First Descents Kayaking: Day 3

This entry also appears on the First Descents Blog as "The Participant's Perspective - Shark Bait"

This evening marks the end of my third full day of FD1 Kayaking camp. I am loving it. Today, we had a blast whitewater rafting. Two days ago, during the skill-building on the lake, we began to see just how powerful a metaphor kayaking is for life and our cancer journeys. Yesterday, however, was not a good day for me. But because of the powerful opportunity for self-exploration and bonding that First Descents provides, in retrospect, Day 2 was the best day so far.

Day 2 was our first day on moving water. A class I river, the objective was to learn to navigate with the current and minor obstructions. Despite my great interest in mastering these techniques, I could not concentrate on Big Papa’s lesson. I felt fatigued, nauseated, and had a severe headache, likely caused from a combination of dehydration, changes in my diet, and chemo lingering in my body from the round I’d concluded fifteen days earlier. I was so out of it that I couldn’t follow his instructions and had trouble staying with the group.

When we pulled up on the shore for lunch, I walked right past the cooler and lay down in the back of one of the vans. Number Two, a staff member, checked on me. So did Mack, Brave Chicken, Junior High, and several of the other campers. Already we are a family. Ha-Chee joined me in the van. She did not feel well either, but her pain more easily could be explained. She is on a daily oral chemo regimen. Her body is working hard to fight the cancer, and her mind is working even harder to maintain her inspiring courage, grace, and wit.

First Descents Trip - T Minus One Day

This entry is also being posted on the First Descents Blog.

Tomorrow morning, I leave for Bryson City, North Carolina, for a week of whitewater kayaking and bonding with a dozen other young adult cancer survivors.

I feel both over-prepared and completely underprepared. I've packed: 13 pairs of socks; three tubes of sunscreen; not only mosquito repellent, but AfterBite as well; Neosporin, just in case my head and a sharp rock meet in the river. I almost bought a watch with a compass, to guide me if I get lost in the mountains, but then I realized that knowing which way is north isn't the same as knowing which way to walk.

The First Descents team understands that we survivors tend to travel with more anxieties than the average person. Their objective for the program, which has become my personal goal for the trip, is to "forget" to put some of my anxieties back in my suitcase when I pack before heading home.

In the spirit of camaraderie, everyone who attends an FD camp is referred to by nickname instead of their real name. I either need to show up with a name, or I'll be given one. I've never had a nickname; I've always taken myself way too seriously for that. But showing up without one is yet another risk: I could wind up being called Fluffy.

How does one come up with a nickname for herself?

First Descents

I have never been a spontaneous person. Cancer, and all the new anxieties that have come with it, have made me even less inclined to take risks or act impulsively. So it's somewhat surprising that today I booked a round-trip ticket to Nashville, Tennessee for June 6th, returning June 12th. That's 13 days away, and I don't own a third of the items on the suggested packing list.

Why am I flying to Nashville and staying in nearby Bryson City, North Carolina? The non-profit organization, First Descents, is providing 14 other young adult cancer survivors and me with a week-long, whitewater kayaking adventure in the Great Smoky Mountains. The mission of the camp is to help survivors heal and regain their confidence and sense of empowerment.

My boss, who is involved in the organization, has convinced me that the benefits of this experience will be worth the effort it will take for me to bust loose from the cage of fear I've been living in for the past year. Thirteen days doesn't give me a lot of prep time. It's also doesn't give me enough time to properly worry and fret about all the unlikely things that could go wrong, which is perfect.