Greetings, Family,

The big week of round three is now in the books.

It wasn’t easy and it packed a few surprises, including an unplanned trip to the emergency room. But soon, after two more weekly infusions and a couple weeks of recovery and inner work, I’ll be getting a CT scan to inform my next steps.

I’m hoping next week's email will be non-medical in nature, as I’ve got some different content that I’m looking to share. But for now, I offer a humble update on my progress.

This last week felt pretty major. With five consecutive days of five-hour infusions, Round 3 has easily been the most difficult yet in terms of yucky side-effects and physical discomfort. But with Satya, my mom, and the HUGE bonus of my sister Renee here with me, Round 3 has also been the sweetest, deepest, and most powerfully healing.

On the eve of my birthday, last Sunday night, I hosted a little healing ceremony with family on my back porch. I can’t begin to describe all that mystically transpired, as generations came together in a circle and shared from the heart — but there was a moment I need to at least attempt to share.

Satya and I took this photo of the shattered candle before taking down the altar.

We had just done a round on letting go, with each participant in the ceremony taking their turn to release something written on a piece of paper into the candle burning in the center of the circle, surrounded by healing crystals. Naturally, I was releasing any and all dis-ease. But we were also letting go of judgement, scarcity, addiction, and all manner of fear.

People did some profound sharing, and then I sent the sage around. And just as the cleansing herb made its way back to the altar — CRACK! —the candle’s glass vessel completely exploded, spilling its waxy contents into the bowl below.

Soon after, as we lit the sweetgrass and did a round on the things we are calling in. Satya had the best quote of the night.

She asked, “What’s the difference between health and wealth?”

What, indeed?

Photo from a 2020 paddle boarding adventure on the Russian River.

A new prayer

The next day, when I spoke with my doctor (as I described in last week's post), I learned that things are looking good in my blood and in my latest scan. Depending on how things stand next month, they may suggest another round of chemo, but we are making great progress and responding well.

What I didn’t mention in my last post — because I’ve needed some time to integrate it for myself — is that they also may recommend a surgery to remove some lymph nodes along with any benign mass (or “teratoma”) that may remain following treatment. This means that I am working on a new prayer.

Whatever may be on the horizon, I will do what is most medically prudent and conducive to my living a long and healthy life.

And.

I am also creating that this cancer is gone permanently, in full and lasting remission, without a trace of anything unwanted remaining to remove.

It’s a bit difficult for me to grasp. Apparently, cancer recurrence is lower in cases where they remove nodes (so, by that logic, remove away!) — but I also have this sense that I have lymph nodes for a reason (…right?)

I suppose the question is, what would result in the most life-serving conditions over the long term? And I suppose that is all a few steps down the road, not quite here and now.

Family excursion to Bodega Head — feeling good before the weekend surprise.

Heaven on earth

I did my best to be strong last week. I was grateful to receive some healing touch and acupuncture to help cope with side-effects, but the nausea and general physical unpleasantness was pretty gnarly. Little moments of family togetherness, like seeing Satya bake cookies with my sister, really went a long way to sustain me.

Finally, we made it to the weekend. Saturday flew by with labs and errands and an afternoon walk, and the week culminated on Sunday with a journey to the coast — a lovely, if foggy, day at Bodega Head with Mom, Ne, Satya and Phoenix.

After our time by the ocean, we dropped Satya off with her mom to attend a birthday party — and when the rest of us made it home, I was exhausted.

I had a little breakdown that night.

I took a bath, where I finally felt compelled to research some of the things that the doctor had mentioned when we had met earlier in the week. Apparently, after chemo for testicular cancer, follow-up surgeries to remove lymph nodes are rather common. No one had told me this yet, and I was feeling frustrated and scared. I’ve been making friends with fear all along, but now, in addition to concerns over cancer recurrence and death, I had a growing fear of losing (and, simultaneously, of keeping) these nodes.

I had spent all week taking things one step at a time, which I think is the wise thing to do as often as possible — but now I couldn’t help but wonder, what comes after Round 3?

I got dressed and stepped out on the porch. I was crying, feeling into whatever may be coming around this next bend in the river. And when I came inside, knowing I needed a hug, my mom and sister held me, beautifully, through my fear and sadness. We all held each other, in tears of grief and gratitude, this little primordial unit, more connected than ever before.

It was one of the dearest and most tender moments of my life.

As we all lay on the sofa bed together, my sister observed aloud: this is what heaven must be like. This was heaven on earth.

She was right. Even with all the things that I have feared, and all the physical discomfort that I’ve had to go through, I feel so incredibly lucky to be blessed with this family and this life.

Renee also offered a much-needed reminder. First, that I’m not going anywhere. And second, that anything else that comes up along the way is just a hurdle that I will get over, one at a time.

My three girls - Satya, Mom and Nene — have really made this difficult week as sweet as can be.

Weekend surprise

As our tears began to subside, it became clear that, an hour after my bath, I was still pretty warm. At first I thought it was just the emotional release — we were certainly burning something up over here — but in the process, my body temperature had gone up to over 100.5°, into the realm of “call the doctor.”

I cooled myself down with a couple Tylenol and a moist washcloth, and I ultimately got to bed and rested well — but when I woke up again Monday morning, the fever was 101.5°. I phoned the on-call physician and she told me to come to the emergency room just to be safe. So that day, instead of a quick routine infusion, I got to experience a long and trippy sojourn in the emergency ward of Marin General.

Chemotherapy, in addition to wiping out cancer cells, can have the effect of temporarily suppressing a patient’s immune system. During this time, there is a strong concern about potential infection, which is why they take fevers so seriously in the chemo community (the chemmunity, if you will).

So out of an abundance of caution, we took an early morning drive down the 101 and my family bid me farewell as I went through the sliding doors reserved for patients only.

In pretty short order, I had an IV in each arm and a nurse drawing out a number of blood samples to perform various cultures, plus a bunch of electrodes connected to my chest, a blood oxygen clip on my finger, saline and antibiotics dripping into my bloodstream, another nurse wheeling a bulky machine into the room to perform a cautionary chest x-ray, and all manner of cord and tube enveloping me as I lay in the brightly lit room trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Then I got to spend the next few hours just laying there. Did I meditate? Maybe a little. And I started drafting this message. But I mostly watched Outer Banks. I was exhausted and it felt like the compassionate thing to do.

By early afternoon, I was cleared to leave. My blood counts were pretty good and all of the cultures had come out negative. The broad-spectrum antibiotic they gave me would work on any little random bacteria that may have infiltrated my system. I was invited to go home and take it easy.

So here I am, looking back on two of months of treatment, looking ahead to the great unknown, and returning to the blessed pace of one step at a time.

I’ll have some time and space in these next few weeks to do some non-chemo-therapy — to really listen in and focus on my own radical remission story and let in whatever healing wants to come. But it all starts with this moment.

And as I advance toward the next bend in the river, I am asking spirit, can this please just be lifted?

Can all of the cancer please just be gone?

Can I please just go on to live a long and healthy life of inspired service, with all of the new understanding and insight that this chapter has given me?

I am transformed for life. I am ready for this experience to inform a lifetime of new healthy choices and aligned behavior.

I just desire so much to be feeling better, to be on the other side of this ordeal, celebrating with you.

In fact, I desire it so much... I can feel it now.

And if there are hurdles to clear in the meantime, by all means, I'll clear them.

So much love,

Nils

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