When I was a young girl, I learned how to sail a small sailboat with just a main­sail and a jib during summer classes on the water reservoir in Calgary. Later on I sailed near our home on the coast of British Columbia.

Sailing is an exercise in balance, since you have to catch the wind for forward motion, but you also have to release the tension on the sails if a really strong gust of wind threatens to capsize the boat.

We used the expression ‘keeping on an even keel,’ which meant to keep the boat from ‘keeling over,’ or capsizing. The keel is the main structure that gives strength to the sailboat, and it is at the centre of the hull, under the water.

Some of my childhood sailing memories came back to my mind during my early stages of multiple mye­lo­ma four years ago. I was trying to sail through, or at least avoid capsizing, through the sea of current events, all the while trying to steer a course towards good health. The expression ‘keeping on an even keel’ was often on my mind during that time.

I think I came close to capsizing, or even sinking. I was sick, disoriented, in pain, and driven slightly mad by strong medications. I felt as though I was being dragged along behind a boat, just wearing a life jacket and clutching onto a rope attached to the craft.

That autumn was particularly rough for a number of reasons. I not only had to cope with my own cancer diagnosis and early treatments, but I also learned that a few friends were also struggling with illness.

A younger friend and neighbor of mine, who was in top shape physically, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at the same time I received my myeloma diagnosis. She did not survive even a year, which was a huge shock to all of us who knew her. I always thought that somehow she could pull through, since she was so strong and had a great attitude.

Another woman I knew fell into a coma from the H1N1 virus, which was causing an epidemic that winter. She did not survive either. In addition, one of my husband’s colleagues, who was a long-distance runner, had a sudden heart attack, collapsed, and died.

It was a time of mourning for us.

Even though I was very uncertain and fearful of the future that fall, I did manage to sail through those very rough seas into an ocean of relative calm, where I am now. Some of the things that helped me to cope were the love and affection of family and friends, music, reading, and walking.

I took a year off from my usual activities since I was quite badly injured with vertebral fractures and also was taking induction chemo and having a stem cell transplant. The medical treatments involved such strong chemotherapies that I just couldn’t keep up the connections to my community that I usually have.

At that time, my family and friends really rallied around me, and I had many nice visits with them. I was showered with cards, flowers, and even two prayer shawls. People I had not seen for a while came out of the woodwork to wish me well, as did my close friends and family.

Music helped me tremendously in getting through the difficult times during my first year of treatment. I have always loved music, and I have played in a pipe band during my childhood and also for more than 15 years as an adult. I have taken piano and voice lessons and I have sung in a choir since 2001. So, for me, it is normal to put on my ear buds and listen to a really wide variety of music.

Right after my fractures, while in such pain that I could not move without causing problems, the song ‘Twist and Shout’ by the Beatles popped into my mind. That was like a breath of fresh air, and I at least could smile again.

Later, while undergoing Velcade ^[1] (bortezomib) infusions on Tuesday afternoons, of course the song ‘Tuesday Afternoon’ by the Moody Blues ran through my mind. It seemed very appropriate then.

When I was out walking, I would hum bagpipe tunes such as ‘Scotland the Brave’ and ‘The Green Hills of Tyrol.’ Pipe music is so martial that it just made me feel as if I was a soldier in my own battle against cancer. It also helped me to face the fear I felt.

Other music that I could relate to at the time was the rock music of Queen. Freddie Mercury hit it right on with his compositions. As a man struggling with HIV/AIDS, he created anthems, such as ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’ or ‘The Show Must Go On,’ which inspired me because they gave me mental strength to combat my illness.

When I needed comfort, I retreated into the world of folk. I have always really liked the music of Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins and Joan Baez.

Another thing that helped me get through my first year after diagnosis was reading. I am a voracious reader and always have several books stacked up with bookmarks holding my place in them.

As I underwent induction therapy with Velcade and dexamethasone ^[2] (Decadron), I was reading a book about goddesses. My mind was getting a little bent from the dex, and I took a chapter about the ancient goddesses Minerva (Greek) and Athena (Roman) really to heart. The two goddesses were patrons of the arts, music, and medicine - a perfect combination of qualities, I felt. The symbol for Athena was the owl. Since we hear owls hooting atop spruce and fir trees here, I put an ornament of an owl in my garden. When I look at it now, four years later, I just smile to myself about how bent my thinking was at that time. I still respect owls a lot, though!

Fortunately the year of sailing out on a really rough ocean, without a compass or a GPS, came to a close, and my little boat has been righted again. The good treatments that I received from our medical community restored my health, and I was able to get back to the activities that I really enjoy, such as singing in a choir, being part of the needlework guild, and exercising outdoors and at the gym.

I will never forget that year though. The experience keeps me on my toes, always with an eye on the weather. Please, may we just have a gentle breeze and not a hurricane as we navigate the waters of being a myeloma patient.

───────────────── ♦ ─────────────────

The quotation for this month is an excerpt from the prose poem 'Desiderata' by the American writer, poet, and attorney Max Ehrmann (1872 - 1945): "Do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself."