Being Unprepared May Open The Door To Life-Changing Lessons With Stage 4 Cancer

Here’s the truth: I was unprepared for an adventure trip organized by the fantastic Idaho nonprofit River Discovery. I’d entered the drawing to attend for at least four years, basically ever since I heard about their annual Salmon River outing. The trip primarily includes people, any age, from Idaho who’ve been diagnosed with any type of cancer and who may be in or out of treatment. People from out of state, like me, are welcome to enter the lottery and though your chance of selection is slightly lower, this year there were several people from as far away as New York.

Prepared: Although the river trip is no-cost to participants, you have to get yourself to Idaho and most likely spend at least one night in Boise on either side of the adventure. I also wanted to tip the river guides and buy a small souvenir.

Prepared: I’d started working out with light weights and strengthening my core muscles the moment I got the call from Betsy Carver, who heads up the organization. Anyone who’s lived long enough with stage 4 cancer knows how muscle strength and flexibility can quickly become diminished and I wanted to be sure I could do “all the things” on this adventure.

Prepared: When I was confused by the lengthy packing list supplied by Wilderness River Outfitters, I called Betsy for clarification. She told me that she packs two swimsuits and two river outfits, wearing each one for three days in row, plus rain gear and something to wear around the campsites. This was good advice because it helped me streamline necessities and keep my pack light.

Unprepared: Everything else. I’d visited Idaho as a kid, with my family, but I was caught off-guard by the emotions I felt when we “dropped in” to the river knowing that we wouldn’t be back in civilization for six full days. Most of the people on the trip were out of cancer treatment, but I was one of three with metastatic breast cancer. I’ve been in every-three-weeks stage 4 treatment for almost a decade and it’s no exaggeration to say that I have become more physically cautious over those years because, sometimes, cancer makes you distrust your body. What was I doing climbing onto a raft in the middle of Idaho to travel 80-something miles down the “River of No Return”?

I was doing what so many of us, regardless of age, cancer type, stage of diagnosis and all the varying demographics that categorize us, want to do: living my life by putting fear in a zippered back pocket.

I took a seat on every boat: princess boat, where you get to talk to one another and appreciate the jaw-dropping views; oar boat, where you follow the guides’ instructions through rapids and still water; and the duckies, inflatable kayaks that set you right into the water.

Those kayaks are made for people who want a physical challenge. I was thrilled to make it through class 4 rapids unbroken and ready for more. Though I loved the camaraderie of the other boats, I felt pure pleasure at finding my way through rough water on my own. Out of the long list of things I wasn’t prepared for—seeing the Milky Way as I slept outside the tents, the strength and kindness of the River Discovery team and the guides, the connection with fellow participants, being awakened by the call of Canyon Wrens, learning to balance on the groover and so much more — the most life-changing lessons came in the way the guides talked about getting through rapids on a kayak.

You are alone, even if you are carefully following in a line, waves and drops change. You may not be strong enough to make a quick adjustment and have to find another way to compensate, but despite all these new and unknown situations, the key is to keep your focus on where you want to go.

Let the other things drop out of your mind and paddle like hell to get there.

If that’s not a lesson for living with stage 4 cancer, I don’t know what is.

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