Grand Canyon National Park - Day
5
Cottonwood to Indian
Gardens
Gab:
 I am a cancer survivor. I know that at least one out of ten Americans
can (fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you look at it) can say the
same thing. I don’t think I am anything special. I don’t necessarily feel good
when people say that I “beat” or “conquered” the disease because to me that
implies that all of my friends who didn’t somehow fell short, or maybe didn’t
fight as hard as they could. I know that’s not the case.
Having cancer has shaped who I am. It is a part of my identity. But it is not
My Identity. There are people that have known me for years that had (have?) no
idea that I was once really sick. It’s not that I avoided the issue. I just never
thought to mention it.
There are times when I am reminded, sometimes gently, sometimes like a punch
to the gut, that being in remission from cancer does make you different. One of
those times was climbing the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu where oxygen is already
scarce because of the high altitude. Scar tissue over my lungs and diminished
lung capacity, two leftovers from cancer days, combined with the physical
exertion to make me feel like I was going to die. Seriously die. Thank God for my
patient husband who climbed ¼ mile back down the trail to retrieve the
blubbering, shuffling mess that I let myself become.
That entire day I was feeling sorry for myself, constantly reminding myself
that I had serious disadvantages over the rest of the people on the trail. That
may or may not have been true. I used my cancer as a crutch and clearly it wasn’t
a very good one because it didn’t get me very far. Michael’s perfect walking
stick ™ would have worked much better.
That was four years ago. I am much stronger, physically and mentally now. I
know that there is probably nothing I will do that will be more physically
challenging than the Inca Trail. It is my benchmark. As in, “Is this as hard as
the Inca Trail? No? Then keep moving!” That’s my toughy inner voice, which shares
space with my not-so-tough inner voice and the virtual jukebox in my head when I
hike.
My not-so-tough voice was getting ready to note her objections to the
switchbacks that steadily lead the way up to Indian Gardens, our next camp, when
I had to step aside and make way for a mule train that was coming down the trail.
I glanced up from my boot-gazing stance to say hello and found myself looking at
at least twenty women wearing Race for the Cure t-shirts astride the mules. Some
had short spiky hair. Are you a survivor?? I couldn’t help wondering. Are you a
survivor? My heart started racing. Because I am a survivor, too! Hey! I’m a
survivor!! I was so excited I think I was trembling. I kept smiling and trying to
speak but I couldn’t. The words were caught in my throat. I am a survivor,
too!!!
 The
mule train passed, probably wondering what the heck was wrong with this teary
mute on the side of the trail, and I continued on my way. As usual, Michael was
distances ahead of me. I was alone with my thoughts, which were no longer
mundane. I felt alive, elated, proud of myself, proud of those women. I felt
grateful. I felt thankful. My steps had new purpose. I am hiking the Grand
Canyon. I can hike the Grand Canyon. I am a survivor! Darn it if that darn
Destiny’s Child song wasn’t stuck on continuous loop on Gabby’s virtual
jukebox.
I made it to camp in record time. I don’t think I stopped once. Michael was
shocked and amazed. He had barely put down his pack and filled his water bottle
when I turned the corner. I didn’t need him to come to my rescue this time. I did
it on my own. My cancer wasn’t my crutch; it was my motivation and my reason. I
don’t think I am anything special for being a cancer survivor, but boy do I feel
lucky.
Read On!
Grand Canyon Day 6
Missed Day 1?;
Missed Day 2?;
Missed Day 3?;
Missed Day 4?
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