Patience – Waiting for what we do not see.......

Yesterday, I got home at 3:30pm and climbed into bed, fighting my nausea and trying not to lose the small meal I’d eaten just an hour before.  Multiple infusion therapies since January has left me with all the expected side effects that at times pulls and pushes me into dark corners.  My hair and beard loss has transformed me into someone friends don’t recognize till they see my eyes, or hear my voice.  “Bill is that you?”  Many tell me I look younger without my beard, and I have slowly gotten used to seeing the beardless, white-haired man in the mirror each morning.  My fingernails and toenails have become brittle and sore; they have developed ridges and are an unhealthy brown color.  The nail brittleness combined with my neuropathy makes my toenails hard to keep trimmed because of the pain.  My biggest battle is with fatigue, and I’ve started carrying a walking stick which significantly decreases my energy expenditure and has increased my stability.

As I laid in bed yesterday, my meditation and conscious connected breathing exercises steadied my nausea and calmed my stomach.  Soon I had returned to our Vermont vacation and was sitting on the banks of Lake Champlain watching a glorious sunset paint the sky in shades of gold with streaks of orange and red.  In that moment of reflection, I realized it was my patience that blessed me with a golden sky to be framed in my soul forever.  If we had left the banks of Lake Champlain too quick, we would have missed the layering of colors, silhouetted clouds, fishing boats and gently rolling mountains.  Patience billy, this too shall pass, chemo is only a temporary phase that you are passing through.  It is not your life.  I am reminded of Paul’s words in Romans, “But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience”.  Be patient with me. 

Monday MRI Flashback

Monday afternoon, my chemo started late, so by the time I was done I had only 45 minutes to eat and sign-in for my 7:15pm MRI.  The MRI was scheduled for the Radiology Outpatient Center (ROC) that use mobile MRI scanners that reside in huge trucks.  In my multiple MRIs the past nine years, I never had an MRI from the ROC.  The waiting room was beautiful, the staff was very professional and caring, and the best part was I had no wait.  After getting my scrubs on the technician walked me through an outdoor hallway and up six steps into the mobile unit.  Everything looked the same, except the room was just a little smaller, and then the technician told me the test would take 90 minutes, not my usual 45.  When I was comfortable on the MRI bed, he put earplugs in my ears and wrapped my head with a soft material.  The same weird spinning and knocking noises started, but as they got much louder, I was glad for the earplugs. 

Twenty or so minutes into the test, I had my first flashback.  We were riding low in a Huey copter and I could hear the enemy fire at 4 o’clock.  I raised up my M16 and started to yell, “Enemy fire 4 o’clock”, but my arm hit the inside of the MRI tube and the technician ask me if I was okay and I said yes.  Realizing where I was I laid back down and for the next 60+ minutes, I again rode in the Huey, or sometimes I was back in Europe in a huge Chinook helicopter with my feet resting on the biggest nuclear weapons in our arsenal.  Toward the end of the test, I was doing night jumps out of the thin-skinned C-141 where the engine noise was deafening with the jump door open as I watched for the green light and then fell through darkness wondering if I’d ever get time to pray. 

I rode my scooter home with tears streaming down my face; I had gone back to memory moments I had worked hard to push away.  We came back to a country that didn’t want us back.  The first time I wore one of my fatigue shirts, so proud of my Captain Bars and Ranger Tab, someone spit on me.  Forty plus years ago I wrote the poem that follows as I sat on my bed and listened to two friends make a decision that would cost them their lives.  Many of you may never understand the patriotic pride that drove boys like me or like my dad who fought in WWII and Korea to ensure we have the freedom so many take for granted today, but I hope this poem gets you to an edge of understanding. 

Second Tour – Got to Go Back

you what?
“it’s all I know”

you have an electrical engineering degree
“it’s all I can remember”

you worked every summer since you were 15
“it’s all I’m good at”

your crazy
“I can’t leave them alone”

we left too many to count
“I have to go back”

I can’t let you go back
“It’s all WE know”

It’s all we know
“yea, it’s all we know”

shi! – let’s go…….

Chemo Courage and Determination

Maybe it’s the memories of my mother resting her arm on mine as we walked through our backyard garden to enjoy the colors and smells from the camellia, and gardenia bushes fighting to live each day to its fullest as her cancer slowly spread.  Then again, maybe it was my dad’s determination to stay awake in the golf cart we had strapped him and his oxygen bottle into as his prostate cancer took his energy, but not his courage to be with family, giving all of us golf tips as we played on his home course. 

Two Friday’s ago, I was all prepped for chemo and just needed my oncologist approval.  As he entered the treatment room he said, “You look good”, and I felt a pride inside as I thought I was finally getting down the three-week chemo leash.  He looked, listened, and prodded those parts of my body that might be showing signs of chemo distress, and then we moved to my blood work.  I am always concerned about my kidney and liver functions, but those numbers looked good, and then we moved to blood cells and he stopped and shook his head and said, “Your blood is too weak, you can’t have chemo today!”  I was stunned, and asked him “What can I do?”  His answer was rest. 

MaryBeth and I took off the next day for Vermont and cooler weather where we stayed with our good friend Judd Allen, who pampered us with lots of TLC.  For seven days, I didn’t work, open any emails, or write.  Each morning I spent time meditating in a backyard that felt more like a forest, with flowers, and a short walking path to Lake Champlain.  In the afternoons, I napped and at the end of each day, we’d picked a different place around Burlington to watch the sunset.  On Top of Mt. Philo State Park one afternoon looking out at the slowly fading scenic Adirondack and Green Mountain Peaks, an old bare fir tree took center stage.  Feeling the bare trees courage and determination to stand strong as her life force was ending; I felt tears as I drifted back to memory moments with my mom and dad as they passed to me the gift of mindful whole person living and resilience.  What life gifts are you passing on?

Sorry Me Tears

In three hours, MD Anderson’s Interventional Radiology department will start the biopsy of my liver and intrahepatic bile duct.  Yesterday evening I drifted off to sleep with a bright internal smile created by the emails from my healing circle friends sending me lots of love.  Waking early, I thought about this past Saturday and the “sorry me” tears I had felt as I left Walmart with the chair I had bought for my shower.  Months ago, I started drying off, brushing my teeth and putting my suntan lotion on sitting down, for I didn’t have the morning strength to stand that long.  I am now in a place I know it would be safer for me to sit in the shower. 

