It's been a pretty good weekend here in the land of brain cancer. Friday evening's mail brought the hoped-for CD with Richard's scans (actually two CDs containing 20 recent MRIs and CT scans), the final piece needed to complete our application for the tumor vaccine clinical trial at University of California-San Francisco that seems to offer the most promise for treating the glioblastoma growing in Richard's right brain.
Saturday morning we walked to the Post Office, hand in hand, not as fast as we once would have walked because the tumor has slowed Richard's brain and his coordination. But we walked, he carrying the huge envelope with 168 pages of his medical records, all carefully sorted and clipped by category: radiation reports, surgery reports, pathology reports, etc., plus the CDs, the application forms, our check for the outside evaluation fee and the cover letter "explaining what the patient and family hope for" as per the application instructions.
The latter seems pretty self-evident: We'd like him to survive grade IV brain cancer, something few people manage to do. I tried to articulate our hopes thoughtfully, allowing that we'd like a miracle, but we'd settle for less:
… What we hope for is more time for Richard to enjoy life, what he terms, "walking about on the face of this earth," time for him to complete more of his sculptures using native rock, steel and wood (www.salidamillwork.com), time for us to simply enjoy each other.
After we mailed the packet off via Express Mail to arrive on Monday, we walked back home, again hand in hand, happy to have set the process in motion. We hope to hear something by the end of next week, and then we'll know whether he's headed into another brain surgery and vaccine injections in San Francisco, or whether he's headed for stereotactic radiation surgery to slow the tumor at University of Colorado Medical School east of Denver.
The wind was howling when we walked to the Post Office, but by the time we got home, it was balmy, so I spent the rest of the day in the yard, beginning my spring cleanup in our dyland native meadow "lawn."By dinnertime, I was exhausted, but rejuvenated by hours of communing with the thriving native plant community of our yard. (The photo below shows our native meadow yard in June, when the wildflowers are just beginning their summer-long show. It's still pretty brown now, the perennial grasses and wildflowers waking up slowly in this year of record drought.)
Unlike a lawn, this native grassland doesn't need (or like) being mowed. It needs essentially no maintenance, except a once-a-year trim. Before we restored this bunchgrass grassland with its dotting of wildflowers, I researched the biological history of our place, learning what it was like when it was wild, before the railroad came to our valley and platted out town with its streets and lots. Turns out our place was a windswept grassland favored by pronghorn antelope for winter and spring grazing.
Pronghorn no longer graze in town, so e very spring, I pretend I'm a herd of pronghorn and "graze" our restored grassland to keep it healthy, cutting back last year's dried grass and wildflower stalks clump by clump, hand-thatching the bunches of grass with a small rake. Without that annual cutting-back, the grass bunches get too dense and the wildflowers get buried.
It's a lot of hand work, a lot of squatting and clipping and hand-thatching, but it's only once a year and more than worth the effort for the treasures I find as I cut back last year's dried flower stalks and seed heads, and save them to spread on other parts of our property still in need of restoration. Treasures like the beautiful native nipple cactus (Mammalaria species) in the photo below that I uncovered yesterday, revealing its crown of pink flowers, wide open to invite pollinators.
That tiny cactus, about the size of a golf ball, seems like a good symbol of what Richard and I hope for as we walk these difficult days: that we'll have more time to find the cactus flowers buried in last year's grass clumps, the grace notes that remind us that mere survival is not enough. To really live, we must bloom at every chance we get.
I’m so glad the CDs arrived, and the packet has gone out. I’ve been thinking of you this week, gathering and sorting and preparing the materials to go in that application. May these seeds you plant grow strong, new connections for healing.
Spring is a good time for all this to be going on.
Hugs to you both.
Susan, I’m so glad the CDs came through so quickly. Now the difficult waiting begins. Hopefully, they’ll process things quickly so you’ll know which path you and Richard will be taking. In the meantime, just keep doing what you’re doing–focusing on living each day, each moment.
I think your wild yard is beautiful! We finally have some little blue flowers (transplanted from my mom’s yard, which she called bluets–but they’re not), which we’re trying to identify. Spring is beginning to make itself known in little ways in spite of late spring flurries. Each season has it’s own special wonders to reveal.
Susan, I am finally catching up on what is going on. I hope the application goes through quickly and you and Richard will get the opportunity in UC-SF. Also sending hugs to you both. I wonder if Donna’s flowers are wild blue flax, something we grow in our meadow-yard in Idaho. Love the photos of your meadow and the cactus find. What a precious lovely piece of nature–like you both.
Julie
I think about “steps” – we cannot skip steps. You and Richard are now on the next step and I pray all goes well so that you can continue to continue to move onward and upward. Great good luck and big hugs to you both.
Deb, Spring feels like the right time for all of this, and I like your “planting seeds” metaphor. Thank you!
Donna, I’m glad you’re finally seeing some signs of spring there! If you can get a photo of your “bluets” up on Facebook, I’ll see if I can help you ID them. As for my wild yard, I love it, as you can probably tell!
Julie, Thank you for the good wishes and the hugs. I bet your sagebrush-meadow yard in Idaho will be gorgeous this year with all the moisture you’ve gotten, and I hope you get to spend plenty of time there appreciating it.
Lindy, We are on the next step, though where it leads is not clear at all. We’re keenly aware that life comes with no guarantees at all, and we feel fortunate to have each other for however long that lasts…
Susan, you wrote: “…I was exhausted, but rejuvenated…” I understand how you were both/each.
I like the parallels you crafted between Richard’s glioblastoma and and your property. The returning to “natural,” the pruning that’s necessary, that time spent yields treasured surprises that would have otherwise been overlooked. (Were these connections planned, or were they, like your mammalian[?] cactus, waiting to be uncovered?)
