't out there, I won't write about that perspective. I am sure if you ask Rose or my family for their story of that day, you will hear what things were like for them out there.<br />
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The take-away of all of this is that I feel very fortunate with how things went. I had all of the confidence in the world in Dr. Foster but I didn't know what cards my body would deal him. And while going through this surgery wasn't fun, I am happy with how well it went.<br />
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<br />
If you asked me to describe that night I would say I was in a dark room on a boat that was sailing out in a storm. I know that I wasn't, of course, but that is the felt-sense that I had. I felt as if room was always dark, and that things would come and go in waves. I don't really remember any major pain or discomfort. I remember the kind and compassionate voice of the nurse, and I remember Rose frequently saying "thank you" to her. I knew that Rose was on my left, between my bed and the window, and I knew the nurse came in from my right. Beyond that, it was an ebb and flow in and out of consciousness.<br />
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I don't remember waking up the next morning, specifically, but I do remember I was sitting up in bed when the pain team came in. I also remember their shocked faces when they saw me. One of the doctors said, "Oh my god, you look great for the day after that surgery."<br />
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This is a theme that would continue throughout my hospital stay. "You are not the norm," "you are an atypical Foster patient," etc etc...<br />
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I have no magic words for this. I am extremely grateful, yes. I may also be very lucky. And it helps that I am probably younger than many of Dr. Foster's patients. But from a behavioral perspective, all I can say is this: go in to these endeavors as vital and as healthy in body, mind, and spirit as you can.<br />
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Positive mind, positive outcome. That's not a promise that things will always turn out rosy and totally in-line with your desires; you can't control everything. But control what you can. Thoughts and beliefs are so powerful.<br />
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And that seems like an appropriate segue in to what happened next....<br />
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The dark night.<br />
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In addition to my epidural, I was on a PCA, which allowed me to click a dose of Dilaudid (hydromorphine) every eight minutes. I found people's instructions on when to use it a bit ambiguous, however. On one hand, it seemed clear: if you have pain, click the button. But the second most commonly said thing was: don't let the pain get ahead of you. This implied you should do some preemptive clicking. <br />
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I was not in the mental state to distinguish between those two things very well, and Rose, I'm sure, was more inclined for me to click than not click. The idea of "getting behind" on the pain seemed like a really bad option.<br />
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At any rate, I clicked. Quite a bit. Not every eight minutes, but probably every 8-20 minutes. We were so concerned that I would fall asleep and not click for hours, and then wake up in tremendous pain, that Rose set a timer on her phone. (God bless Rose, who fought off sleep all night to help in this endeavor.) We thought we were doing what we should be doing.<br />
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A quick aside...<br />
<br />
In addition to the normal IV/telemetry alarms, there was one alarm that occasionally went off that sounded different. Our ICU nurse told us that that alarm sounded when something not so good was happening somewhere else. It went off in all of the rooms. It was subtle, but ominous.<br />
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And it was that alarm that I heard around 2:30am, followed by a whisper, "Tonight is the night you will die."<br />
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The rational part of me shrugged it off, but every time I closed my eyes my mind was full of dark, disturbing (even evil) images. My only escape was to open my eyes, but even that didn't stop my mind from replaying the whisper, "Tonight is the night you will die."<br />
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It might be interesting at this point to veer off on a tangent regarding my deep inner beliefs as to why I was experiencing this disease and surgery in the first place. Because armed with that information, it is easier to see why, along with my brain being bathed in Dilaudid, I couldn't shake darkness of this experience.<br />
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But if I do that right now, I will disrupt the whole thread of this story. So let me come back and address that some time in the near future.<br />
<br />
To continue on with that night, the darkness wouldn't go away. At 3am I finally woke Rose up and told her I couldn't sleep. She spent 20-30 minutes reading me all of the kind Facebook comments that people had written on her post about my surgery. It was a nice distraction, but it wasn't enough to create any peace.<br />
<br />
I felt like I was trapped in a small dark box, filled with disturbing images. Every time I closed my eyes, they were there. I tried lots of mental techniques to claw my way out, but nothing worked. (If you have ever done any "energy work" before, of any kind, I can tell you I felt completely "cut off." I couldn't connect up, I couldn't ground, I could bubble up. Whether this was a matter of not being able to properly visualize/concentrate, I don't know.)<br />
<br />
Eventually, my mind went to something Dr. Foster had said in my appointment with him the previous month: in about 1% of cases, some patients, especially the younger ones, can go in to adult respiratory distress, which is a very serious condition.<br />
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I know, I know.... Now, looking back, it seems like an odd place for my mind to go, but that is the negative spiral I was in at the time.<br />
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Eventually, Rose went and got the nurse so that I could ask her about it. The nurse said that in those rare cases of adult respiratory distress, it typically happens upon extubation, which I was more than 36 hours out from.<br />
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The reason why I bring all of this up is because, rationally, I knew all of this. I knew I was caught in a negative state, I knew I was probably not in any real danger, and I knew that it was probably all due to the pain meds. But none of that made a difference. I was caught, and I couldn't find a way out.<br />
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And I am FASCINATED by that.<br />
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But again, before I go off on to a tangent (we will save them all and eventually circle back, don't worry), let's keep moving forward.<br />
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Describing my difficult night to the doctors the next morning was even more painful. I kept trying to describe it but they weren't getting it. No, they weren't dreams. No, they weren't technically hallucinations because it only happened when my eyes were closed. Etc etc<br />
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The end result of it all was this; after that night, I rarely pushed that damn PCA button. I did when I really needed it, or when I knew I was going to have to move or go for a walk, but that was it. I may have pushed it less than ten times in my final 3-4 days in the hospital.<br />
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That dark place never returned.<br />
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<br />
And that is the end of Part One.<br />
<br />
Coming very soon - Part Two: The NG Tube Blues, Awesome Nurses, and the No Good Very Bad Day<br />
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<br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-30082956021761304342015-11-08T18:24:00.001-08:002015-11-08T18:24:32.774-08:00When The Only Way To The Other Side Is ThroughWay back when I started this blog I mentioned, numerous times, that I was going to live the mindset of the moment, and not waste the life I was living caught up in the mental fear of future scenarios, real or imagined. <br />
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I also said that there would come a time when those anxieties and fears would be true enough.<br />
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In the last day or two, those moments have finally started to find their way in to my every day thoughts. They don’t dominate my thinking; they are more like faint whispers from the shadows, lingering just outside of sight.<br />
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I expect that in the next 24-36 hours they will fully step out of the shadows and in to the light, facing me squarely, eye to eye.<br />
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My goal is to face the realities of the situation but to keep my mind fixated on as many positives as I can. The alternative is to fixate on the negatives, and I don’t know of anything good that can come of that, even though I know it is a pretty normal thing to do.<br />
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I have come to the point where the only way to the other side of this obstacle is to go through it. There is no around or under or over (that I know of). The time for those things is now all behind me.<br />
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This is the battlefield of the physical; the time for courage to confront not just this disease but also the treatment, and to hope for, nay, count on, a more positive future. And yes, it is also time to allow the feelings of fear, sadness, weakness, and anything else that might be present to come forth for full acknowledgement. <br />
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It says so much about the human life that we have the space inside to hold so many opposing things at one time.<br />
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Interestingly, I think this is the time that a few of my friends have been waiting for. Not that they really want me to “break down,” but that they don’t know how to help or assist me until I do. <br />
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I have read it in their language since the very beginning. Amazing, loving, kind people, who I am honored to have as friends and acquaintances, all waiting for me to “lose it” so that they can find a gap in which to feel useful.<br />