Sunday, I sat on our lake house pier to watch the sunrise.  It was a perfect morning with the trees silhouetted on the glass-covered lake reflecting the pale blush of morning.  In a blink, it was over as the soft pink blush was swallowed up by the ocean blue sky, and the silhouetted trees slowly turned green.  For a few minutes, I once again fought back the “sorry me” tears thinking about how fast life had been.  As I watched the bold greens of the trees return, I realized how grateful I was to my mom who had taught me early in life to be present for those brief moments that never will be again.  A gift from my mom painted on my soul forever given to all of you today.  What will you do with my gift tomorrow?

Be Well bill – Retirement

Be Well bill – Retirement

It was Christmas eve when I realized I did not have a present for my mom.  She’d been sick, and my denial as a 10-year-old kid that I was so scared every time my dad tried to explain my mom’s cancer that I’d do my best to live in my own little make-believe world.  A world where I’d forgotten about Christmas.  My mother and I enjoyed doing flower arrangement with candles, so that night before my dad put me to bed I worked on decorating a candle for my mother’s Christmas present.  Sleep didn’t come easy, for even at ten-years-old I realized my make-believe world had kept me from giving and receiving my families love, and I so missed the specialness of my mom.  This experience slowly woke within me the need to fully feel life, and over the next eight years I practiced channeling and sharing my feelings with my mom and special people in my life through my poetry and writing.  A practice I continue today. 

Friday, I met with my oncologist to review bone and body scans completed last week.  Looking at the scans it was clear that much of my cancer has remained somewhat stable with tumors shrinking and others growing, but two new lesions appeared in my liver.   Living a metastatic cancer journey, I knew there was always the opportunity that someday my cancer would reach a major organ, but that little ten-year-old scared kid and his safe make-believe world is long gone.  Those of you, who know me well, know my life has always been about possibilities.  Possibilities that explode from the Airborne Ranger deep within me driven by life’s challenges, and the poet that fully feels fear, anger, frustration, happiness, and the love that accompanies life. 

Sunday, as MaryBeth drove us home from the lake house, I looked back and watched the sunset through the side mirror, and was in awe of life’s possibilities.  We decided this weekend I would retire from MD Anderson in January 2017 and begin a new life chapter of possibilities with all of you.        

Spirit Coach

When he walked in, I was sitting by Aurora’s desk talking to Ann.  We hadn’t seen each other for weeks, but I instantly felt the spirit of our comradery return, and I rose for a hug.  He was dressed impeccably, with a blue houndstooth dress shirt and bold tie.  After our hug I sat back down, he asked me “How are you doing?” and I said, “I’m doing okay.”  His reaction was immediate, he raised his finger and pointed it directly at my heart, “You are doing better than just okay, you are doing GREAT!” 

All of us in our life journeys have had spirit coaches who with a few words or a look transform us into who we are to become.  My dad and I didn’t really get close until the end of his life, but throughout our life together he’d give me strength in weak moments, by just placing his hands on my shoulders.  I worked my way through undergraduate school as the head manager of the LSU football team, working for Coach Charlie McClendon.  Coach Mac had a way of bringing the best out of all of us as individuals and as a team.  In the Army, I had a First Sergeant that held me steady through several violent deaths, engaging me to remain a courageous, confident commander

As Craig put his finger down, I stood and said, “Thanks, Craig I needed that!”  Every day each of us has multiple opportunities to be a spirit coach and transform someone by a few words or a look into who they are to become.  Become a spirit coach today. 

Learning to Hang Out

Last week on several days, I put in too many hours at MD Anderson, which meant on those days and the day after; I didn’t have the energy for a real life after work.  This week, I’ve paced myself better and my life after work has brought more shared time for MaryBeth, me and Auggie to just hang out.  Dealing with the fatigue of cancer is a slow learn and very frustrating.  I have strong memories of my mom’s long struggle with cancer and her return from multiple surgeries where she would tell my dad, “Boyd, I just want my life back”.  Toward the end of her life, she gave me some great years and memories I cherish.  Lately, in my dreams, I have watched little Billy Baun as he sits with his mom in the backyard, by the fireplace or space heater, and I begin to feel once again the power of love shared while just hanging out.  Those of you who know me well, know that just hanging out goes against who’ve I’ve been, but I’m learning how to enjoy who I am as I hang out.  How are your hanging out skills?  Maybe you also need some practice – smile.

Visit from an Angel

Tuesdays, I sat on the bench across the sky bridge from the Picken’s entrance waiting for participants to gather for my labyrinth walk.  Some Tuesdays, my labyrinth walk is a class I just teach; however, this past Tuesday, I really needed the labyrinth walk, for I was hurting inside. Last Friday, we had our first death in the Metastatic Healing Circle I attend.  Brooke was the youngest member of our circle and had so much love of life, and so much more of life to live, and her death brought back memories of the violent deaths of young friends I had experienced in the Army in a war few supported.  Then on Monday, I met with my oncologist and we looked at my cancer markers.  Since January, my cancer marker (PSA) has steady risen (10 – 164) suggesting chemotherapy resistance or some of my cancer cells have become resistant to the drugs and my cancer continues to grow, so I was hurting inside. 

As I sat on the bench, I could feel the pressure of the tears behind my eyes, soon I was wiping away beginning tears, and then I felt her presence.  Brooke was an old soul with a big heart; she had a way of connecting that always made you feel special.  She and I sat there for a few minutes, and then an elderly couple approached the bench.  He was pale and thin, you could feel his pain as he slowly sat down on the far side of the bench.  His wife stood by his side with her hand softly on his shoulder.  He slowly turned and looked at me and said, “Are you the greeter?” and I said yes, and then he said, “You two are on the same journey”.  A sky bridge cart stopped by the bench, and as I watched him move from bench to cart I slowly realized what he had said, he had felt her presence.  Today be open to visits from angels that fill our lives with hope.   

