We enjoyed some
great hikes around Kauai in January. I remember Harold commenting that we
didn’t need to travel to Hawaii to enjoy those kinds of adventures. After all,
we live in Colorado. We agreed to explore our own state and decided to start training
right after Harold recovered from his February 1st brain surgery. Then it became necessary to have two surgeries
and the month quickly passed in a healing fog.
But recovery has
included walks, first around the block, then through the neighborhood. Two
weeks ago we took a two and a half mile walk on the bike path nearby. It was a
beautiful day and it felt good to be out. We were just at the halfway mark and ready
to head home when I remembered the plan we’d proposed in Hawaii. “Hey, aren’t
we supposed to be in training for some hikes this summer?”
“Yes,” Harold
responded with a grin that made me realize he hadn’t forgotten. He’d been
walking every day, sometimes twice a day. I just hadn't always accompanied him. A bit
chagrined I proposed that this day would be the official launch of our Training
for Colorado Hiking Adventures project. Harold agreed.
Newly energized, I found myself humming a tune long stored in the
vaults of early childhood memory.* It was wistful
nostalgic song I associated with family reunions, mountain valleys, wildflowers, and aspen trees.
As I walked it took on the cadence of a march. Somehow it seemed appropriate.
There's a long, long trail a-winding
Into the land of my dreams . . .
I shared the story of the song then we got so caught up in planning our project that I paid little attention to the act of walking until I noticed a shift in Harold's gait and stepped behind to observe. His upper body was listing strongly to the right and his arm hung stiffly at his side.
Click. The clues came together and I
knew what was happening: swelling in Harold’s brain. I’d previously noted
increased sleepiness during the day, a slight unsteadiness in his walk and more
searching for words but those changes came on gradually, subtly. This tilting of the body was
not. It had been a week since Harold had tapered off the medication used to
control post surgical swelling – enough time
for a rebound.
We made it home, safe but tired. I
contacted his surgeon’s office and within the hour Harold was on medication
again. By the next morning there was marked improvement and by the second day all
symptoms were gone. And so it goes. We had another slight rebound today and are addressing it
with medication.
Training has continued but at a
slower pace. We spent last week in Idaho where we enjoyed country walks and leisurely talks with family. We were there to spend time with my dad, who at ninety-four is slowing down, perhaps approaching the end of the trail.
Saturday morning we were finishing
breakfast in Dad's farmhouse kitchen when Harold looked up at the clock and
remarked, “It’s 9:30 am. Exactly one year ago I was sitting in
a neurologist’s office listening to the result of my brain scan. I started
hearing words like ‘cancer’ and ‘tumors’ and was still scrambling to process their meaning when I heard my doctor suggest I get my affairs in order. He instructed me not to drive . . . and told me he was sorry.”
March 16th was the anniversary of that diagnosis and the moment our lives took a new path. It was particularly poignant for Harold to think of that day and of the many many days since: To remember the kindness of his colleagues at work who, upon learning of his diagnosis later that day, escorted him home. To remember the many who joined us in fasting and prayer before his first surgery and have kept him in their prayers through the year. To think of you who've journeyed with us through this blog, exercising faith during the rough times and returning thanks and rejoicing at the miracles. It is wondrous to reflect on these blessings.
We look back on the year with
gratitude for every minute. We look forward to the future with faith. I smile when I think of our trail, and hope like the words say, it's a long, long one.
*"There's a Long, Long Trail" was a popular song during World
War I written by Stoddard King and Zo Elliott. Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby sang it as a duet
on radio in the 1950s. I asked my
Dad about the song. He remembers hearing his parents and relatives singing it
when he was a small child and I guess the song stuck in the family repertoire
through the next two generations, at least enough to plant the melody of the
chorus in my head.