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First and foremost, do not take this as a criticism of these beautiful people. I only recognize it because I can be one of these people as well. We are loved and adored and appreciated for being the helper; the listening ear, the shoulder to cry on, the “I am going to put you on my back and carry you through this come hell or high water.” And we associate strongly with that aspect of ourselves. We are not only helping those we love, we are stoking something inside that feeds off of that kindness and service. It feels like a sense of purpose.<br />
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It makes me wonder…<br />
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While the intention and the outcome can be a very beautiful thing, can we find ways of being there for someone that don’t require another person’s fragility? Can we stand by in support while they remain strong and are doing well?<br />
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It seems obvious, but it isn’t always as satisfying.<br />
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There is this thing that Rose always says. I don’t remember when she and I were first talking about it, but we have both referenced it a number of times in the last few years.<br />
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The Golden Rule states: Treat others as you would like to be treated.<br />
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The spirit of it is to create awareness and empathy. And in that, the rule succeeds. But it can be taken one more step…<br />
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Golden Prime: Treat others as THEY would like to be treated.<br />
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Each of us has our own unique preferences and desires. What is right for me might not be right for you. If I don’t know you, the best place to start as a helper might be to treat you the way I would like to be treated. But soon enough, I need to determine how YOU would like to be treated. The two can be very different things, and I try to remind myself of this so that I don’t end up pushing my own, very well-intentioned, agenda on to the person I am trying to help. If I do, I make it more about me than them.<br />
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Or perhaps, there is another, deeper, agenda at play inside of myself. Perhaps one I am not even conscious of.<br />
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I can already sense the depth of digression that is possible here, but time is short, so I will have to develop it more in a later post. :)<br />
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For now, let’s stick to the present reality…<br />
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Friday night I was trying to go to bed early because I had to wake up at 2:30am to catch my cab to the airport; except I wasn’t really that tired. And that created the opening for those first thoughts…<br />
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They weren’t about “Will I be able to still run mountains and do physically active stuff?” or “Will I be able to be as active with my children as I would like to be?” or “Will I have to have this surgery again in 5 to 10 years?” Those are all thoughts that have crossed my mind, but those aren’t the ones that set in on Friday night. The ones that came in to my head and grabbed me by the throat were all about post-op.<br />
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The pain, the discomfort, the questions. <br />
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What tubes will I have in when I wake up? NG tube, abdominal drain tubes, an epidural, a catheter, a central line, and probably a temporary ostomy. Will the NG tube give me a feeling of suffocation or choking? I’ve noticed that my breathing is my security blanket; the thing I can count on to create calmness. The thought of not having it the way I am accustomed to it is a little disconcerting.<br />
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I didn’t dwell on those thoughts very long, but I decided that I needed to create a proactive mindset; a way of navigating and preparing for what I might experience without dwelling on it. I think I have some of those strategies in place, but there is really no way of truly knowing what those days will bring.<br />
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One of the reasons why this whole situation has been difficult to truly embrace is because I have been so asymptomatic. I hear I have this disease, but I don’t feel it, so it just remains a conceptual idea. I have no real visceral experience of it.<br />
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However, having five days of GI issues leading up to today has really been helpful, in an odd way. It has helped me experience, albeit mildly, just some of the things I could experience if the disease was further along. And that is the type of reminder I needed heading in to this surgery.<br />
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To consider a surgery of this magnitude while being symptom free has been a tough idea to swallow. But now, the importance of the surgery is finally settling in. Again, conceptually I have understood this, but there was an experiential disconnect.<br />
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As I head to the hospital on Monday morning, I will keep this truth first and foremost in my mind. Beyond that, it will be about confronting the crappy and overcoming it with optimism.<br />
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This will most likely be my last post for a while. Tomorrow morning I head to the hospital, and then surgery is scheduled for early Tuesday morning.<br />
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I have greatly appreciated all of your super kind thoughts and comments and emails and texts and calls. I am so richly blessed with so many friends and family members. I also have to send a special shout out to the OCR community, who has really rallied around Rose and me throughout this situation. <br />
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Get out there and GIDDY UP! Don’t take it for granted!<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-88211772796137304962015-11-01T09:44:00.004-08:002015-11-01T09:44:53.024-08:00The Surgery: Sugarbaker Makes A Bittersweet CookieI have mentioned “the surgery” a number of times, but I haven’t really gone in to too many specifics. <br />
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The surgery is named after Dr. Paul Sugarbaker, who refined the procedure in the 1980’s. I won’t provide the whole history lesson here (you can find a lot on the web), but I imagine that when he proposed using this technique on people, other physicians must have thought he was crazy (or at least overly aggressive). <br />
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But after having positive outcomes, the procedure became standard practice, and is now used on people with abdominal cancers and other related conditions.<br />
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The diagnosis I have is a type of PMP (pseudomyxoma peritonei). In my case, my appendix burst (unbeknownst to me) 2-5 years ago (estimated), releasing of bunch of cancerous cells in to my abdominal cavity. These cells disseminated, took root, and then began to generate mucinous tumors. <br />
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Fun, right?<br />
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The surgery involves going in via a mid-line incision and then doing a complete surgical removal of the mucinous tumors (called debulking, or cytoreduction). This can also include the removal of a number of organs and other tissues. <br />
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Even after this aggressive measure, it is possible for microscopic cancer cells to remain, so they sew the incision shut about 70-80%, and then pump in heated intraperitoneal chemotherapy (HIPEC - hyperthermic intraperitoneal chemotherapy). <br />
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For 90 minutes they “massage” the peritoneal cavity to make sure the solution gets to all of those hard to reach places. Then they suction out the chemo solution and sew you up.<br />
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What gets removed during surgery is determined on a case by case basis. For me, the areas of mucin concentration seem to be in my upper left and right quadrants (near my diaphragm), down in my deep pelvis (near my rectum), and then some other sporadic areas. <br />
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In addition to the tumors, my greater and lesser omentum will be removed, my spleen might be removed (the spleen itself is fine, but because it is so prone to bleeding, and difficult to get to stop bleeding, they may decide to just remove it rather than to try to strip the tissues on/around it), my gall bladder is on a “to be determined” bases, my ascending colon might come out (which would then require a resection), and then, hopefully, they can work around my rectum...because after all of this, being able to poop out of my butthole would be a nice “win.”<br />
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There will also be “spot” removals from my liver and a few other areas.<br />
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In general, the procedure can take 12-16 hours. Because I have a low-grade case, Dr. Foster has said that it is possible that my surgery will only last 6-7 hours, but he won’t really know until he gets in there to see. It could just as easily push out to 10 hours or more.<br />
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So, as you can see, it is a big deal. And, bittersweet. <br />
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Sweet because what I have is treatable; bitter because not only is it a gnarly procedure, but my condition is technically “incurable.” Some people have to have this surgery performed a number of times throughout their lives.<br />
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And with that we have covered “Sugarbaker” and “bittersweet,” but not the “cookie.”<br />
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To be honest, I don’t have anything for the cookie part of the headline, except that I am going to be sure that I have a few between now and November 10th. :)<br />
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The plan is for me to be in the ICU 2-3 days, and then on the floor for another 6-7 days. Because the risk of complications is highest in the first 21-28 days, Dr. Foster has asked me to stay put in Omaha for four weeks post-surgery. I would like to be back in Seattle by Christmas, but it will all depend on how things go.<br />
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The “recovery time” he gave me was three months. And he was clear that he really means three months. He doesn’t want any “I was feeling really great so I...(fill in the blank; went out for a long run, did a hard workout, etc.)” <br />