Being Our Best

My oncologist warned me that the cabazitaxel chemo would have a bit of a kick, so I was thinking that the first week would be tougher, but the kick lasted the whole three-week cycle.  My walking stamina significantly decreased and last week we had a chair lift added to the stairs that lead to our second floor.  As I taught this month, I found it was helpful for me to sit or lean on a chair or table for my standing strength is low. 

The past few months I’ve been teaching mindfulness in many departments and last Thursday evening I was a guest speaker at the MD Anderson Children’s Cancer Hospital Family Council.  The meeting started at 5:30pm with dinner and I didn’t start speaking till 7pm, so by the time I stood to address the group, I was pretty tired.  When I started speaking, I remember pulling up a chair to lean on, and after describing my metastatic cancer journey, I told them, “I’m pretty tired, and maybe at 65%, no I’m probably more like 55%, but I am going to give you my best 55%.”  As I finished my short talk one mom sitting at the front table, immediately stood, grabbed my hand and with tear-filled eyes said, “thank you, I so needed that”, another mom came up behind her and said, “you were talking to me – right?”, and I said yes.  As my cancer journey has gotten tougher, I’ve learned I can’t be 100% all the time, but I can give my best  no matter what percent my energy it at, and being my best fills my spirit and reenergizes my life blood.  Be you best today, no matter how low your live energy feels!  Be You!  

Heart Saved Experiences

How do you engage or energize your resilience, your internal strength to remain strong and true to yourself throughout each day?  Start in your head and immediately you start thinking priorities, to-do lists, and pretty soon you are ruminating about all the things that have gone wrong.  Start in your heart and you are driven by what’s important in life: life passion, purpose, joy, your beliefs and values, and life lessons from past experiences.  Life lessons are heart saved experiences that define who we will become. 

In graduate school, I worked the odd shifts in the emergency room at Flow Hospital, Denton, Texas.  I remember one of my first shifts as we waited for ambulances returning from a bad accident with serious injuries.  As the doors swung open, and the gurneys rushed in, for just an instant, I flashed back to my first Army medevac ride, with the screams, chaos, and blood.  After that medevac ride, I swore I’d never ride in a medevac again, but I did, again and again – and then I was back in Denton and I was ready, for the Army taught me I was good under fire, good when chaos ruled.  What have you learned through your heart saved experiences that are defining who you are becoming?

Father's Day 2016 Fun

There was way too much excitement at our house on Father’s Day for my grandkids to eat much of the pizza or even the cupcakes.  We not only celebrated Father’s Day, but also a belated birthday we had missed due to our current health challenges.  A favorite activity at our house was MaryBeth’s drums of all shapes and sizes that not only produced lots of noise, but also plenty of smiles as we watch new songs being created by a very young man exploring his courage around music self-expression.  Dog chase was the game of the day, that turned into dog chasing grandkid and lots of laughs, and shrills from dog and grandkids. 

At some point, MaryBeth tried to slow things down with calming kids music on the radio, but when the song changed and she heard the jungle beat she quickly moved her conga drums out of the corner and became part of the percussion celebration.  Kaleb and I celebrated our fatherhood by giving each other the best gift ever by being together and surrounded by those, we love.  I hope you were also blessed with Father’s Day memory moments.       

UT Benefits HR Conference 2016

He was a little older than I was, and was on his fifth treatment of the chemo that I was starting that morning.  We talked about our chemo experiences and the days that were the hardest, and he said that with this chemo it was day six.  Deep inside I immediately felt of wave of anxiety, day six was the day I had the honor to be the lunch keynote at our annual HR Benefit Conference in Austin to hundreds of employees from all 13 UT institutions.  The title of my talk was Engaged Resilience.   

My son drove me us to Austin that morning, and I slept most of the way.  It was a beautiful ballroom with round tables and four giant screens.  The stage had 3-steps, a podium, and table set for a four-person panel.  I’ve never been a podium speaker, I’m a storyteller, so I ask for a lavalier microphone.  After setting up the microphone volume, I approached the steps and Shelly gave me her hand to steady my walk up the steps.  As I looked over the slides and got comfortable with the stage, deep inside I kept wondering if I should ask for a stool or chair, but I didn’t. 

After two amazing introductions, I don’t remember walking up the steps, what I remember is the energy I felt from the audience mixed with my lifetime of passion for life.  Throughout the talk, I had sprinkled heart led stories that still bring too many tears to my eyes, but remind me how I have become who I am, a major theme of the talk.  Then I was on my last slide, and reminding them “that we all have challenging journeys, but they are our journeys and our futures to energize.”  Finally, asking them what, would they do different tomorrow to engage / energize their resilience?  Thursday, June 9 will remain special for many reasons, but the one I will always hold in my heart is it was the first time my son had heard me give a keynote, and on the way home when I was not sleeping we talked deeply about life.  

Swinging on a Swing and Flying High

Several Fridays ago, I received my fifth different chemo since I started my cancer journey.  My last two chemo’s have been infusion therapy, and easy as I relax for several hours as the drugs intravenously enter my body.  During the chemo, I listened to one of my Pandora stations on my IPhone and when I walked out, I still had my ear buds plugged in.  Walking back to my office I stopped on top of the bayou bridge and listened to Neil Diamond sing You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore.  Three lines soaked into my heart, and I remember grabbing the bridge railing as a flood of tears poured down my face.  Three simple lines, “I’ve learned how to laugh / And I’ve learned how to cry….. / You’d think I could learn how’d to tell you goodbye.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.  There are times the reality of the journey is too much, I walked into my building and found an empty space on the second floor to cry.  Through my coaching, I know that all cancer survivors and caregiver feel it; sometimes more on some days, but the fear is there and real.  Slowly the tears stopped, I remember feeling lighter as my faith in life, love, and myself returned.  It was like swinging on a swing.  One moment you feel the weight of life and then as your toes touch the sky, everything drops away as you fly.  That night as I told MaryBeth about my experience, and realized how my low moments ensure I swing out really high, touch the sky with my toes, and fly.  Have you been swinging on a swing enough lately to touch the sky with your toes and fly?

Thank You!

Hope, Emily Dickinson wrote, “Is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops.”

