When Crisis Hits

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. To me, this old saw isn’t just a cliché. As I write this, I’m living the results of my focus on health. I share my experience in the hope that what has happened to me will help you in your quest for healthy writing. My story is a sad one; even so, there are a few good parts. I may not be able to write on this blog for quite a while, but as I sign off temporarily I wanted to leave you with something to think about.

It’s no secret that I’ve been working on exercise, diet, and losing weight. When I started this blog I told you the story of how my ankles, calves, and feet swelled to elephant-like dimensions when for six weeks I spent eighteen hour days typing the first draft of my first novel. From that experience, I learned a lesson: if I was going to be a professional writer, I’d have to sit for long periods of time. Thus, I’d have to compensate with a big increase in exercise.

I worked long and hard to get into the swing. I participated in an exercise and nutrition study at Stanford. My husband and I joined a swim and racquet club where he played tennis and where he and I did strength training under the direction of a personal trainer. Most recently, I took swim lessons with the goal of joining the club’s Swim Masters program and maybe even doing the Women’s Triathlon with my daughter next October in San Diego.

All this ended about a month ago when my wonderful husband took ill during a ski vacation at Lake Tahoe. There, we found out his spine was collapsing due to lung cancer eating into it. Needless to say, this was a heinous shock. No. My husband never smoked.

Now that my husband has had major, major spine surgery, I’m spending 100% of my time taking care of him, both for his post-op recuperation and also in preparation for his upcoming radiation and chemo treatments. Though I’ve struggled to get in my daily walk, I’m learning how to continue to exercise during this time. I’m learning, too, how to be a good nurse, which involves mental strength as well as physical. I’m constantly on the go with little time to rest. I often have to lift things as I help my husband get out of bed and to the walker.

And, you know what? I feel a strength I never knew I had. So much of this strength—mental as well as physical—I attribute to all the good exercise I’ve done. While nothing could ever have prepared me for a crisis like this, my good diet and exercise now serve me well. I have strength and energy, and stamina to meet the challenges ahead.

My husband may be a candidate for a clinical trial of a new biological drug for lung cancer. Of course, his condition and medical history will have to meet stringent scientific requirements, but one of the big reasons doctors think he might be a candidate for the trial of the new and somewhat miraculous drug is his excellent health except for the cancer. His tennis, ballroom dancing, strength training, and long hours spent gardening outside have put him in better shape than he ever was as a young adult. This may make a difference in his medical treatments and thus aid his healing process.

While my husband’s and my story isn’t a happy one, I hope it will inspire you to maintain good health practices as you continue to write. OR, if you haven't already done so, please start your own personal writer wellbeing program. We never know when additional demands will be put on our body and mind, or when we’ll be called upon to do more than we ever expected. It’s good—very good—to be prepared.

Please send prayers and good energy our way so that we may be able to continue our happy family life together for a long, long time. Please pray for my husband's healing.

Here’s a little poem by Pat Bustamante, my friend and critique partner, to remind you and keep you going. Use it to inspire you during this glorious month of May.

May Apples

I wish I may eat fruit all day:
I wish I might be thin by night.
Better yet, we all stay healthy,
Something one can't buy when wealthy.
Hence you'll often hear me say:
MAY writers keep health-goals in sight.