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Seeing as how fatigue is one of the primary issues I will be dealing with, it is possible that I won’t have the desire to go do those things anyway. Then again, being pent up for so long might make me want to go do ANYTHING...just to get moving.<br />
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I don’t really sit around and ask myself the “whys.” At least not metaphysically. There are people who are much worse off than me and people who are much better off than me. The “meaning game” seems like a silly one to play. <br />
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Occasionally, however, I do wonder about the “hows,” in the sense of wondering how something like this happens. Medically, what I have still seems to be a mystery with no known cause, and that is the thing that piques my interest.<br />
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Just like we look back at the medical practices of earlier years and think, “Oh my god, I can’t believe they did that,” I wonder if at some point in the future people will look back at this surgery and think, “Holy crap, what were they thinking?” <br />
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But we do what we do because of the knowledge and the technology that we currently possess. This is where we are right now, and people’s lives seem to be extended because of it. <br />
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We are all just one more life in the unfolding evolution of humanity. And while being just one person in the entire history of humankind could make us feel small and insignificant, how we live is also our most important task. How will you spend this precious life?<br />
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For the moment, I am just living. Every single day. There will come a time, probably the day before the surgery when I check in to the hospital, where my mind will dabble in the fear and anxiety of the unknown future, but until then, I spend my time putting my affairs in order and doing the things that I enjoy.<br />
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Today, for me, that means going for run, eating yummy food, doing some reading and writing on my current interests and passions, and hanging out with Rose. Pretty difficult to complain about that. :)<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-31293137664874167632015-10-26T06:42:00.003-07:002015-10-26T10:28:47.384-07:00Thoughts From Inside the Tube, Words That Should Not Be Spoken, and a Timely VisitEvery day I try to find ways to fully engage the moment I am currently experiencing. I fail quite often, but life events provide an opportunity to focus more intently. Going to the Med Center on Friday was one of those opportunities for me. <br />
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Yes, I was going there to have a test done to determine whether I am going to have to have a 12-14 hour surgery, a 7-10 day hospital stay, and (at least) a three month recovery. But I decided that I was going to engage and interact with every single hospital employee with full eye contact, attention, openness, kindness, and humor (if appropriate). It is such a great practice, and the outcomes serve both parties; me, because it keeps me grounded in the moment and in contact with fellow humans I am sharing the moment with, and the other person, because I am completely engaged and giving them my full attention (as oppose to being caught up in my own thoughts).<br />
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It actually went very well, for the most part. The most difficult interactions to sustain that type of mental focus are the ones we have with people we already know, probably because of how easy it is to default to previously conditioned patterns (perhaps making it the most difficult practice of all).<br />
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Anyway, as I mentioned in my Facebook post, I am not one who is prone to claustrophobia, but for some reason, my first 15-20 seconds in the MRI tube was a little sketchy. I'm not sure what triggered it, beyond the fact that I was being stuffed in to a small, confined space, of course. <br />
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I had decided to not make the situation any worse by leaving my eyes open, so I closed them as soon as I started to go inside. There was something about the tight fit, the position of my arms, the big plate that was strapped on top of me, the fact that my headphones slightly yanked off at the last second, and that my hospital gown slid up tightly against my neck, that created a perfect storm of momentary uncomfortableness. Regardless of all of that, however, we all know that it is really our thoughts that doom us. We start thinking and imaging scenarios that make the situation worse. (It's not surprising that this happens inside the MRI tube, because it's the same thing that happens to us in every day life.)<br />
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At any rate, I was able to push those crazy thoughts aside, and within 20-30 seconds I settled in and everything was fine.<br />
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In addition to being in a confined space, I was also given the instruction to not breathe deeply. First of all, I am a slow, deep breather, so that is already not easy (or fun) for me. Secondly, deep breathing is a great technique for people to use to stay calm. Telling someone who just got stuck in to a narrow tube, with a big plate strapped to their chest, to breath very shallow is not a comforting strategy, especially for someone who is having a hard time being in there in the first place. But, I understand that that is what they need to get good images.<br />
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While the total time of the MRI was about 90 minutes, they pulled me out a couple of times for some brief adjustments. Pelvis, abdomen, add contrast, continue abdomen, back to pelvis.<br />
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Finally, the tech announced through my headset that we were done. A few seconds later I heard the door to the room open and I decided that would be a good time to open my eyes and take in the full experience of the MRI tube. I laughed to myself immediately.<br />
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To my surprise, I had been pushed so far in to the tube that my head was almost sticking out the other end, meaning the super tight confines that I had been imagining (and that I had to pass through to go in) wasn't nearly as bad as my imagination had made it out to be. In fact, seeing the open space of the room so close to the top of my head totally re-framed the situation for me.<br />
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So, as mentioned above, there is this thing that I do... <br />
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I try to use daily experiences as opportunities for self-improvement. Sometimes these experiences are pretty obvious; getting angry with an aggressive driver, saying something that I later wish I hadn't, not paying full attention to someone I should be, etc... <br />
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But sometimes I search the metaphors for the lessons. It's like my own personal I Ching, but with way more than 64 possible hexagrams. <br />
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When you think about the uncomfortable experience that some people have when having an MRI, it's easy to understand why many would choose to close their eyes. Having their eyes open is a constant reminder of the confined space, and that visual data can easily add to the sense of panic. Closing one's eyes, however, not only eliminates the visual feedback of the immediate situation, but it allows one to mentally create a more preferable scenario; one that might help in their managing of the situation. <br />
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While imagining that you are not in the tube, or in some other uncomfortable situation, might not be "real," it is extremely functional. (Someday I am going to write an entire entry on this idea of real/true vs functional.) It is clearly a very useful strategy. <br />
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However, in my particular situation, it turned out that I was pushed so far through the narrow section that my head was almost near the opening. I just didn't know it until I opened my eyes right before they pulled me out. Eliminating the visual input (by closing my eyes) removed the opportunity to see a more favorable situation (my head was almost out of the other end of the tube).<br />
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Not long after this experience my mind started working through the metaphors, because, as I mentioned, that's just kind of what I do.<br />
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Creating a more desirable, and functional, re-frame by "closing one's eyes" to a situation can be an appropriate and useful strategy at times. It's less about "denial" and more about a temporary coping mechanism.<br />
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At the same time, giving yourself the chance to see the full context of the situation might be enough re-frame to get you through it. In this case, the re-frame was based on the reality of the situation (my head was near the opening of the tube), as opposed to the perceived/imagined situation (that my whole body was confined inside the narrow tube).<br />
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How might this apply to strategies I use in my own life? That is my own personal roll of the I Ching. What is more important is how might those principles apply to you?<br />
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The point of all of this rambling is that you can use this technique of evaluating life situations to learn and inform future behaviors. It's not just about being in an MRI tube.<br />
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In other words, every single day life presents us with these types of opportunities to wake up and evolve a little bit more, whether it comes in the form of something explicit or whether you have to discover and extrapolate the metaphor. <br />
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To me, it is a living, breathing, fully-engaged "meditation practice." One that is certainly worth trying.<br />
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A number of weeks ago I was talking about my disease with someone and I said, "It's so bizarre to think about possibly needing this massive surgery when I am asymptomatic for the disease." And the moment I said it, a little voice in the back of my head said "Don't say that out loud, you might make it happen." <br />
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I found myself using that same language a number of more times in the next few weeks, and each time I thought to myself "I hope you don't regret saying that."<br />
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The words that should not be spoken. :)<br />