Positivity psychologist Barbara Fredrickson suggests that hope arises when circumstances are dire.  Tonight I remind myself that my hope is real, and with hope, I focus my energy on healing, which energizes my belief in life.  Driven by the possibilities that today has brought through inspirational notes from so many friends I find deep within me the core belief that what is today can change. 

In a few hours, I will head to a CT scan, but I won’t be alone, for I carry all of you with me in that intangible space we share called hope.  Tonight, if I show up in your dreams don’t be alarmed, it’s just me whispering, “Thank you for you being you and sharing a bit of your hope in life with me”.  

Bad News and Hope

        

The results of last week’s blood test came in late Friday, MaryBeth and I were tired so I waited until Saturday morning to tell her the good news that my cancer markers were down and it looked like the new chemo was working.  We were both thrilled since the last few months my markers had quadrupled.  Tuesday morning started with an early blood test and an appointment 2 hours later to meet with my cancer care team and oncologist. 

My cancer care nurse and I talked about my fatigue, pain, any new symptoms, and then she and I looked at the blood test results.  Everything looked better except my cancer marker (PSA) it had gone from a 31 to a 74 in just a few days.  I remember saying, “How could that be, last week they were down 10 points?” and she replied, “It makes no sense, maybe it’s a false positive, when your oncologist comes in, he’ll explain it to you.”  She left and I closed my eyes, could feel my heart beating in my throat, so I did a few deep breathes.  A few minutes later I heard my oncologist knock on the door, he entered with his smile, and the confident eyes and solid handshake I look forward to seeing and feeling at each visit.  He sat down and for a moment didn’t say anything, just stared at the graph showing my increased PSA, and then he looked at me and said, “It makes no sense, do we repeat your blood test, or do body and bone scans?”.  We talked about any new pain, and I told him I was having some upper chest pain that was new, so he immediately ordered a chest x-ray, maybe it had moved into my lungs.  He told me he wanted to wait for one more blood test result, and after the x-ray was read, he’d call me and we’d make a plan. 

We shook hands and I so needed to feel his eyes, and then I realized I had 20 minutes to get to a mindfulness class I was teaching in another building.  After exiting the elevator, I realized I had held my breath the whole ride down, so instead of heading to my scooter I took a few steps and stood in front of the massive Tree of Life sculpture with its whimsical shapes and colors.  A few minutes of mindful meditation and prayer got me out of my head and into my heart, reenergizing my hope.  Several hours later as I took a deep breath, I realized I had touched almost 100 employees with my stories and mindfulness techniques.  As MaryBeth and I lay in bed last night, I took her hand and placed it on my heart, and again I practiced a few minutes of mindful meditation and prayer that sent me to sleep with hope.  This morning, the first song I heard on my Pandora station was Allison Krauss’s When You Say Nothing at All.  The words, “It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart / Without saying a word you can light up the dark / Try as I may I could never explain / What I hear when you don't say a thing”, but it lights up my resilience spirit and hope.  What are your daily practices to manage your resilience spirit and hope?

Wellness Alchemist

Lately, my work at MD Anderson with patients, caregivers, and employees has focused on mindfulness and breathing.  This week as I worked with groups and individuals I realized many of them find the fast pace of life positively exhilarating, but also recognize they are losing pieces of themselves as they bend time just to keep up.  Many have given up or forgotten the transformational power of silent self-time where exploring their inner space leads to awareness, deep understanding, change, and growth.  Yesterday, as I addressed the staff of Internal Medicine, I felt like an alchemist creating new life view possibilities through the breathing techniques I was teaching. 

You are probably wondering if this work has any real impact.  Monday, a young woman standing in the elevator with me said, “Bill, I did what you suggested with my child and husband at our evening prayer time, and started out with the breathing exercises you taught our department, and it deepened our prayer experience together”.  Wednesday, as I waited for my breathing circle to start a faculty member who had been touched by my labyrinth work, sat down next to me.  She handed me a beautiful book on labyrinths as a gift and told me, “Bill you have put me back in touch with my spirituality, thank you”.  Be an alchemist today and reach out and touch someone and change their world!     

Heart Whispers

She was a little older and sat across from me in the waiting room.  When the triage nurse taking vitals called her husband’s name, she had gotten up, but he motioned her to sit down and wait.  He unsteadily rose, holding onto his walker and with the help of the nurse disappeared through one of the hallways.  She watched every step he took, and when he disappeared, I watched her lips move as her “mind whispers” grew louder.  Each time the door opened, she’d rise and then sit back down when it was not her husband.  You could feel her impatience, her fear; it was getting easier to read the mind whispers on her lips. 

My last chemo regimen (Sutent) was hard on me physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  The weaker my body grew the harder it was for me to hold it together. Some nights it felt like a riptide was dragging me across the bottom where I was losing large pieces of me.  One night as I began my riptide nightmare, I heard a faint whisper, a “heart whisper” that had an immediate calming effect and allowed me to step off the treadmill my mind had created.  Shifting your focus from mind whisper to heart whispers is a reboot that gets you back to believing in life!  Hear it, feel it, believe it!

Firefights of Life

A dark sky and the sound of heavy rain drew me to the window right outside my office door, and as I stood, and watched the storm swirl I was instantly back to the early 70s and Ranger School as we walked out of the Florida swamps with Hurricane Agnes pounding on our heels.  This memory moment was not about bad storms, but the firefights we live through and how life trauma becomes a piece of who we become.  We were soaked, dirty, tired, but walking proud, for we had just finished our last phase of Ranger training, but this memory moment was also not about pride, but the huge loss I felt as I watched Vietnam kill off friends.  Psychologists tell us that our past personal memories are guided by our current concerns, goals, and self-concept.  Don’t get me wrong when I say this, but I am learning how to live as I prepare to die.  Those of you who know me well, know that my life is about living as fully as I can “today”, and probably understand how my journey and resilience has been strengthened by the huge heart loss I felt as friends died in Vietnam.  What firefights or trauma have you lived through strengthening your journey, resilience and who you have become?

