A few weeks ago, a letter arrived in the mail from the Provincial Motor Vehicles Department. I was puzzled, since my driver’s license doesn’t expire until 2017. The letter contained a notice about renewing my ‘handicapped’ parking pass. My husband Dilip had gotten the pass for us after the catastrophic events five years ago, when I had back injuries so severe I could barely walk for even a short distance.

I don’t use that pass anymore. To be honest, I had completely forgotten about it. So, when the letter arrived, I said a silent prayer of thanks for my recovery. These days, I am more interested in getting a parking pass from Parks Canada so that we may park in any national park, because I love hiking.

Part of my myeloma journey started with hiking in Banff Park in June of 2009. I hiked up Tunnel Mountain and back by myself. It was a 4-mile (6-kilometer) hike on a paved road. I remember seeing a deer and her fawn in the shrubbery, and it brought tears to my eyes. I was also almost in tears from the disturbing low back ache that just wouldn’t get better no matter what I tried. My family doctor did not understand the reason be­hind the pain at the time either.

That early-summer hike turned out to be the last for that season. I suddenly had much more immediate con­cerns than whether or not I could go hiking, because I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in July. I never­the­less would gaze at the mountains, which are located on the western horizon of Calgary, and wonder when, or if, I could get back there again because of my diagnosis.

It wasn’t until the autumn of 2010 that I got up into the mountains again. Dilip and I went for a restful week­end at Lake Louise after I had recovered from my injuries and undergone all of the medical treatments. We walked slowly along the shore of the beautiful turquoise waters. I was using a walking stick and wearing good hiking boots for ankle support, because I didn’t want to trip and fall again and incur more injuries. En­coun­ter­ing the peace and serenity of the mountains was a spiritual experience for both of us, but especially for me, because being in the mountains is part of my psyche that just ‘is.’

It was more than my bones that had been shattered in the summer of 2009. It was my self-confidence too. For a long time, I was fearful of walking outdoors. I always took my walking stick with me, as well as my cell phone in case I needed to call someone for help.

It wasn’t until I took a couple of hard falls on icy sidewalks two years after my diagnosis that I realized that I really was stronger than before. Those falls could have caused injuries in anyone, not just someone with damaged bones. Yet I was able to get up and walk home both times.

By the spring of 2011, we were back hiking flat trails. We went to Bow Valley Provincial Park look at wild orchids. On trips to visit family on Vancouver Island the same year, we went up to Strathcona Provincial Park and walked on their system of ‘boardwalk’ wooden sidewalks that make walking across boggy areas fea­si­ble. These sorts of hikes were not difficult, since they were mostly on flat terrain. To just breathe in the fresh air and to be out walking in a group again, with much diminished pain in my legs and hips, felt won­der­ful to me and put me into a euphoric mood.

Last summer, I finally went on a regular mountain hike again. The hike took us from the shores of Lake Louise up to Lake Agnes, a small reflective ‘tarn’ in a glacial cirque high up in the mountains above the lake. We hiked up a little more than three miles (five kilometers), and gained 1,300 feet (400 meters) in elevation. That put us up in the clouds at almost 7,000 feet (2,100 meters) altitude. The trail is stony, and coming down on uneven ground is always more difficult than walking up, so I was once again glad to have a walking stick. I was very footsore and stiff the next day, but it was well worth it

This summer I went on three wonderful mountain hikes, which once again confirmed that I am getting stronger.

The first one was to Ptarmigan Cirque in Kananaskis Provincial Park in July. We parked in a lot on Highway 40, the highest paved highway in Canada, which put us already nearly above tree line. A short but steep hike with an elevation gain of 750 feet (230 meters) took us through an alpine meadow up to where many trickles of water coming down the mountain peak converge into a stream. We passed the diggings of grizzly bears, we saw mountain sheep grazing only a few feet away, and we could hear the whistling of marmots. The spring wildflowers, such as saxifrage and paintbrush, were a joy to see after our long winter. I had only hiked this trail once before, in late September of 2001, with a hiking club. Even though we climbed much further in 2001, I was very happy with my performance this summer. I realize that I don’t have the strength I did 13 years ago, but I am very grateful for the strength that has gradually returned since my diagnosis.

On a long weekend at the beginning of August, my husband and I decided to hike up to Bow Glacier Falls, a large waterfall that empties from a glacier on the Wapta Icefield. Hiking along the lakeshore up to a delta where the meltwater flows in braided streams into the lake, we had come to the headwaters of the Bow River. Since the trail went up to the waterfall and back, we knew that we could always turn around if we didn’t have sufficient time or energy to go all the way to the waterfall.

From the gravelly delta, the trail led up to a set of stone steps that must have been designed with giants in mind, for the rise on them was very steep. I struggled about half way up this ‘staircase’ and then realized that it was just too dangerous for me to attempt what was fast becoming ‘rock scrambling’. I didn’t want to fall into the small canyon where the stream was flowing down. I also didn’t want Dilip to have to help me down off the mountain with a twisted ankle or other injury. So we decided to turn back. It was a lovely hike even though we didn’t reach the waterfall, and I am proud of how far I have come.

Then, later that week, I went back to Sunshine Meadows with three friends for another high-elevation hike. This back-to-back hiking was perhaps a little ambitious, but I did not want to miss out on spending time with my friends.

The trail took us around three small lakes – Rock Isle, Grizzly and Larix. On the approach to the first small lake, I was winded due to tiredness and the altitude (we were at 7,500 feet, or 2,300 meters). I wasn’t the only one, though, who felt the effects of the altitude. We went slowly and paused often to take in the glorious scenery. On our drive back home, we were all elated, and we decided that we should make hiking together an annual event. I realize that things may look differently a year from now, but, at the end of our hike, I felt confident enough to make this commit­ment.

Overall, I am so grateful to be back in my beloved mountains, because it was not clear five years ago that I would ever be able to be there again.

However, I have learned over the last five years to just do what I can at the time and not push myself too hard.

I hope to keep on hiking in years to come because it means so much to me.

Maybe there will be an autumn hike to see the mountain larch trees change color from green to golden this year. If not, I can always look to my backyard, since we planted a larch tree 20 years ago.

At the time, I thought that there might come a time when I could no longer get up into the high alpine zones to see the fall splendor.

Hopefully, that time is still very far away!

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The quotation for this month is from Emily Carr (1871 - 1945), a Canadian artist and writer, who said: “It is wonderful to feel the grandness of Canada in the raw.”