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Superstitious? Absolutely. And yet, I'm sure we've all had the experience of saying something and then having it almost immediately come true. (I know, I know...confirmation bias. Blah blah. Labeling it as something isn't always the whole story, although it is a convenient way to dismiss it.)<br />
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I mention this because while I have been asymptomatic this whole time, last Monday I started to notice stuff seemingly out of nowhere. Mostly just pressure in my abdomen, specifically around my diaphragm. Since then I have been like, "Dude, seriously? I am feeling all of this stuff all of the sudden?"<br />
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Of course, I can't attribute the feelings to anything for certain. They could be a result of the disease. They could be unrelated. Maybe it's the food I eat when I am back in Nebraska.<br />
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Still, I will choose my words more carefully from here on out. :)<br />
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As a quick aside, on Sunday a cousin of mine who I probably haven't spoken to in 15, 20, 25 years showed up at my parents house. We talked for an hour or so. Until he brought it up, I had totally forgotten that he had been shot in the abdomen and had to have a pretty intensive abdominal surgery, including removal, resection, etc. What are the odds that that conversation would happen right at this point in time? Strange.<br />
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This afternoon I meet with Dr. Foster. I imagine we will go over the MRI results and then he will give me his plan. At that point, the probability waves of possible paths will collapse down to just a couple of options.<br />
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It will be a Schrodinger's cat type of afternoon.<br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-63762486454487962962015-10-23T10:16:00.001-07:002015-10-23T10:16:38.859-07:00Fear, 90 Minutes in the Tube, and the New NormalWay back, when I first started this blog, a few people asked me about fear.<br />
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If you have been following along, you already know how I feel about indulging fear of a potential future scenario. And emotionally, I can say that I don't venture in to that realm.<br />
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But if you asked me what potential fears I have on a cognitive level, if I allow myself to wander in to that mental landscape, there is one thing that sticks out. I mean, yes, the pain and the discomfort of the recovery from such a major surgery is not something to ignore, but it's the future me that I wonder about.<br />
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While I have been athletic my entire life, it is fortunate that I don't solely identify with that quality as "me." Like all of us, we are so many things; each aspect potentially as worthy as the next. But being physical and athletic has always been a big part of my life, and I would be lying if I said I would not mourn the loss of that. <br />
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The fact is, if I have this surgery, I don't know what my future physical self looks like.<br />
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To some degree, the loss has already occurred. I have mentioned my on-going breathing issue a number of times, but I haven't spent much time describing the loss of strength and the fatigue that also set in back in 2013. It might have started even earlier, but by 2013 it had become obvious.<br />
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All of my lifts were much lower, and I would tire easily and quickly from workouts. I remember one day I hung a rope up in the backyard for Rose to practice on. To make sure it was secure, I grabbed on to it to pull myself up and found that I couldn't even get myself off the ground. Just a couple of years before I was able to hand over hand climb a rope in our gym, so I knew something was wrong.<br />
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In addition, even though I can still do 12-15 slow, controlled, full range of motion pull-ups, I can't dead hang by one hand from a bar.<br />
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My bench, my squat, my deadlift...all of the numbers are much lower than they used to be. And, of course, because of my breathing issue, my running times are not so great.<br />
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So I guess, in some way, I have gotten accustomed to it, even though in the back of my mind I have been waiting for the opportunity to turn it around. Biding my time for the great resurrection. <br />
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But what does the future really look like? I don't know. And I don't know that I have a way of accurately predicting it. I don't even know if this disease is the actual cause of it. But whether it is or not, the question is how well does one recover from this surgery.<br />
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I am scheduled to have an MRI this afternoon at the University of Nebraska Medical Center. It will be 90+ minutes in the tube, and I am thankful that I am not prone to feeling claustrophobic. I already have lots of visualization planned. :)<br />
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On Monday, I have an appointment with another surgeon; Dr Jason Foster of UNMC. Having already gotten the opinion of Dr Even Ong at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle, my appointment with Dr. Foster will shine a lot of light on how I move forward. The time for alternatives and options will narrow down to but a few.<br />
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So, I guess we will see....<br />
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Until then, there is a whole weekend to live "normally." No, wait....why normally? How about extraordinarily?<br />
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Or even better, make extraordinarily the new normal. Why not? What's the alternative? :)<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-6777210862246410622015-10-13T15:40:00.001-07:002015-10-13T15:40:27.930-07:00The Mountains are the Terrain of My SoulI have loved Colorado for as long as I can remember. <br />
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My family vacationed there when I was younger, and I always felt the inclination to return there, permanently, as an adult. It is no coincidence that when I left my corporate job in 1992, I went straight to Colorado.<br />
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It was on that visit that I dubbed Colorado my "spiritual home." I had been there many, many times before, but that trip was different. Unlike the fun summer vacations of childhood, it was a time of deep reflection. A time of questioning what life was all about, and what part I was going to play in it going forward. Those questions began in Dallas, at my corporate job, which is primarily why I left in the first place.<br />
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I remember that for fun I decided to play a John Denver CD in my Jeep, over and over, and the line "He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year, coming home to a place he'd never been before," from his song Rocky Mountain High, resonated strongly with me. I was almost 26, and that was exactly how I felt; like I was born again, home, and exactly where I needed to be.<br />
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To write about that time now would steal the focus away from my time spent there this summer, which is the primary purpose of this blog. For now, it's only important to know how strongly Colorado resonates with me.<br />
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While it is true that our primary reason for going to Colorado this summer was so that Rose could live and train at altitude to prepare for the Spartan Race World Championships, I had my own agenda. I was given 6-8 weeks to put off my surgery, and spending them in the place that feeds my soul the most was the best possible way of using that time.<br />
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I don't know what it is about a place that makes us feel that way. I am more apt to believe that it is actually (and always) an internal space that leads to that "I am home" kind of feeling, and that certain external places are better at providing the fertile ground needed for us to make that connection. Whatever the source of resonance, the mountains themselves, or the conditions that they provide, being there is a real source of joy and power for me.<br />
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On the weekend that Rose was racing at BattleFrog in Lake Geneva, I did a fast push up to Pikes Peak via the Crags Trailhead and Devil's Playground. This is the "short and steep" way to the summit (as compared to Barr Trail), and much, if not most, of the trail is above tree line. I went up by myself that day, and ran in to almost no one along the way. The few that I did see were on their way back down as I was heading up.<br />
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The next day I tried to explain to John Yatsko in an email the feeling I get when I'm up on a massive mountain like Pikes Peak, above the tree line, approaching the ridge line, and being the only person around. I am tempted to use the word "awe," but that doesn't convey the full fabric of my emotional content. A better word might be "vulnerable" or "exposed." It's as if I can feel the electricity in the air; the power of the atmosphere; and I sense and understand that it is way more powerful than myself.<br />
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It is equally interesting to me that the moment I near contact with others (when you crest the ridge line on this trail you can see the highway that goes to the summit of Pikes Peak), my focus almost immediately shifts away from that mental space. As if it is too uncomfortable to remain there. It reminds me of the lines in Rilke's Duino Elegies:<br />
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<i>Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?<br />
and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:<br />
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.<br />
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,<br />
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.<br />
Every angel is terrifying.</i><br />
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Between joy and wonder and awe and vulnerable, so went my life in Colorado. I did virtually no real strength training (which, to be honest, felt kind of nice), but I hiked or ran almost every single day....much of the time with Rose. The trails and mountains are just too enticing to pass up. They are like a jar of cookies sitting out on a counter that you can easily reach. Why wouldn't you?<br />
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My ongoing (now 2+ year) breathing issues were always present, but not so badly that they stopped me from doing anything. I just needed to do everything a little slower than normal. I could still do the Incline in 32 minutes, though, and it only took us 2 hours and 13 minutes to get to the summit via Devil's Playground, so it's not like I was hobbling along. I mean, these are not Joe Gray (USA mountain runner) times, but they are pretty respectable for us "non-elites."<br />
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In an earlier post I mentioned something about delving in to the "woo woo." I go back and forth as to when is the best time to divulge exactly what I mean. I sense it is not yet the time. For now, I will just say that between the running and the workouts, I spent a fair amount of time examining my "inner life." <br />
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One of the most interesting things to come out of it so far, at least the thing that is the easiest to share, is what I learned about my moment to moment emotional state. Being a long time meditator and student of Eastern philosophy, I am fairly good at cultivating an awareness of my mental and emotional content, but I have long ignored my emotional state while being in that state of awareness. I know, I know, a little confusing...<br />
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Let me try to sum it up in a different way: I found that I frequently choose "dispassionate and serious" over "happy and joy" while being in that state of awareness about my mental and emotional content.<br />
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This will probably not come as a big surprise to those who know me well. :)<br />
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At any rate, that recognition, along with my new ideas on the power of our thoughts and beliefs and stories, provided me with a lot of material to work on. That has been my primary focus lately, and I can already see some of the effects of that work.<br />
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Medically, I am on stand-by. I have an MRI in Omaha on 10/23, and an appointment with another doctor (in Omaha) on 10/26. After that I will have a better idea of what things look like going forward. Oddly, one of the biggest things on my mind is this whole breathing issue. I am not convinced that it is the result of, or related to, my current medical condition. I just get a strong sense that it is something else, so it is often on my mind. I realized the other day that I don't describe it accurately. I usually tell people that I only notice it "at intensity," when I am running hard or working out hard. I guess I use that language to distinguish it from having "shortness of breath." I know people who have that, and that is not what I have.<br />
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But the fact is, I DO notice it at rest. I notice it any time I pay attention to it. There is something not quite right with the "flow." The path is somehow constricted or blocked, and I can't help but think that there is something else at play. <br />
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In the last two weeks a few people have asked me about my plans for the fall and the winter, and I reminded them about the whole medical/surgery stuff. They all reacted with an "Oh! That's right! I totally forgot about that."<br />
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And because of that, I know that I have been doing something correctly. <br />
<br />
I don't want to spend every day living the narrative of the disease. I want to spend every day living the narrative of life and blessings and gratitude. Their responses reflected back to me that, for the most part, I have been successful in my goal.<br />
<br />
<br />
Rose and I are back in Seattle now, but I carry the mountains within me. And I try to find that sense of awe buried in the loud, hectic moments of living in the city. It is there if you can just remain still enough catch it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-91835720019777237922015-10-10T11:05:00.001-07:002015-10-10T11:05:57.884-07:00Please Mind the Gap; or Mountain Running through the Shoulder Season<i>"Live bravely and boldly.<br />
Those negative thoughts - the ones that come from doubt, from insecurity, from frustration - even if they are true, will never serve your highest good.<br />
Take mental account of them if you must, and make preparations and adjustments if you need to, but then set them aside.<br />
<br />
Create positive thoughts.<br />
Create positive feelings.<br />
Change the stories that are playing in your head.<br />
You are largely responsible for co-creating your future.<br />
It is already happening.<br />
The question is whether you are participating in the way that you really want to.<br />
<br />
A mostly blank canvas lies before you, what will you paint?" - TJS, 9/12/15<br />
</i><br />
***********<br />
<br />
It has been a while since I've posted. If you have been following along on Facebook, you know why...<br />
<br />
The last six weeks have been a whirlwind for me and Rose as we packed up the Subaru and road-tripped to Colorado Springs to live and train at altitude. In the process of getting there we had a "Tour of Former Spartan World Champions," stopping at Jenny Tobin's, Cody Moat's, and Hobie Call's. All of them are such fun and inspiring people.<br />
<br />
When we got to COS we hit the AirBnB circuit, moving around to different parts of town. After three weeks, I can say that I learned the city pretty well. While it does not shine in the areas of food, coffee, culture, retail, etc (compared to other large cities), it is a jewel when it comes to trail and mountain access. Seriously, it is amazing. For our last two weeks there we moved up to Woodland Park. It's only 20-25 minutes up the valley from the Springs, but it is 2000 feet higher in elevation, so it was a good place to hang out as Rose got closer to racing Tahoe.<br />
<br />
Most of our days were full of workouts, with a pinch of work and downtime sprinkled in. It is a privileged life (we understand), but also one that we worked for in the last 3-5 years to have. Despite all of our hard work, however, we still could not have done it without the generosity of so many people (Nancy Weintraub, Bruce and Jody Derington, etc etc etc). We are both so grateful.<br />
<br />
I will write more about my time in Colorado in a later post, as it deserves it's own entry. Colorado as always been my "spiritual home." My "terrain of the soul." And my time spent there on this trip was no different.<br />
<br />
Rose and I had an amazing time in Squaw Valley at the Spartan Race World Championships. But rather than cram too many subjects in to one blog, I will write about race related stuff on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/RaceSherpaOCR?fref=ts">Race Sherpa OCR Facebook page</a>.<br />
<br />
************<br />
<br />
You see, this six to seven weeks has been "the gap." The shoulder season between my diagnosis/plan and my potential surgery. You might notice that I continue to use the word potential. I understand the power of our thoughts and beliefs, so I choose to feed that narrative even though I understand that the "reality" is that the surgery is more likely than not.<br />
<br />
This "gap" has been a time of reflection and investigation for me. A time to explore my internal state and the external possibilities, however unlikely they may be. It has also been a time of re-connection to all of the things that I love and am most passionate about.<br />
<br />
Ever since I was young I have been fascinated by things like placebo, spontaneous remission, nocebo, voodoo hexes, and the like. How does it all happen? I can't say that I know that answer, but I feel like I am getting closer to understanding. <br />
<br />
I had assumed that perhaps my 25+ years of Eastern philosophy study might play a role in helping with that understanding, but to be honest, it has been my hypnotherapy background that has provided the most insight. <br />
<br />
I continue to be fascinated by how events that appear to be unrelated and disparate at the time seem to weave and blend together in to a cohesive fabric when looking backwards at them. One could argue that this is a trick of the mind...to find a pattern based on current thoughts and beliefs...but I'm not sure we should dismiss it so easily. It is equally likely that we just have new information that allows us to see the connections. How you frame the story is up to you. It's what you do with it that counts the most.<br />
<br />
As far as a medical update, I am scheduled for an MRI and an appointment with a surgeon in Omaha on October 23rd. I am considering Omaha over Seattle as far as where to proceed, but I have not decided for sure yet. I will know more after those appointments.<br />
<br />
In my next post I will write about my time in Colorado and all of the "inner work" I have done in the last couple of months.<br />
<br />
Thanks for following...<br />
<br />
<i>"The Universe doesn't hear what you think; the Universe hears how you feel."</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-12862224896049796002015-07-17T17:38:00.004-07:002015-07-17T18:27:02.975-07:00Maybe...<i>There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. <br />
<br />
"Maybe," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"Maybe," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "Maybe," answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "Maybe," said the farmer.</i><br />
<br />
It seems as if people often interpret "dispassion" as emotional vacancy. But is it? I guess I distinguish the two as expressing versus experiencing. You can have the experience of an emotion and still choose how you express it. <br />
<br />
The conscious choice of expressing an emotion involves more pieces of information than just the thought/event that generated the emotion in the first place. In the case of the old Taoist farmer, it would seem that his life experience allowed (or cursed) him with a sense of context and perspective that "moderated" his response to the things that were currently happening in his life. <br />
<br />
Would you say that he didn't experience joy or sadness? Or rather that he was just aware of how life worked, and kept from getting too caught up in the drama of the ups and downs?<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
One of my friends, who has been following this journey via my blog suggested that it could be useful to others if I wrote about the Fear.<br />
<br />
I concur. I think it's important for people to see the whole realm of human emotion. The thing is, up to that point, I hadn't really experienced much fear. And I didn't want to write it about from a conceptual "what if" perspective. I wanted it to be palpable.<br />
<br />
When I woke up last Monday morning, I finally started to feel a hint of anxiety about the appointment I had with the surgeon that afternoon. I knew that we were going to get a much clearer picture about what was going on. You might remember that for most of the last couple of months, I have been 100% aware of what the options COULD BE, but I was still holding out for the better options. I believe my line was "I will remain in a positive, upbeat mood until there is a reason to not be."<br />