Being and Healing with Nature

Last Monday started my chemo clock.  Day of chemo all the steroids I received are very energizing, but they also robbed me of a good night’s sleep.  Day-2 I was feeling good, but toward the end of day-3, I was getting tired.  A half-day meeting kept me at work on day-4 (Thursday), but when I finally got home in the early afternoon I immediately had to go to bed.  I had decided to take a PTO day on Friday and MaryBeth and I had decided to drive up to the lake house early, but exhaustion kept me in bed until late morning.  Finally, in the early afternoon, I begrudgingly agreed to head to the lake house for we had friends coming up for the weekend. 

Saturday, after sunrise, I lay in our bed and watched the fog dance through the trees.  A little before 7 a.m., I dressed and walked out to our pier.  I could feel the fog as it encircled my legs, and with each breath, I was drawn deeper into just being in the beauty and natural surroundings.  Research shows the natural environment promotes positive emotions, reduces stress hormones, and boosts our immune system.  Selhub in her book, Your Brain on Nature, outlines emerging nature-based therapies and practical nature-based strategies to enhance life.  My nature-based weekend worked, and yesterday and today I feeling so much stronger.  How do you engage yourself in nature every day?  During my work days, I take a few minutes each day to walk the rose gardens at Clark Clinic, or maybe the labyrinth under the four live oaks at the School of Public Health, or the water garden between the Rotary House and Faculty Center.  Each day be responsible and spend just a few minutes of being and healing with nature as your medicine.  What will you do with nature as your healing partner tomorrow?

Mother's Day Tears from Heaven

My mother knew.  She had heard it in the short talks I practiced with her for civics and speech classes in high school.  She read it in my poorly constructed papers, and poorly written sentences in high school English.  She also read it in the poetry I wrote and sent her in the letters from summer church and Boy Scout camps I worked in Louisiana, Texas, and New Hampshire.  She highlighted the lines of poetry, wrote me encouraging words, bundled these letters, tied them with string and saved them for me as a gift after her passing.  My mom dreamed of me being a preacher.  I never doubted after her passing she watched me as I worked intently for years to put my lessons together for the adult Sunday school classes I taught. 

My dad was too tired when home so we had a hard time connecting for years.  Years after my mom passed, I had an opportunity to speak at a meeting in Baton Rouge about wellness and my dad attended the meeting, it was the first time he had heard me speak.  I remember walking out with him as he tightly gripped my hand, and before he got into his car, he held me tightly and wept.  He knew. 

Most days as I put the final sentences of my blog together I feel tears from heaven streaming down my face as I  realize I am trying to describe life lessons my mom and dad tried so hard to give me before they passed.  But now, I feel tears of joy knowing both, in their own way knew someday I’d not only learn these life lessons but pass them onto others.  When was the last time you experienced tears from heaven from mentors, friends, and family?  Life lessons you have learned and are ready to pass on to others.  Thanks, mom!

Pinched Moments

Tuesday of last week, I met with my oncologist and we decided since my white blood cell count was still low we’d hold off my second round of chemo till today.  Today, my second round was scheduled for 7am so I arrived about 10 minutes early to get an angiocatheter placed in a vein for the 90 minutes of treatment.  By 8am, I realized individuals that had come in after me, were being called in before me, and all the anxiety I held off came roaring back in.  Would this be a half day instead of 90 minutes?  Had they lost the order, or mixed me up with someone else?  We all know the feeling, a “pinched moment” when we lose the power of patience and presence that positively energizes our lives. 

Within a few minutes of reporting my concern to the front desk, a nurse took me to an infusion treatment room, started my prep and the pinched moment disappeared.  As the chemo dripped into my veins I slept and dreamed of another pinched moment I had experienced Saturday at the 5K Sprint for Life run walk.  For many years, I have been the MC at the starting and finishing lines, a role I truly enjoy.  Standing on the stage was an awesome sight, looking down at the thousands of runners and walkers who had come to support and honor women and families with ovarian cancer - I could feel warmth in my heart spread throughout my body. 

I remember calling for the Boy Scouts to Present the Colors.  Then Michelle Reed did a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem, and as she sang, “and the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there”, I could feel the tears streaming down my face as a pinched moment came on.  My experience has been, not all pinched moments are bad, these are moments we live or relive that become pieces of who we are and who we are becoming.  As a soldier in combat, these words held such deep meaning, about all those that had fought and died for me and my freedom, just like the thousands that had lined up to support and honor the individuals and families facing ovarian cancer.  After my chemo, I made a short stop in the Mays Prayer Room, looked out at the garden and gave thanks for pinched moments.  Next time you face a pinched moment feel it in pride, and take a few deep breaths, to bring back the patience and presence that energize our lives.

  

Bravely Believe Bravely Live

My favorite place to teach at MD Anderson is in the simple wood Gazebo on the third floor of Clark Clinic.  It holds about eight chairs inside the Gazebo, and maybe another ten on the outside.  What makes it special is that the minute you step inside it feels like a sanctuary.  Yesterday, I held a morning and afternoon breathing circles in the Gazebo focused on helping patients, caregivers, and employees discover the therapeutic and emotional power of their breath.  After my morning session, I walked around and spent time promoting the afternoon session to departments that were within a short walk.  When I returned to pick up the centerpiece, I had created with a blue Chinese bowl and yellow flowers I found a husband and wife sitting and staring at the centerpiece. 

The husband looked up, “Was this my bowl and flowers?” I told him it was and described how I used it in my breathing circle exercises.  He asks, “Would I lead them through some exercises?”, and after a few minutes of conscious controlled and diaphragmatic breathing, I paused to see how they were doing.  The women said she felt better then ask me if I was a believer, I told her I was and she then told me she was a pancreatic cancer patient and she and her husband had just decided to stop her chemo and decline radiation or any other treatment.  “Her life was now in the Lord’s hands.”  My cancer journey has taught me that we need to believe in our cancer care team, but my importantly we need to believe bravely in our life choices, and bravely live with the potential consequences.  As she talked, I realized we were all looking down at the yellow flowers, flowers bursting with her joy and the reverence of the moment.  Bravely believe – bravely live!

