Excellent lovely people,
i am, or would like to call myself a documentarian. a noticer of things interesting, an asker of questions. I realize that many of you have found yourselves the subject of my scrutiny in the past and i’m looking forward to hearing all your secrets in the future. Sorry bout that. I’m nosy.

So now we have this Great Difficult Thing. And it is not a manifestation of my mind. It is a cellular reality. I saw it on TV during my bronchoscopy. I don’t usually believe everything i see on TV but this program was lent legitimacy by the fact that a man had a tube down my nose. The amnesia drug didn’t work. I remember it. I saw it. a something inside a tube. a tube for air not a tube for a something.
Anyhow, if i am an investigator of things, this is as interesting a thing as I ever did. And this is gonna happen, whether i want it to or not. And I might as well try to notice it. Scrutinize. Understand a little more of what it means to be alive when there is recognizable corporeal threat on the horizon. Already there are so many moments that feel valuable. Feel like i am understanding more about how absolutely beautiful and fun all this living stuff is. I have never eaten more delicious food or had more satisfying conversations with lovelier human beings. All this space and this playground of a planet. And these families that we belong to. I belong. Not just with you but to you. We are all integral.

And at the same time, it is my body. Not anyone else’s. I have noticed a very tricky aspect of this whole Great Difficult Thing; you have to get really good at holding contradictory ideas in your head all at once.

Idea A) It is necessary to think about death and to come to some peace with the prospect. To understand that none of us are getting out of this alive. And while this is not the time frame I had in mind, I could accept it. Because terror will not help me heal. I can do grief and anger and all that but I cannot use my heart while being terrorized. I am excited to explore the ideas of going home. Of beauty.

Idea 2) I have to reject death. Cling to life. Fortify my body, my white blood cells, with ferocity. With adamance that we live. That this is not the thing that will get us. Will not win.

Idea C) In order for the chemo to work it has to do damage to any cells doing any dividing. My white blood cells for instance are big dividers. Replenishers. My immune-fighting cells. So i have to tolerate damage to heal. Which doesn’t come up often in self-help books and so I wouldn’t recommend it be taken as a larger analogy on life.

Idea 4) There is the reality of pathology, and its insistence that this is dire. Cancer is a signifier in our modern age. Of being taken out of the stream of life and made to do battle. Sickening fear, tragedy and loss. And then there is the story i am trying to tell myself: No matter what, I want the meantime be a celebration. And to be interesting. To understand if i am who i thought i was. (so far yes!)
And to maintain my curiosity and learn more about love. I never knew what a broad field of study that was.

Even if i am self-deluded about the nature of the Great Difficult Thing. Why would i want to give my body and life over to the medical story? The deeply unfair story? (Actually, the deeply unfair story is sticking a little, but it’s on the list) The story where lung cancer lacks some almost redeeming qualities? All the secrets about cancer that no one wants you to know.

And maybe I am able to think this right now because chemo is still 3 days away. And maybe my belief in this “everything is beautiful” hippy crap will get a pummeling with some old fashioned nausea. But i hope not. That would be a tragedy. Maybe you can remind me later. And tell me secrets and gossip. All the good stuff. Thank you.

Love from val
(who is becoming much more learned on the topic)

i am no longer feeling terror. which is such a relief.
what i feel mostly is a great deal of wonder. suddenly this amazing organic community of people that i love; that i have always known and relished; has bloomed. like some 20 year perennial. here, suddenly is a graceful flower of such remarkable visual force. such heart-stopping beauty.

and the thing is, i didn’t know it could do that.
and i am in awe at the new knowledge. what i didn’t know about life. about these people and this community. i didn’t know what it would feel like to be surrounded. to see such desire in people to protect me.
people coming flying across the country to sit with me. to hear my terror. to tell me i am strong. giving us food. giving us massages. leaving gifts on the door, in the yard. tonight a hand-painted sign near the lavender bush that says “faith”. they hiked with me and my still-strong body up the mountain-side. and stood with me in an orchard of trees. played music with me in the living room. arranged consults with top-notch lung doctors, gave me acupuncture, brought me smoothie mix so i can eat, sang for me. acts of such camaraderie and joy.
truly death defying.
people are taking this personally. it is an affront. they are not going to let me go.
and i feel lifted and carried. it is not enough to say that i feel loved. i am filled with wonder and curiosity at this amazing mobilization much of the day. piece by piece they take away my terror, and fill me with gratitude.

many years ago in Alaska, i was trying to explain to my very excellent friend Cosmic Patty about the insignificance of my life. of any single human life on this earth. we are so minute compared to time, to the planetary ecosystem.the tides.Yeah, she said, but you are integral. it couldn’t be, any of it, without you. i didn’t really believe her.

i have thought about that many times in the last few days. i can understand it now. i have seen the impact this has on this community. some close and some far. my biological family and friends of friends. people i have met only once but i still think about. people i haven’t seen for 10 years. people i work with. deborah’s people. people of the people.
this small tumor in my body has caused a ripple in the world. it tells me i belong in this family. i belong to these people. i am integral. even when i am no longer here. whenever that happens. val was here.

also, there are some encouraging bits of news about new drugs for this kind of cancer. about people surviving after being told they will not. about nutrition to fortify during chemo and radiation.

ways to live. at the same time i am being forced to consider my own mortality. and i have discovered it is unknowable. just like it was last year. maybe now maybe later. by car or tumor or bad guacamole. i ask my body if it thinks we are going to die. (do bodies know?) and it assures me that everything is a-okay. nobody dying. except for the pesky cough and the anxiety, i feel fine. can hike. laugh. wash dishes. tell jokes.

i do find myself resenting really old people that smoke a little. and have no tolerance for people complaining about their age.

the thing about this is that it has alerted the family of people. it has gotten deborah’s attention in particular. and mine too, to be honest. the naming of things has power. it is called lung cancer and that has a way of getting people interested. but now there are so many more things going on here than some overzealous lung cells. and mostly deeply interesting and lovely things. things worth noting. valuable things that i didn’t know life could do.

right now. right now i am here. so happy to be here. so in love with this family. thank you so much.

my friends.

ABSTRACTION:
there is before and there is after. and then there is the chance that it is all a big mistake and then there is again. again after that.
That.
a still and condensed moment when i was thoroughly abandoned by my self. I watched it beat tracks off over the next ridge. i stood and watched it disappear. that’s never comin’ back.
damn.
this is what mortal terror feels like.
now i know.

REALIZATION
i am standing on my parents’ deck overlooking the hay meadow and barn where i grew up. there is a doctor on the phone telling me the radiologist from Kalispell believes the x-ray to show i have a tumor on my lung.
i don’t know what tumor means. i think it means cancer.
it doesn’t necessarily. it could be a mushroom. it could be alice’s cat. it could be aspirated road rage. it could be a moment i swallowed long ago and in my haste to gulp the next moment i may have let the first wander unescorted into my lung. Top right. where it has made a home. making a go of it.

i open the sliding glass door, return the phone to its cradle and catch deborah’s eye while my mother is running water into a pan. i step off the deck. walk out into the yard. she follows me outside. i plan for a moment to just lie this away. tell no one and harbor the small beast in my chest. a privately fed monster. i tell her.
tumor.
watch the blue eyes widen. she doesn’t believe. watch the moment before rise up and away. the life before ascend from view. i didn’t quite get to appreciate it. notice the color of light. the smell of the beloved cottonwood is gone as my body flushes antiseptic with adrenaline.
it feels like if i just tried hard enough i could step back.
my skull is numb. and i am so cold.
can’t remember it now- how before felt. i was so stupid before.
that was span> tuesday.