<br />
I knew that this appointment was going to collapse the probability wave on my Schrodinger's cat. <br />
<br />
I am pretty good at dissipating the energy of emotions like anxiety, anger, fear, etc...but I know what anxiety feels like. Meaning, I know where I feel it in my body, and I know how it can rob me of the desire to "do things." I had planned on doing about 45 minutes on the incline trainer, and I was aware that that small whisper of anxiety, generated from the fear of what might be true, left me feeling weak and uninspired. <br />
<br />
I decided that regardless of the outcome of the appointment, there was probably no scenario that existed that was going to benefit from me NOT doing that workout, so in one brief moment of inspiration, I changed and got myself to the incline trainer. <br />
<br />
It wasn't the best workout I have ever had, but the work was put in, and I felt better about that.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, while in the waiting room, I was calm again. Calm with inevitability, I suppose. There was very little I was going to do at that point that was going to change the outcome, so I just took in the experience of a sunny afternoon, hanging out with Rose.<br />
<br />
So, according to Dr. Evan Ong (via his now famous dry erase board drawings):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xs-E-M874Qk/VamZbPe5Q5I/AAAAAAAAApE/6Zks-TeiBDw/s1600/Dr%2BOng.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xs-E-M874Qk/VamZbPe5Q5I/AAAAAAAAApE/6Zks-TeiBDw/s320/Dr%2BOng.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Translation: His visualizations during the laparoscopy, plus the biopsy results, indicate that I don't have "cancer." Instead I have DPAM.<br />
<br />
Disseminated Peritoneal Adenomucinosis.<br />
<br />
If you look back at the "whiteboard of possibilities" from my first appointment with Dr. Ong, you will see DPAM listed as one of the options. (Oddly, as "bad" as it is, it's one of the best possibilities written on that board.)<br />
<br />
What? You've never heard of DPAM?? Weird.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because less than .06% of the US population has it. (I was really hoping this would at least make me "one in a million," but the math doesn't work out. Still...I am pretty special, in the larger scheme of things.)<br />
<br />
Here is a little help for those playing along at home:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dEwb9Qo6iGk/Vama4njjofI/AAAAAAAAApQ/NvI6WfwUtEE/s1600/DPAM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dEwb9Qo6iGk/Vama4njjofI/AAAAAAAAApQ/NvI6WfwUtEE/s320/DPAM.jpg" /></a></div><br />
You might notice a few things, like, for instance, it looks like it really sucks. I would tend to agree with that assessment. I suppose the next thing that might stick out to many people is the treatment. The thing is, I had already researched the treatment options, so that was not new to me. <br />
<br />
What stood out to me was this line:<br />
<br />
"There are no known genetic, familial or environmental risk factors associated with the disease."<br />
<br />
I don't know how the pie chart breaks down for you, but for me, I am left with one unaccounted for slice: "an act of God." <br />
<br />
In other words, God and I have a lot of talking to do. Preferably over coffee, and perhaps even with a nice pastry. (It's not like it's going to hurt at this point.)<br />
<br />
So....the GOOD:<br />
<br />
Not Cancer! Good thing. Sweet.<br />
<br />
Of the things listed on Dr. Ong's white board of possibilities, probably one of the "best" options. Sweet.<br />
<br />
<br />
The NOT SO GOOD:<br />
<br />
Incurable. Boo. (Treatable, though, so...)<br />
<br />
The surgery is an intensive 10-16 hour endeavor, involving debulking of the effected tissues, removal of organs (or parts of organs) that are effected, and a heated intra-abdominal chemotherapy treatment called HIPEC. They basically pour it in, slosh it around to get to all of those hard to reach areas, let it sit and "cook" for 90 minutes, then take it out. <br />
<br />
7-10 days in the hospital, 3-4 months recovery. Hopefully enough remaining internal parts that I can still be active and poop normally.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
Rose and I have this little "joke" about how bad something can be yet still be "better than cancer." It's crazy how your perspective changes. About everything, really.<br />
<br />
Because this disease process has been going on for some time now (years), and because it is a slowly growing thing, Dr. Ong has given us permission to postpone the surgery until mid-October, after Rose's OCR season. This will give us a chance to go ahead with our plan of moving to altitude for the months of August and September. The only condition that we have is that if I get symptoms, or if a CT at the end of August shows things getting worse, then I come back to Seattle and do the surgery as soon as I can.<br />
<br />
I am really grateful that we have those 90 days. I think it's important for Rose to get some altitude training in, and, it gives me a chance to research all of the woo-woo options. I don't buy a small kitchen appliance without researching it on-line for 3-4 days, can you imagine the research project I have ahead of me now?!? As for the woo-woo, let's save that for the next post. It makes more sense if you have context. :)<br />
<br />
As for my final thoughts, I guess my Facebook post on 7/14/15 sums it up best:<br />
<br />
"<i>Statistics would say that most of my Facebook friends who are reading this post right now have had, do have, or will have some type of major medical issue in their life. So all I can say to you is what I have said before:<br />
<br />
Go on a rampage of appreciation, and keep perspective around the troubles and stresses of your daily life. If you can make your inner space large enough to hold both your stress and your gratitude, most of your days will be full of happiness.<br />
<br />
Giddy up!</i>"<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7S0pTr10fHk/VamgB8-fm4I/AAAAAAAAApg/idDXURtGL-k/s1600/Keep%2BCalm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7S0pTr10fHk/VamgB8-fm4I/AAAAAAAAApg/idDXURtGL-k/s320/Keep%2BCalm.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-20673651102070021602015-07-08T16:54:00.004-07:002015-07-08T17:01:59.025-07:00The Subtle Art of Not Wanting Things to be Other Than They ArePeople who know me are usually surprised to find out that when I was younger, I used to stress out about a lot of things. It's true. I would say that I didn't start to unwind that stress mentality until I was in my mid to late 20's. <br />
<br />
I attribute this to many things, many of which I will share as this blog progresses. The point is, along the way, I started collecting (and using) tools to put in my "psychological toolbox." I sometimes call this my "spiritual toolbox" because the things that allow for the maturation of the adult personality correspond highly to those things that allow for the evolution of the soul. If those words don't work for you and/or rub you the wrong way, don't get caught up on it. Choose whatever words make sense to you.<br />
<br />
In examining all of the tools in the toolbox, "not wanting things to be other than they are" is definitely a power tool. It is immensely powerful and effective, but it can also be used in an incorrect way.<br />
<br />
"Not wanting things to be other than they are" does NOT mean "accepting your lot." It does NOT mean "this is what God/fate/etc has in store for you so you should just sit there and take it." <br />
<br />
If you are in an unfulfilling job, or in a bad/abusive relationship, or experiencing a serious medical condition, or whatever, by all means, do what you can do to change it!! Summon and apply your will. That is part of what it means to be human.<br />
<br />
BUT...<br />
<br />
What about in the meantime? If I have an unsatisfactory job, and I am actively trying to change it, should I moan and lament every day until it finally changes? How much of my life would I waste, waiting for the exact life conditions to match up to my demands and expectations, before I allow myself to be happy?<br />
<br />
What if you can't work out, or run, as much or as intensely as you would like? Are you going to choose unhappiness until you can?<br />
<br />
What if you could just find happiness and contentment right now? Could you hold that mental space and still look for a job? Could you hold that mental space while not working out or running? Do you see how it can be as easy as making a choice, in the moment?<br />
<br />
"Not wanting things to be other than they are" is the negatively expressed way of describing the Buddhist idea that suffering is a result of wanting things to be other than they are.<br />
<br />
Do you see the nuance? It doesn't mean you have to force yourself to be happy with unpleasant things. It means don't add to the unpleasant experience by piling on your own negative cogitation. Pain is a part of life. Suffering is mostly self-created. It is primarily a product of our thinking; the constant rumination of negative thoughts, driven by our desire for things to be other than they are, right now.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, when I bring this idea up to people, I receive a lot of resistance. They push back, saying "Well, I WANT to be angry, or afraid, or anxious, or whatever. Those are human feelings, and I think we should allow ourselves to experience them. I don't think we are suppose to be happy all of the time."<br />
<br />
I agree! The point is, to CHOOSE it. If you CHOOSE to be angry, or sad, or fearful, or anxious, you are expressing what you are entitled to. As I said before, summon and apply your will. That is part of what it means to be human. <br />
<br />
But understand that if you choose it, you are also the one responsible for how you feel. You loose the right to blame it on others, or on external circumstances.<br />
<br />
I hope that point makes sense. You don't have to be happy in every moment. I am encouraging you, instead, to be conscious and make choices in every moment. Be in charge of your thoughts, don't let your thoughts be in charge of you. Of course, of course...it's going to happen. Probably over and over and over. But the better you get at noticing it, stopping it, and applying your own volition to how you want to be, the less often your neurotic thoughts will drag you through the mud.<br />
<br />
It is interesting to me that there is still another, deeper, level of resistance that I run across from time to time. Some people will bring up extreme examples: cases of living in a war zone, cases of living with famine, cases of experiences of extreme violence and trauma. <br />
<br />
