The Second Summit: Life After Cancer
Small brown mushroom
Trumpeting Purple Flower
Kevin in the mist.
I remember the day was clear when we started up the mountain, an important fact to note. My husband stood next to a trail marker wearing a bright red beanie and sporting layered clothing to ward off the damp, 50-degree day in Alaska. Clouds were in the distance, behind the mountain. Off to the right and not visible in the photo, the summit was clothed in lichen and alpine plant life.
Unfortunately, the summit we could see was not the summit at all. Clouds hid the reality.
Minutes after the photo, we serpentined our way up to the ridgeline, past alpine plants poking themselves through the landscape.
The ever-present red bearberry hugged the ground closely, retaining moisture against the incessant wind by keeping a low profile. The moss campion protected itself by growing in a dense cushion. Lupine, a plant brave enough to brandish its bluish-purple blossoms up like an antenna, had hairy stems and leaves to guard against the cold.
The appearance of the plants should have warned us. Life in the mountains is not for the unprepared.
We were glad we stuck to our favorite hiking adage: "There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." We pulled rain gear from our packs as a light mist began to fall near a cirque lake, a small round lake resting in a bowl-shaped, steep-walled mountain basin, carved by a glacier. The water, gray and silent, reflected the approaching cloud cover.
We hit the ascent, a narrow trail with room for only one, and followed the ridgeline. In minutes the visibility dropped to ten feet.
Not concerned, I stopped to take a quick photo of a small mushroom and a tiny purple flower trumpeting among the lichen. When I straightened, I peered into the mist and couldn't find my husband. He had disappeared into the fog.
Still not worried, for I knew the summit was just ahead, I plunged into the insulating gloom and inched my way toward the tallest peak in the faded distance. When I arrived, Kevin was still no where to be seen. Had he somehow passed me in the fog and headed back down?
I didn't think so.
For a few brief seconds the mist cleared, and I saw Kevin with his green raincoat only a short distance in front of me. Climbing. But how could he be climbing when I was at the summit? I squinted into the shrouded veil and noticed a higher peak in the distance.
We had been lured by a false summit. We had put all our energy and focus on reaching what we could see before us, only to discover the mist was covering what we could not see.
A second summit.
******
A phenomenon exists in hiking mountains where you can be lured by a false summit. Something blocks your view from the true summit - a ridgeline, a rock formation, another peak, clouds. Something. When you realize your mistake and peer off into the distance and discover a second summit, a decision must be made. Supplies must be accessed. Is there enough food? Enough water? Do I have enough energy to keep going? Will the weather hold?
Life after cancer is a lot like discovering a second summit.
Six years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. A little over two years ago, my dad died from metastatic melanoma. Eighteen months ago, my mom died from ovarian cancer. Eight months ago my oncologist fired me, and said I was done with all treatment. No more pills. No more scans. No more blood work.
Done. Finished. Cancer-free.
I expected to be elated, over-the-top-excited to finally have the dragon behind me. I did have those feelings, but I also faced exhaustion, confusion and grief for all I had lost.
My entire focus and that of my medical team had been to get me to a single summit--the end of treatment. I had used all my energy and all my supplies to reach that goal--what I thought was the final destination. I had conquered one mountain. Nobody bothered to mention that a second summit loomed in the distance.
Unlike hikers who have the choice of turning around and heading back to the car when they realize they can't make the second summit, cancer survivors do not have that luxury. I have found the trail to the second summit fog-covered and have often lost my way wandering in the mist.In the next few weeks, I will be writing a series, about Life After Cancer. Topics covered will include:
What Survivors Want People to Know
Figuring out Goals Again
Dealing with the Leftover Side Effects
The Continual Fear
What is Normal Anyway?
The Losses of Cancer
The Gains After Cancer
Living with Uncertainty
What Does Life Look Like After Facing Death
When Faith Takes a Beating