Mindfulness Cues

She had a long dark brown ponytail and soft brown eyes, I had asked her who her life hero was, and she replied without hesitation, “My mom”.  I ask, “Why your mom?”, and as her face lite up she told the story of the courage of a single mom raising a family of three.  We were halfway through a departmental class on mindfulness and we had been talking about how difficult it is to stay mindful as our day unwinds and we so easily stray into the past and future.  I told the class that her mom’s courage is something she now holds dearly and it could serve as mindfulness cue.  Mindfulness cues can be external or internal cues we use to bring ourselves back to being our best at living in the moment.  The last half of the class we made wood bead bracelets designed to be mindfulness cues.  She used black beads for her mom’s hair separated by tiny red beads for the red ribbon that always held her mom’s ponytail.  What mindfulness cues have you set up to be your best at living in the moment?

Getting Out of Our Own Way

There are times in our lives we have to learn how to “get out of our own way” to be creative, happy or to heal.  This is my story.  It starts on a Thursday evening April 14^th as a nurse made me comfortable in an infusion bed and I watched her triple check the chemo I would be given.  She hung several bags from the IV pole, explained one was steroids that would make me feel good that night and the next day, and the other was the docetaxel chemo that would start to drain my energy in a few days.  As I lay in bed feeling the warmth of the infusion flow, I thought if I could organize a project on Friday for the weekend, I would be too busy to be tired.  Leaving the hospital after the infusion I was in a good mood, I had a plan to get me through the weekend, and the next week would be a cinch for I had my teaching, a keynote, an adrenal biopsy, and Friday I would leave for Orlando and the Arts and Science of HP conference.  The past 20+ years I had directed the conference, and was feeling this would be my last, so I had many goodbyes to many good friends.   

Friday, April 15^th, I felt great, rested some, but spent most of the day organizing the tools, plants, and mulch I would need to redo our side garden.  Saturday, I was up early with no time for the fatigue I was beginning to feel.  By late afternoon, I had pulled a ton of weeds, cut bushes, and planted 14, day lilies.  When I finally stopped work, I was exhausted, MaryBeth made me eat supper, but I went right to bed.  Sleep was impossible for my muscle spasms kept up most the night.  Sunday, I slept most of the day, and finally in the afternoon called my oncologists about the muscle spasms.  He told me it was not the chemo, but my muscle overuse. 

Monday, was a flood day, so we all left in the early afternoon and I went home and slept.  Tuesday, I had a webinar to teach, and a luncheon, again I left in the early afternoon feeling weak, went home, and slept.  Wednesday, all the chairs were full at both my breathing circles, and I felt good about my part on an integrative health panel on mindfulness, but by the end of the day, my muscles spasms were back.  That evening, MaryBeth took me to a massage therapist, and walking out I told her, “I’m not sure I can hold me together”.  We got home and my temperature was over 101, after talking to an oncologist she ran to the pharmacy, my fever broke about 3am.  Thursday, I got to work late, about 6:30am and did final preparations for my keynote downtown at 10am.  After the keynote, there were many questions, and I felt good about the talk and my performance but had to rush back to MD Anderson for a noon check-in for a biopsy on my adrenal.  At 6pm as MaryBeth drove me home, I told her to cancel my morning flight to Orlando Friday morning for I was too weak, I would fly out later Friday. 

Friday morning, about 10am, after working for five hours, I was ready to call the airlines and rebook my flight to Orlando.  I was tired, but had a plan, be in Orlando in the afternoon, get a good night sleep and be ready to work the next seven days as the conference director, as I had done the last 20+ years.  Earlier that morning a wellness team member that I had hired 10 years ago, said to me, “Bill, you are too weak, you should skip the conference this year.”  I remember saying to her, “Corinna, when you are my age, you’ll understand why I need to go and say goodbye to friends I’ve had for 30 years”.   United wanted another $400+ for the ticket and $200 for the change fee.  I actually called United twice hoping to get a more sympathetic agent, but after speaking to another agent, I sat with tears streaming down my face.  The whole universe was telling me I was too weak, for weeks everyone had been telling me to rest, but Bill kept getting in my way.  I dried my eyes, and went and told Corinna I was not going, thanked her for her concern, and told her “I would save my goodbyes for another year; I needed to rest and heal”.  When was the last time you needed to get out of your own way to be creative, happy, or to heal?

Arm Saxophone Music

The couple lived near the Chattahoochee River that is the border between Alabama and Georgia, and we talked about our cancer struggles standing in line at the Genitourinary registration desk.  They were also both cancer survivors facing new challenges with their journeys.  As I looked around the waiting room, I saw couples waiting in many different ways.  Some men slept as their wives and families watched anxiously, one couple worked on a crossword puzzle, another tried to keep their grandkids under control reminding them several times to use their inside voices.  MaryBeth leaned on my shoulder, softly wrapping her fingers around my arm gently playing me like a saxophone.  The tune she played and her warmth helped me drift off as I felt the music deep inside “life has a way of working out”.   

In two weeks of flushing out the Sutent targeted chemo, my cancer markers were up and the tumors on my left hip and adrenal gland had grown.  My white and red blood cells counts were too low to start the docetaxel infusion, so we decided to wait a few days and scheduled my first infusion for Thursday afternoon.  My first thought after the delay decision was I had be given a 2-day reprieve and would be 100% present for MaryBeth and her surgery Wednesday morning.  As my oncologists left the treatment room MaryBeth and I stood, hugged, and as she wept, I felt deep inside, “Life has a way of working out”.  When I returned to my office I read an email from a good friend about my spirit of grit and patience, and I felt a smile deep inside “Life has a way of working out”.  Believe in life today!

Hope

Friday night MaryBeth drove us up to the lake house; I was exhausted by a week that seems to go on forever and drained by the intensity of feelings around my body and bone scans.  Many of my scan team members are like old friends and greeted me with smiles, hugs, and words of encouragement.  At some point as I lay on the scan tables with my eyes closed and the machinery whirling around me, I couldn’t help thinking about this journey and how my spirit has been touched and energized by so many of you and the intangible space we’ve shared. After my last scan, a touch on my shoulder brought me back from the forever moment I had slipped into, and as I slowly stood, I smiled as I thought about forever.  Forever / I sometimes dream / was yesterday / and today is the start / of tomorrow / and tomorrow / is what God / gave me hope for.  Where do you get that intangible feeling we call hope?  Me, it is from the intangible space I have shared with all of you.    