My first thought is: what is the source of their own resistance that they evoke extreme examples, that they themselves have probably never experienced? (And probably never will experience.) It seems like a mental/emotional parry. A way of sidestepping the difficult business of doing internal work.<br />
<br />
And by the way, I imagine that we all do this, in one way or another. When you feel the inner resistance rushing out of you, you will know that you have another opportunity; an opportunity to ask "What is the source of my resistance?" To me, there are constant opportunities to find out what makes us tick. (Another one I like to use is any time I find myself judging someone's behavior, I turn it around and ask myself "When do I behave like that?" Not only does it allow me to have more empathy for the other person, but it gives me the opportunity to modify my own behavior in the future.)<br />
<br />
This is all a journey. I am certainly not a master; only a student. I don't write as a teacher, from a position of superiority. I write only as a peer, who is sharing their experience. We all have things to share with each other!<br />
<br />
Next medical update coming soon. Until then, try watching those thoughts swirling around in your head, and choose the mental inner space that you want! :)<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-27267508050670042242015-07-03T21:42:00.000-07:002015-07-03T21:52:24.400-07:00Lappy Roppy Scoppy to the Belly; and an unfortunate timingAs I sit out here on my deck, with three incision wounds in my belly, I think, "I didn't choose the Thug Life..."<br />
<br />
Oh wait. That's probably a stretch. My deck does look out over Lake Washington, after all...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HC-nUusga5I/VZdW2xQVSDI/AAAAAAAAAow/5uaruLUmw7E/s1600/Deck%2Bview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HC-nUusga5I/VZdW2xQVSDI/AAAAAAAAAow/5uaruLUmw7E/s320/Deck%2Bview.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Maybe it's more accurate to say, "I didn't choose the Pseudomyxoma peritonei Life. The Pseudomyxoma peritonei Life chose me."<br />
<br />
And I THINK that is true. <br />
<br />
That is, I THINK PMP is what we are talking about here (but maybe not!!), and I THINK I didn't do something to bring it upon myself. But I can't be sure.<br />
<br />
At any rate, what I CAN be sure of is that I DO have three incision/puncture wounds in my belly. And I laugh now at how much I underestimated the effects of getting a laparoscopy. But not really, you know, an actual LAUGH, because that would hurt so much right now. I mean "laugh" in more of a figurative way.<br />
<br />
Yeah, maybe they let you go home the same day as the procedure, but that doesn't mean you're going to have a peachy time of it. Trust me.<br />
<br />
At any rate, I am dealing with it, and it is getting a little bit better every day. I can tell you this...to all of those fitness people out there who say "you use your core for everything," you have no idea just how true that is.<br />
<br />
I didn't talk to the surgeon afterwards. He did talk to Rose and my mother, however. I know bits and pieces of the conversation, and let's just say that it's better to not bring it all up right now. It's not fun stuff. BUT...we are waiting for the biopsy results. And when those come back, we will have most of the answers that we need to move forward. Until then, I am not going to dwell on anything other than the positive. There is really no sense in doing otherwise. Sure, you can take the time to do the planning needed for the not so positive paths forward, but there is no use dwelling on them. Too much Life happening right here, right now.<br />
<br />
That reminds me. I want to share a story. It's a love story. In four chapters.<br />
<br />
<b>A (Tainted) Love Story, in Four Chapters</b><br />
<br />
Chapter One<br />
<br />
Belly: Ow.<br />
Oxycodone: What's wrong? <br />
Belly: I hurt.<br />
Oxycodone: Here, take me.<br />
(Gulp)<br />
Belly: Ahhh, that's better. I love you.<br />
Oxycodone: I love you, too.<br />
<br />
Chapter Two<br />
<br />
Belly: Ow.<br />
Oxycodone: What's wrong? <br />
Belly: I hurt.<br />
Oxycodone: Here, take me.<br />
(Gulp)<br />
Belly: Ahhh, that's better. I love you.<br />
Oxycodone: I love you, too.<br />
<br />
Chapter Three<br />
<br />
Belly: Ow.<br />
Oxycodone: What's wrong? <br />
Belly: I hurt.<br />
Oxycodone: Here, take me.<br />
(Gulp)<br />
Belly: Ahhh, that's better. I love you.<br />
Oxycodone: I love you, too.<br />
<br />
Chapter Four<br />
<br />
Belly: Oxy, thank you for being in my life, but...<br />
Oxycodone: What is it?<br />
Belly: Well, ever since you've come in to my life, I've noticed that I haven't been able to poop.<br />
Oxycodone: Oh, yeah. That's me.<br />
Belly: Oh. Well. Will you please let me poop?<br />
Oxycodone: Sorry. I can't do that.<br />
Belly: Uuum, well, I love you and all, but, I really need to poop.<br />
Oxycodone: Sorry, that's not how it works.<br />
Belly: Well, it's just that I really really need to poop.<br />
Oxycodone: Then you need to give me something for it.<br />
Belly: Please. Anything. Just name it.<br />
Oxycodone: Prune juice.<br />
Belly: Ok, sure. How much do you need?<br />
Oxycodone: How much can you drink?<br />
<br />
The end<br />
<br />
*********************************<br />
<br />
When I look back over the last few years, there is something that really bums me out. Rose and I have never really been able to train hard together. About the time I was gearing up more and more with trail running, Rose was trying to make the Olympic Trials in the 1500m (2012) and USATF Nationals in the 800m (2013). So while my training involved time on the trails and in the hills, Rose's training involved long flat miles and time on the track. <br />
<br />
In the late summer of 2013, right when I started having my breathing and strength issues, Rose left the track for the world of Spartan Races. Ever since then, she has been training in a way more like I would have LOVED to have been training...had I been able to do so. As I geared down to figure out what was wrong, and scaled back to the levels my body could handle, Rose's training took off. It has been exciting to watch, but as a lifelong athlete, it has also been difficult at times. <br />
<br />
This laparoscopy has made this especially obvious, as I can barely do anything right now, let alone hard training. If I need a larger surgery in the near future, this will be exponentially more true.<br />
<br />
In the end, it's just Life. That's how things go sometimes. But in the vein of transparency, I thought that I would share that it is something that gets me down from time to time. It's not so much jealousy, by the way. It's really more about the "training together" piece. I may be 48 years old, but at 100% health, I know that there are still some areas where I can push her. And there are plenty of areas where she can push me. [Spoiler alert: I'm probably not going to be getting a lot better at those things as time goes on! :)]<br />
<br />
That said, and I've mentioned this many times over, I love being her Sherpa. It is an honor, and I am so proud of what she has accomplished. <br />
<br />
Here is what the Sherpa knows that you may not....Rose is not at the very top of her game yet. She has really never 100% put all of the pieces together. <br />
<br />
The Rise of Rose is just beginning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-3186050874622304672015-06-28T18:21:00.001-07:002015-06-28T18:21:55.592-07:00Where I Am Now<i>"If you know me, then you know that I do my best to not waste the currency of the present value of life on the high cost of future scenarios that may or may not happen. It's a bad exchange, and you lose too much in the process. The life that you are living, right now in front of you, is not only the most precious, but really the only life that you have. There very well could be some not so great days in the future, but until those days arrive, I will continue to live with as much happiness and kindness as I can."</i> - TJS, Facebook post, 5/28/15<br />
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The reason for such a long absence is that "the life I was living," the one right in front of me, involved work, appointments, and then moving out of the house I have owned for eight years. It was a long, hard push to get through all of that! Then I took some time to get settled in at our new (house sitting gig) place, and then I left town for four days. Just now re-acclimating to the next stage.<br />
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There have been two medical appointments since I last wrote.<br />
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The first one was with Dr. Ong, the surgeon who specializes in this kind of stuff. One of the first things he said when he came in to the room was, "I don't know what you have." He also seemed to be almost humored by the fact that I have no "symptoms" (related to what they think I COULD have). I really liked him. Nice guy. He seemed smart, and he had a nice way about him. And he is clearly a visual learner/teacher, as demonstrated by what he scribbled down as he spoke to us:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MkODi43M84U/VY921nIDHGI/AAAAAAAAAoc/Ou-t5CO5nb8/s1600/Dr%2BOng%2Bnotes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MkODi43M84U/VY921nIDHGI/AAAAAAAAAoc/Ou-t5CO5nb8/s320/Dr%2BOng%2Bnotes.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Like the oncologist, Dr. Ong is not clear about what is going on, exactly, but they both still addressed the "worse case" scenarios...as if they were the only scenarios possible. I don't know if that is because they really think there are only two to three possibilities, or if it is just their job to approach this AS IF these are the only possibilities...until ruled out.<br />
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I continue to hold out for the latter, because as I have mentioned before, as long as there is uncertainty, there is a chance for something that is better than worse. :) I chuckle at myself from time to time about that thought. Is it just being hopeful, or is it being in denial? Either way, it seems to provides the best bedrock on which to live in the present; one based on the moment in front of me rather than one based on the fear of a possible future. <br />
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As an intellectual exercise, I do struggle with the idea that denial could be a favorable/desirable path. I suppose the optimal case is that one can be expansive enough inside to hold it all; to hold all of the potential outcomes while still maintaining the mental and emotional equanimity to live consciously and with intention, unhindered by the fear of "what if" scenarios. It seems to be the nature of human thought to dwell and inhabit, however. And where those thoughts choose to take refuge becomes our experience. So I don't know, perhaps "optimistic" and "denial" can both work for us in some cases.<br />