CONCRETION
it would appear as a mass. a tumor. could be lung cancer. could be lymphoma. could be fungal infection. could be a hundred variations of long-named things that i will NOT look up on google. that i implore you all not to look up.

a tall young man with the calmness of someone who has spent thousands of earnest hours alone studying text books, tells me that it would be atypical, given my age, for it to be lung cancer. and yet possible. i smoked cigarettes for 12 years. not very long in the lung cancer world. please understand it is very hard to forgive myself this stupidity right now. but there you have it. i was self-destructive for a bit. then addicted. then it became an identity. a reward. a recourse.
all these things, the ways in which a body may react to itself or to the outside world, the pathologies and conditions that may cause a mass; many of them can be treated. some can not.

PROGNOSTICATION
i am sitting in the small airless room with deborah and favor to my left. i ask him what the prognosis is if it is lung cancer. i ask him with such calmness i think. i am noticing the evenness in my voice.
1 to 2 years he says. worst case. and i am so relieved. i smile.
i had thought 3 months.
i hear deborah make a small gasp.
to me it means not yet. it means i could still walk and talk i could still be a part of the family of things for <ome time more. there is space and distance. air between objects. joy at the improbability of being.
there is the unfinished documentary. there are things i can still write. there is time for my mind to settle and understand the horrible beauty of this.
to insist that this is not about horror. it is not about dying. it is about life. it is about the beauty of loving other human beings. of being loved. it is about art. even this.

PATHOLOGY
lying in hotel bed in Sandpoint Idaho at 4am. i think of it. remember. and the terror begins. my heart pounds. stomach growls.
it has been two days. knowing. i can’t eat. everything is tolerable except this. this need to run when there is no place to run to.
this need for action. my body demanding effort.
i am displaced. terror is the great mover. i begin to whisper “i am still myself.” trying to conjure who i remember. the width of my shoulders. the way it feels to laugh. the people who love me. i come back a little bit.
i have never known such fear.
this is the unfortunate design i think. my parents’ australian shepherd has three legs- one sacrificed to the joy of scaring cars away. but he doesn’t know. still likes to chase cars. i do not think he considers the mystery of the missing leg.
it is unfortunate to be sentient and in a fallible body. a vulnerable body. to see it coming. slowly or quickly. we can’t take our eyes off that horizon. i am particularly guilty of gazing that direction. but that’s all this is really. a matter of timing. later or sooner.

SENSATION
they come to my house. bring food. all these people. tears in their eyes. beer under their arms. such excellent creatures all of us. it is better when i tell. when i talk. when i can ask them to help me remember i am more than the pathology.
i ask them to try their hand at faith healing. pull my shirt down at the collar on the right side. reveal the place i have seen in xray. these are the hands i want to heal me. not strangers. not the impersonal touch of doctors. this is what i believe in. i invite them. she places one hand on my chest. the other on my back. forehead to forehead. and minutes pass by. i wonder how i can ask for this much. i wonder at the prosperity of being this loved. over and over people put their hands on my body. remind me i am in this body. in this life. part of this beautiful community. this family. they heal me of terror. and who knows what else.
i have long believed that loving is the anti-death. the moment of celebration. the absolute thanksgiving for the life given. the life shared. so i ask them all to love for me. themselves or others. and dedicate me part of it to my continuation. to remind the universe that i am so very grateful for every moment. to ask for a few more. jenny jenkins says she will announce it to her audience before her band plays.
i am also on the prayer chain at the eureka first baptist church.
i am not turning any of it down.

PRELUDE
tomorrow morning is a biopsy. i will be given a drug that will induce amnesia. which i find very interesting. if i have it once but never again does it find accounting somewhere in my soul? the trauma of a camera up my nose. the words they might use to describe what they see. i will hear them make note of the beast. but not remember. will my body know anyway?
my mother believes it will be okay. i think she might be a bit of a witch. this has more pull than many other things.

they may know something right then. or it may take 2 or 3 days. i will send updates.

thank you for being. please feel free to participate in the anti-death program as you are able. or however you celebrate this life. please come by and try your hand at healing.
please help deborah.

love to you all.
Val