Happy NED Year!
It's been a while! That's because I've been soaking in and
integrating some very big and very happy news...
Loved Ones,
I just wanted to check in briefly with what feels like really good news.
After a couple of really challenging years — a dance with cancer that included major surgery, brutal chemotherapy, and months of uncertainty with irregular scans ever-trending in the right direction but stopping just short of the longed-for resolution of “complete remission” — it finally happened.
I went in this November for another CT scan… and at long last...
It was NEGATIVE!
I’ve been looking forward to bringing this vision to fruition and sharing this news with you since my formal treatment ended well over a year ago — and now that it has come, I feel pretty speechless. Only gradually has it begun to truly land for me that my prayers have been answered.
Perhaps that is why it has taken me so long to share the big news. I have needed some time for it to sink in. (That, and the last few months, since my summer vacation with Satya, have been really busy, with my return to working full-time.) I’ve been wanting to write to you all autumn — to tell you about our big father-daughter trip to Europe, my return to work, my more recent healing journey to Brazil, and other big developments — but months have passed in the blink of an eye, and here we are in a new year.
It's already a pretty great one!
I may need to content myself with playing catch-up in my forthcoming annual letter and doing my best to “go back and fetch” any additional offerings I’ve missed sharing with you these last months. For now, though, the main thing I’d like to share is a major sigh of relief and a joyous “hooray” to be alive! It is not something I can convey easily with words — but it feels like we made it.
While I've gone ahead and written a big post to celebrate the occasion, this message, in brief, is one of celebration and gratitude! I am filled with joy to be alive in this moment, I feel great hope for the future, and I give thanks for this community of love and support that witnessed and lifted me in my darkest hour.
I remember it all — and I thank you.
I have been aware of being largely out of touch with many of you since this summer — since around the time of my June scan and ensuing transatlantic voyage with Satya — and I’ve felt some regret about not reaching out sooner. Life has been moving pretty rapidly since then.
In my last dispatch, I pledged to share stories and photos of our big trip (a.k.a. my “I’m Still Alive” European tour) — and indeed I shall! — but the last season has also been among the fastest-paced in recent memory. The urgency of my desire to post something was often surpassed by the daily exigencies of life itself.
This fall, a major theme in my life was finding a new balance (and struggling to do so!) while getting back into the swing of full-time work. That balance included a lot of busy-ness and responsibility, and it also included a lot of joy and presence in each moment. But since the summer, it hasn’t included a whole lot of pausing to write or update my community on my ongoing healing journey.
Things got away from me for a moment there. I was plunged very abruptly back into a world of duties that I hadn’t needed to focus on during my illness and recovery — chief among them, trading untold hours for my daily bread — and I regret that a few of my cherished practices like posting these updates (...and going to the gym) temporarily fell by the wayside.
Just days after getting home from Europe, Satya and I were both back to school. She was starting fourth grade, I was beginning a new role at work, and in the midst of it all, the appeal of spending extra time at a computer was minimal.
But in this moment, and in light of the results of this latest scan, it is my great honor and happiness to look at this screen while writing these joyous tidings.
The scan — which took place in early November — showed what I already knew to be true:
I am well.
When I finished chemo over a year ago, I was hesitant to celebrate. The trauma of my diagnosis and recurrence had conditioned me to fear unwanted outcomes. And with that one renegade lymph node taking so long to return to normal size, I didn’t feel like I could truly declare victory.
But I am beginning to realize that there is just as much power in sharing good news as there is in reaching out for support in moments of greatest difficulty. As the old Scandinavian saying goes, “Shared grief is half-grief; shared joy is double-joy.” I made some real strides in developing my ability to share grief over the last couple of years. Now, I get to practice sharing happiness.
So here I am, doubling my joy by celebrating with you this moment of triumph.
Breathe it in....
We made it!
Of course, I humbly sustain a prayer that all future scans will remain negative as well — and I thank you in advance for seeing this outcome along with me.
According to the plan, my next scan will be in May, then another in the coming fall, and then (assuming continued negative results), we'll scale back to annual surveillance. After five years of clean scans, conventional medicine will say I’m “cured.”
For now, I’ll take the win and enjoy the new designation of “complete remission.”
It feels pretty great!
And while grown-up responsibilities and momentary distractions daily abound, I remain as committed as ever (and more!) to remembering and consciously embodying the essence, the preciousness of life, the eternal truth to which I was so directly exposed when the Angel of Death felt so near.
It feels like a major challenge (indeed, perhaps it is the challenge of a lifetime!) to remain true to oneself, to stay faithful to one’s deepest values and highest vision, while simultaneously walking in the material world, providing for oneself and one’s family, finding a way to afford housing and healthcare and food.
How, through it all, do we remain guardians of our own joy, warriors of light, lovers of life, strong and capable kings and queens of our personal realms?
Achieving liberation is one thing.
Maintaining it is something else entirely.
The scary moment happens — the loss, the diagnosis, the accident — and we see the light. We know what matters. Love! Family! Joy! Giving our gift fully! Expressing ourselves fully! Living life fully! Every sacred breath! The blessing of every morning we’re fortunate enough to open our eyes! The essence! The essence! The essence!
And then, over time — if you are lucky enough to survive the trauma — the creeping sense of forgetting attempts to return. The mundane. The bills. The stuff, and the money to get it, and all the time and life energy we sacrifice to get that. The inessential swells. The essence retreats. The light seems to dim.
And that — that process of remembering of the essence, that act of finding ways to daily expand in our awareness of what matters most, that grand adventure of molding our lives to reflect what we really value — is where the real work lies.
I most certainly have a long way to go in this. I have compassion for myself — and I also feel pretty disappointed with the relatively little writing I’ve done lately (be it on my book, in my journal, or in these newsletters and my blog). But I’m willing to own my lapses, acknowledge the learning experience, and course-correct accordingly.
Sometimes, that’s all we can do.
Since the focus of this post is sharing the celebration of my good news with you, I’ve chosen not to pepper this email with invitations to donate to my healing fund (as I’ve customarily done since starting this email list). But I also feel obliged to share that my fundraising is likely far from over.
While I am glad to have gone back to receiving paychecks this fall, I’ve depleted all of my emergency savings and most of my “building the dream” future fund. I also lost my job unexpectedly a few weeks ago (a new trauma I'll be unpacking in future posts), so... suffice it to say, donations remain welcome.
Maybe I’ll actually be able to own a home here in my community someday — but for now, I’ll settle for being able to afford my rent (which was just raised by $100 a month) and healthcare expenses (which will continue to cost thousands of dollars annually and over $25,000 minimum over the next five years, as long as I’m getting these scans). Yay capitalism!
For real, though.
This moment is for celebration of life.
This moment is a sprinkling of confetti, a blow on a kazoo, a big hug and a high five.
I feel grateful to have made it to this point — and I remain aware that to reach the next peak will require additional effort on my part. It will also, inevitably, benefit from solidarity and support from my community. So again, I thank you.
In complete, enduring remission,
With no evidence of disease whatsoever,
I remain,
Your friend on the path,
Nils
On Zoom with Mom after meeting with my doctor about the good news!