The Bell – Hanging Out

Gordon was my next-door neighbor; we were the same age and best friends.  We both loved to play in the ditch behind our houses that drained into the swamp.  His parents had hung a large old ship bell on the pecan tree that shaded their front yard.  When it was supper or bedtime, they would ring the bell and we would come running.  We could hear the bell in most of the places we played like the bamboo growth at the end of our street, or Dead Man’s pond that was several blocks away and at the edge of the swamp.  The neighbors across the street had huge backyards that were our ball fields and led to our elementary school.  Standing at the edge of our elementary school, we could still hear the bell. 

Yesterday, I heard the bell, and I had this image of Gordon and me looking at each other and then running home.  Gordon’s mom was a nurse, tall, thin and constantly smoking.  My mom was a little over five feet tall and very petite.  Both were standing under the pecan tree talking.  When they turned, both Gordon and I said together, “Can’t we hang out just a little longer?”  One of my mom’s favorite poems was Birches by Robert Frost.  The poem is about a farm boy too far from town for baseball and real friends, so he learned to play alone and became a Birch tree swinger climbing to the tops and then flinging feet first with a swish, kicking through the air to the ground. 

As my mom’s cancer journey got harder, she would ask me to read Birches and always had me repeat her favorite line , “I’d like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.”  Today I do body and bone scans in preparation for a meeting with my oncologists on Monday.  The last two weeks I have only been on one oral chemo, washing out the other chemo from my system, so today’s scans will serve as a baseline for the infusion I will start next week.  This week as I have thought about my cancer journey getting tougher, I couldn’t help but think about my mom’s love for the poem Birches and her need to get away for a little while, to swish back and begin again, but then I heard the bell, and heard myself say, “Can’t I hang out just a little longer?”

It Only takes One Smile

Tuesday’s has become my day to led two labyrinth walks on the labyrinth that sits underneath four large live oaks trees next to the School of Public Health.  Our sky bridge sits right next to labyrinth, so I stand on the bridge and as employees, patients, caregivers, or visitors walk by I tell them about the labyrinth walk.  This week I have also been leading breathing circles where I use a centerpiece of balancing rocks surrounded by flowers, so Tuesday, I placed the centerpiece at my feet as I promoted the labyrinth walk on the sky bridge.  The centerpiece brought many questions and smiles. 

A pale, yellowish child with a bandage circling her head who was in a wheelchair pushed by her dad slowly passed by, her eyes stared at the centerpiece, and then she raised her head met my eyes and gave me a big smile.  Inside I could feel a smile grow that spread onto my lips and then my whole face.  Thich Nhat Hanh has taught us that, “Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.”  As I watched her wheelchair turn the corner and disappear, I felt joy tears forming in my eyes.  Such a small sick child shared a smile that immediately brought us both joy.  Share your smile with a stranger and let joy transform the world. 

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

As I look in the mirror in the mornings, even more so now, I see my dad and it feels good having morning conversations with him.  Diagnosed with prostate cancer when he was 74, it took only a few years for him to need chemotherapy, which like me turned his hair and eyebrows a soft white.  My favorite picture of my dad is in 1935 when he was 21 and sitting on the back of his Packard convertible with a big grin and cool sunglasses.  Dad had a playful side he kept all his life that so many others lose as work, responsibilities, life challenges and disappointments begin to drain who they are or who they will become.  Several months before he died, he had us strap him and his oxygen bottle into a golf cart so he could watch us play 18 holes. 

Saturday, as I stood in my morning shower, I heard him call, “Billy”.  I hadn’t heard his voice for almost 25 years, but I had no doubt it was him.  I stood in the shower and cried joyful tears.  Next week I will start my chemotherapy and it felt so good to hear his voice, reminding me how he grinned through his chemo journey and never gave up hope.  What do you see when you look in the mirror in the mornings?  Maybe more important is what conversations are you having with what you see? 

Rhythm of Rest

What’s your rhythm of rest?  Do you take enough walks to sacred places?  Watch enough sunsets as dusk kisses the day goodbye?  Get up early enough just to watch the sunrise and feel the eternal promise found in a new day?  Do you mess enough outside to be grateful for all the colors that surround us, the new greens painted against the Texas blue sky?  Do you read enough books that bring on a good cry?  Write enough snail mail letters to friends just to tell them how much you care?  Take enough pictures with your phone or camera and saving and sharing these memory moments?  Do you do spend enough time in silence and stillness to feel your breath?  Do you smile and laugh enough with family and friends to feel the never ending life of love you’ve been given?  Are you sharing and passing on your rhythm of rest to others?    

Gone to the Woods to be Lovely

Lynn Ungar poetry touches our hearts because it speaks of what it means to be human and dwell deep within ourselves as we experience the miracle we call life.  Last night I walked through dreams filled with the fresh smell of rain, a woods filled with colors only rain can bring and Calla Lilies proudly lifting their heads up to heaven.  This morning several lines of Ungar’s poem Camas Lilies played repeatedly in my head, “And you – what of your rushed and useful life?  Imagine setting it all down - papers, plans, appointments, everything - leaving only a note: Gone to the fields to be lovely.  Be back when I’m through with blooming.”  If only our journeys could be that easy.  Last weekend I planted a row of Day Lilies against the University Blvd. side of our house, and when done I could feel tears of joy as I imagined the beauty of their blooms washed by a soft summer rain.  If only my journey could be that easy.     

Attitude

Yesterday, an MD Anderson friend who I had not seen for a while stopped me in the hallway and asked for a hug.  After the hug, she held onto my hand and said, “I know your cancer journey is getting tougher, but your spirit and attitude helps so many of us keep it together.  If there is anything I can do please just holler.”  I walked away thinking about my attitude and how throughout my life I’d been lucky enough to have others step in and help me develop the life attitude I have today.  We know that our attitude changes minute by minute, but what’s your life attitude?  Are you a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty person?  Think back to those memory moments shared with others that helped develop the attitude you have become.  Now think about sharing more positive life moments as an attitude adjustment for you and others.   