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The second appointment I had was a colonoscopy. The night before my test some labs were posted to my on-line chart. They were cancer/inflammation markers, and for the first time, I felt a little negative. All of the markers were elevated. It was pointed out by two friends, however, that a) the markers are, for the most part, not specific, and b) while my numbers were elevated, they weren't really elevated as high as some of the ranges that signify not so great things. <br />
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The results of my colonoscopy showed that my colon was in good shape (a huge relief), and that there was a tumor on my appendix. A biopsy of the surface of the tumor showed normal cells. While good news, we still don't know what is happening inside the tumor.<br />
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On Tuesday, 6/30, I have a laparoscopy to remove the appendix (and tumor) and to take some tissue samples from other areas of potential concern. So, obviously, I am hoping for the best news possible.<br />
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If you know me well, you know that I am equal parts "woo woo" and "critical thinker." These polarities are not always easy to reconcile in the mind and life of one man. Rather than seeking one true balance point, I find it more helpful (and practical) to shift across the spectrum, allowing both my intuition and intellect to guide me in the moment. I think we all do this, by the way, we just don't all acknowledge that we do it. <br />
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So this Tuesday, let us let the woo woo reign supreme. I am accepting all prayers, petitions, mantras, healing vibes, positive thoughts, and, well, maybe no animal sacrifices, please....that doesn't feel quite right. <br />
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Also, recognize that this is a big Universe, and I am not the only person in it seeking these soft, warm fuzzies. So after you cast some out in the Universe for me, please be sure to throw a big handful out for everyone else in need as well!<br />
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Until then, go on a rampage of appreciation. <br />
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Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-39168464674203365552015-06-08T09:09:00.000-07:002015-06-08T09:14:59.924-07:00Self-inflicted Suffering"I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."<br />
- Rainer Maria Rilke<br />
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As I mentioned on my Facebook post after my oncology appointment, I can't say that I am "loving" the questions right now. But I am accepting of them. At least right now. One of the first things I learned many many years ago about managing stress is: don't worry too much about the things you can't control. We could really extend this thought further, however, to: or to things that might never happen.<br />
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Think about how much of our internal stress is due to thinking about things we can't control and/or to things that might never happen. Imagine the ease you would feel if you could eliminate those two categories from your daily mental load. Of course, actually eliminating them completely is difficult, if not impossible. We are emotional beings, and we have deep, built-in biological responses. These responses are important and can serve a very useful purpose. But even taking those in to account, it's probably safe to say that for most of us, a large share of our daily internal suffering is self-inflicted.<br />
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Again, this is not to discount the real pains and sorrows of life. Not at all. When talking to others about the idea of self-inflicted stress, it's interesting to me how some people immediately seek out counter examples; life in a war zone, losing a spouse or child, discovering that you have a terminal illness; as if they are somehow compelled to justify their own mental/emotional processing. I am in no way suggesting that there aren't "real" situations and scenarios worthy of the full spectrum of the emotions we are heir to. What I am saying is that there are many more examples in our daily lives that do not demand that mental/emotional response, but we give it to them anyway.<br />
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And for what? What do we gain by holding on to fear (or anger, or resentment, or...) over things we can't control or things that might never happen (or things that have happened in the past)? What would we lose by letting them go? I think if we all took a hard look in the mirror, we would find that we are all holding on to things. Things that don't truly serve us, or those around us. <br />
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How you choose to respond is up to you. It is not for me to judge. We are the result of our own experiences and choices, so it is not my place to say what is right or wrong for you. But for me, I don't want to hold on to unnecessary negative emotions. For me, they take away from my ability to be present with myself and with those around me.<br />
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But let's save the development of this idea for later. I have more things to say on being present, the hypnotic quality of language, and the power of our thoughts. :)<br />
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A number of people have written to me saying, "Oh, it must be so hard to play the waiting game and not know..." Well, on one hand that might be true, but frankly, as long as a specialist in oncology remains unsure, I see that as an opportunity for things to be better than worse.<br />
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It's not that I am in denial (I don't think), it's that there is not enough diagnostic information available yet to be sure of anything. So, as I have written to many of you...I choose to remain positive until there is a reason to not be. And even then, I will remain as positive and as upbeat as I can. Even if further information turns out to be in the "worse" category, I can feel good about the fact that I have not wasted the last two weeks of precious life by being mired in negative thoughts about what <i>might</i> be true. I have been present with life, with myself, and with others. <br />
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I do not say all of this to boast. There are times when I have not been, and will not be, as successful. I say this as a pat on the back to myself, and as an encouragement to keep going.<br />
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I have not mentioned yet that the oncologist told me that the only reason I was sitting in his office last week is because I was aware enough of my own internal "sensing" to know that something unusual was going on. He said that for many people, it's likely that it could have taken another 5-10 years before they would have come in. Rose and I both laughed (a little), knowing that I had written the post on the importance of paying attention just the night before. Whatever is going on, I am glad that we found it now.<br />
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So, the journey continues. I have an appointment with the surgeon in two hours. And, I continue to pack up a house I need to move out of next weekend. Everything marches onward.<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3545105541968846950.post-36418190495256334292015-06-02T20:06:00.001-07:002015-06-02T20:08:15.115-07:00Trust Your ExperienceMany people who knew about my on-going breathing issue (or who read it about it here: <a href="http://mydharmadays.blogspot.com/2015/02/i-know-why-race-sherpa-sherps.html">http://mydharmadays.blogspot.com/2015/02/i-know-why-race-sherpa-sherps.html</a>), have asked me how, in the process of figuring out what was wrong, we arrived at doctors discovering concerning issues in my abdomen. It's a good question, and the answer lies in a theme that I am going to hit on over and over and over: awareness.<br />
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I guess I could begin by attributing it to the body awareness that comes from being a life-long athlete; but really, it was my years of yoga, pranayama, meditation, and martial arts, that refined my "body sense." When you become attuned to the slightest changes that are happening...in your body, in your mind, in your environment...you can start piecing together information way ahead of most people. And when you get to the point where you can trust it, you become very self-empowered. <br />
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I have gone to a number of doctors in the last three years. The first one thought my symptoms were due to age, the next one thought it could be my heart, the third one investigated mold and environmental allergens. I understand why they were each looking at those particular things; I don't fault them for that (too much). There was one sensation, however, very subtle, that I had noticed and hadn't been able to account for. I had this sensation that my diaphragm was restricted in some way. That something was "off" just a little bit. That the "path" my breath took was not the "usual path." And it seemed like part of the reason why I couldn't breathe well at high intensities was because I couldn't get a normal inhale.<br />
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So when I went in to see a new primary doc, I went through the "story" that I had told over and over, but this time I made sure to mention this sensation around my diaphragm. I mean, I really emphasized it. So much so that even though he got me started on some things to see if I had reactive airway issues going on, he also scheduled an abdominal ultrasound. The ultrasound was mostly normal, but it showed some free fluid. My doctor said he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with my breathing issue, but now that we saw that it was there, we had to investigate it further. Thus, the abdominal CT.<br />
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Last week it occurred to me....had I not been so attentive and aware, or had I not been used to a certain fitness level, I could have easily just written it off as "getting older." (If I had stopped doing an activity every time someone said I was just "getting older" in response to a pain or symptom, I probably would have stopped most activities before I was 34 years old. Don't do it. Ask questions! Research for yourself!) How long would it have taken to discover this?<br />
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My take away is this....develop, fine-tune, and trust your experience. You don't need to go the hypochondriac route and assign fearful narratives to the things you notice, just notice. When you go in to see a doctor, yes, they are the ones educated in medicine, but you have your experience. You know you better than anyone else...if you are paying attention. <br />
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That is a precious gift, my friends. A gift to yourself. Take the time to develop it.<br />
Tim Sinnetthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13565808628331099853noreply@blogger.com0