Embracing Survivorship at Canyon Ranch Tucson

I spent four days at Canyon Ranch Tucson for the PVOLVE Strength for Life retreat. PVOLVE is a fitness methodology that has become a vital part of my life and an underpinning of my survivorship.

I reflected on all of the elements of this weekend and how they relate to survivorship, mine and yours. And here’s the thing… there were many tangible items like clean eating, smoothies, juices and ginger shots. There was cold plunge and sauna and Ammortal Chambers. There was an endless list of spa treatments to soothe from head to toe. Assessments and classes and sound baths…. And all of them added together can make for a healthier person. The beauty and peace and vitality I found in all of it will continue to carry me forward. But my RISE moment came in the realization that my survivorship doesn’t solely hinge on any of these one specific things.

The evening before our departure, at the end of an hour long Recovery session, I lay on the floor, in the dark, letting the music flood over me and tears began to stream down my face; it hit me that my survivorship has been built on the allowance and passage of time. An overwhelming gratitude to be given each day, month, and year filled my heart. Time is the foundation for which I have been able to rebuild and rise.

Three years ago this very weekend, I couldn’t be more than 10 feet away from a toilet. A crude statement, but I was in the throws of the first few weeks after an ileostomy reversal. The thing that I am most impacted by, even three years out, is that a whole foot, 12 inches of my colon and upper half of my rectum, were removed and my body has had to adjust.

The first few weeks post ileostomy reversal were the darkest moments of my life. I was housebound, losing weight, in need of adult diapers, completely isolated and alone. My first post operative appointment revealed to my surgeon just how badly I was doing and I was put on a strong regimen of Imodium and Lomotil, a prescription anti-diarrheal drug. I remember him saying that it could take 3-5 years for my colon and rectum to function somewhat normally again. And I remember thinking, “I don’t have that kind of time! I’ve got to get back to my life, to my work! I am cancer-free but limited in what I can do and this is so unfair.”

So it’s kinda ironic, kinda unbelievable and I have to kinda chuckle as I write, that three years later, my body has healed so much that I can get on an airplane for a 4 hour flight, by myself, and go somewhere I have never been, where I know no one and spend a weekend working out multiple times a day, eating whatever I would like, whenever I would like, go swimming, spa-ing, cold plunging and hot tubbing and do it all without being overwhelmed by fear of an accident or an embarrassing incident.

Day by day, I have taken small steps to get better, sometimes wishing my body to hurry up, for time to pass, so that I could just get better already.

Year over year, I have watched my body get stronger, my digestion stabilize, my energy return, my neuropathy subside, my hair get long, and my ability to face everything and rise get broader. And that is what we all want, more time to be us, to get stronger, healthier and to rise.

Laying on that studio floor in Tucson Arizona, surrounded by strangers who quickly became friends, giving thanks for my body and its awesome ability to endure and to heal, I reflected on that odd juxtaposition of what more time can give us and wanting it to hurry up and pass to get to where we want to be more quickly. My struggle of living in the moment, of not taking time for granted, for living as fully as I can, but always thinking about the future and wanting to get there quickly was front and center.

Survivorship is riddled with these dichotomies and understanding that two things can be true at once is a huge part of recovery. Survivorship is giving ourselves the grace to allow time to work its magic, and to know that we don’t have to force things to happen more quickly than needed. Time will help us face everything and rise.