Holding On Letting Go

It was a beautiful Easter weekend.  Saturday I worked in the garage sorting through boxes and storage bins that hadn’t been opened for years and quickly filled up a trash can with things that should have been tossed long ago.  Sunday, the Easter service music kept me in tears, and the resurrection lesson left me deeply thinking about my own life resurrections, transformations and being empowered by choosing to “be” and live as a child of the light.  But “being” takes a balance that I’ve struggled with most my life for my Enneagram type is a two, The Helper, warm-hearted, empathetic, friendly, generous and self-sacrificing.  Over the years, I’ve learned it is so easy to lose myself, my challenges or pain by helping others. 

Monday, as I rode my scooter into work, I stopped on the bayou bridge, looked up at the waning gibbous moon, and realized if I was to heal, I needed to give myself more time.  Rumi’s words, “Life is a balance of holding on and letting go”, has fluttered around me like a butterfly the past few years, a sign for me to embrace life differently.  Last year I said goodbye to my friends at National Wellness Institute after a 30-year love relationship.  Yesterday, I wrote the board of directors at IAWHP (AWHP, AFB, Fitness in Business) and resigned my board position.   This was hard to do.  IAWHP is an Affiliate Society of the American College of Sports Medicine, the first professional organization I had joined in 1978 as a young doctoral student.  As a member of IAWHP, I have written multiple chapters in books the organization has published, and in 1992 was one of three authors of the industry best seller Guidelines for Employee Health Promotion Programs.  In 1988, AFB awarded me their Exceptional Leadership Award, and in 1991, AWHP recognized me with Fellow status.  Resigning from my board position was letting go of an almost 40-year passion. 

When first diagnosed with cancer, I felt like I had to cram as much as I could into each minute, hour and day.  As I crammed more into my days, I slowly learned that cramming left no time for living and the practice of being.    Yesterday, I took another big step toward making more space for my need to be and heal.  Let Rumi’s words flutter into your life as you consider how to better balance holding on and letting go.         

Transformation & Rod McKuen

It was the summer of 1967; I had just graduated from high school and was going to spend the summer in New Hampshire working at a YMCA camp.  The love of my life, my mom, was losing her battle with cancer, and I knew deep inside my life was would never be the same.  Rod McKuen’s songs and poetry about love and loneliness had kept me company for many years and on the plane ride to New Hampshire the tears flowed as his lyrics “If you go away on this summer day….” played again and again in my head.

Have you ever had a moment when you wished you could be someone else?  Sitting on the plane with tears streaming down my face I so needed to be someone else.  When the camp director picked me up at the airport, I told him “this summer I need to find a new me, and I was going to be Shawn McDowell, not Billy Baun”.  In his wisdom, he recognized and honored my need, and that summer everyone knew me as Shawn McDowell, a kid from Louisiana.  The kid that mosquitos didn’t bite, was not afraid of snakes and wrote to his mom almost every day.

Today, I sat with my oncologist and studied the body and bone scans that showed my cancer had spread to several new places on my backbone, right adrenal gland, ribs, and the tumor on my left hip was larger.  April 11^th I will start chemotherapy by infusion one-treatment every-three-weeks.  As I sat listening to my oncologist talk about the potential side effects, for just a moment I was back in New Hampshire with Shawn McDowell experiencing life as he learned to open Billy’s heart.  As I walked out, Rod McKuen’s lyrics played again in my head, “But if you stay / I’ll make you a day / Like no day has been / Or will be again”.   Billy was back and his love of life and passion for experiencing every day fully brought the promise of living mindfully through an open heart, no matter the journey.  Are you having moments you wish you could be someone else?  Stay you, mindful of making your days, like no days have been, or will be again.  

Purple Iris and Healing

The third day of my Healing Circle meeting the group from Vancouver called Callanish, whose mission is to “create a healing space for people who have been irrevocably changed by cancer”, held a grief circle.  As the circle started, I remembered too quickly flag draped caskets and coming back to a country tired of war where veterans who had been through too many horrific experiences stood on street corners begging for food.  Steve and I had served and as the memories resurfaced, I cried and trembled, Steve wrapped his arms around me as Janie held my hands.  Only one other time had I come close to doing the deep soul work to unleash these demons, but the circle experience started deep healing that spread as the day progressed. 

After the circle, I remember walking to the cliffs, drawn by the thunderous sound of the waves as they crashed onto the sand.  The light rain mixed with waves of tears dripping down my face, and as I tried to wipe the waves away, I found I was not alone.  Clumps of purple iris stood around me linking the ocean with the sky, heaven and earth, and reminded me of my forever link to warriors like me.  Words from Marcel Proust (1871-1922), in his book The Prisoner; have become infamously paraphrased, “The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new sights, but in looking with new eyes”.  That day on the cliffs, as the waves roared far below, and overwhelmed by the deep soul work I had shared the purple iris became symbols of faith, wisdom, bravery and friendship giving me new eyes and deepening my healing.  Look with new eyes this week and heal.       

What's Your Cramming Style

March has been “Vege Out” Month as our team promotes eating more vegetables and chill out or vegging out to increase the effectiveness of your daily de-stress efforts.  Today we set up a Frisbee Golf course on our prairie from 10am – 2pm.  We had four holes and 20+ Frisbee’s of all colors.  A healthy mix of forty-one employees participated representing faculty, nurses, research coordinators, and facility personnel.  I have no doubt that next weeks Frisbee Friday will bring over 100 players looking for a little fun during their break from work.

About 15 individuals walked by and would say, “no time” and walked off with their heads buried in cell phones trying to read / answer emails and unaware of the new colors splashed across the prairie or the Texas blue sky dotted with big white fluffy clouds.  Wayne Muller in his book Sabbath talks about how our relentless busyness and drive for success has seduced us into cramming more into our lives.  Through cramming more in, we’ve lost the essential rhythm of rest and have forgotten the reenergizing power of still and silent moments.  As we bubble over with too much, life becomes more urgent than it really is, and we stop making memory moments as our mindlessness spreads.  This weekend consider your cramming style, and next week add reenergizing moments of stillness and silence every hour.  Start living and experiencing life fully again!