Two CDs needed for Richard’s brain? No surprise…all the smarts and skills sequestered in there. Crossed fingers, folded hands, bright-bright Light. Step by step, hand in hand, sacred moment by sacred moment.
Great photo of your beloved…bright eyes and smiling…what we all aspire to. Love to you both.
Eduardo, Once I noticed those parallels, they were deliberate! And like the Mammalaria cactus, I planted them where I hoped they would yield grace notes for readers. Thanks for those crossed fingers, folded hands, and all that Light. We need it…
Doug, Bless you for sending your love! Richard is indeed a bright spirit–he amazes me.
so glad the big envelope is on the way. sending hope, and as always, caring.
Moving along, moving along, life keeps on – and wonderfully, sufficiently in synch to bring you the mail on time. Hopes and prayers that the experimental program will be as receptive and effective for Richard and his next tx as your native meadowlands have been to your restoration efforts. What beauty you have created – or nurtured and allowed to be created.
hugs
This is my favorite kind of garden. I am doing it myself on a smaller scale. Thanks for the cutting back tip.
Hand thatching your native meadow, like a herd of pronghorn antelope – how much love is in that?! Would make a good visualisation for clearing away Richard’s cancer, each clump of grass, one by one, till the thatch is all gone to mulch and compost.
Velma, We’re glad too. It should be delivered about now. Hoping for news by mid-week or a bit after…
Mary, We were pretty excited to get the CDs several days before we expected, as you can imagine. Now we’ve got fingers crossed for whatever is best for Richard. He’s sleeping a lot, resting up for whatever is ahead, but his spirits are good, and that is critical, as I’m sure you know.
Sandy, Do you know John Greenlee’s book, The American Meadow Garden? It’s a great resource for this kind of garden. I’m going to review it on my blog–one of these days. If you think of your garden as a community, and imagine what species used to be the natural grazer/trimmer/thinners of plants, that can be a guide to how to maintain it. Have fun!
Diana, What a beautiful metaphor! Thank you. I’m going to gift that visualization to Richard when he wakes up from his nap.
Another lovely, inspiring post with hope written within the lines. I like to hear how one can live in the moment and savor the small acts of awareness, such as walking hand in hand to the post office. Nothing gets lost on you two. It’s all about being totally conscious. Give a hug to Richard for me. I want that pony express to cross the miles in a split second and bring back good news for his acceptance into the program.
You’ve inspired me to turn the entire front yard of my next house into a wildflower patch!
hugs,
bobbi c.
Maria, Thanks! We’re very aware that the time we have together is right now, and there’s no guarantee that moment will last. That’s true for all of us, but we tend to live most of our lives in the fiction that time stretches out before us in some unending ribbon and there’s no need to be present in every moment. Brain cancer is a terrible but useful reminder that life is this moment, not something to be banked for later. So we take the time we have…
Bobbi, Good for you! You might want to look for a copy of the John Greenlee book I mentioned above, The American Meadow Garden. Not only are the photos gorgeous and inspiring, it’s packed with practical information.
My good thoughts from quiet times coming your way – over the Pass and down through South Park to beautiful Salida…
Am hoping to get to Nada in Crestone sometime early this summer. For some solitude and rest. Was in Ecuador in February for birdwatching – it was great!
You two take care and hope that all the news is good.
Love and Peace
MarkNDenver
Mark, I hope you do get to Nada sometime this summer, and that we have some good precipitation before you get there, so it’s not just dust and brown that greets you… Ecuador in February sounds like an amazing trip, and I hope it was. (Did you know I’m working on a proposal for a series of birdwatching mysteries?) Thank you for the gift of your attention and good thoughts.
Picturing you and Richard walking hand in hand to mail the packet together and sending energy for it to bring you both the good news you so deserve to hear.
Isn’t it amazing how a chore like weeding can be so reviving? I’m glad you got the time to get in such close touch with the healing energy of nature right there in your own front yard!
Hugs!!
Susan G-T, Thanks for that good energy. And yes, sometimes something we would normally see as a “chore” becomes very therapeutic. In the case of my annual “grazing” of our dryland native meadow yard, what’s therapeutic for me is seeing how we’ve transformed our piece of ground from a place colonized by invasive weeds with no interrelationships with the native species to a healthy native community that’s thriving and diverse and full of life…
Sending you softness and light and a blooming miracle. Love! L
Ah, Louella, thank you! A blooming miracle is just what we need…
Oh – how wonderful you got the package sent off – the last I read that was an anxious-filled effort.
Hugs, as always, to you both – and my tulips are blooming – I think of you both when you were here last spring.
Cathy, I love the thought of your tulips blooming again. It’s hard to believe a whole year has passed. What a sweet visit that was, if hurried. Thanks for the hugs–we’re hoping for news this evening. Fingers crossed!
Fingers crossed here too. And crossed again. No literal blooms here since there are no plants, but the dogs are all wiggly in the sun after a brush with winter early in the week.
Keeping faith, sending big love.
P.S. Does Greenlee’s book cover midwest/upper Great Lakes–or wherever it is I live?
Linda, Thanks for those crossed and re-crossed fingers. Today’s cliff-hanger is that the scan discs didn’t include the latest two MRIs, the only ones they really need. So I’ve just spent an hour calling everyone I can think of to see if we can get the scans to UCSF electronically. It may work, and if so, we’ll know something tonight or tomorrow… And yes, Greenlee’s book is for the whole continent, so there’s something there for every region. It’s a beauty, too. Hugs for you, smoochies for the four-leggeds, especially those two big ‘uns.
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