Travel Again

London's Big Ben and Houses of Parliament

In an earlier post I talked about the psychological and physical benefits of travel. Whether it’s a short excursion or a major trip, I find travel to be a way of changing my perspective regarding myself and my illness as well as of the world around me.

Last year when I was diagnosed with a return of my kidney cancer some seventeen years after the original episode, one of the first questions I asked my oncologist was: Will I be able to travel? His answer was that if the treatment was stable, then yes. In May I took him at his word in a way more vigorous that I’d previously ventured. A few short excursions and a February week at a San Juan resort had proved successful, and so in May we spent most of the month traveling abroad.

The first leg was leisurely: a thirteen-day transatlantic cruise to England. The first seven days of the cruise were simply at sea, which was very relaxing. Thereafter we began stopping at various ports. In the Azores and Lisbon, Portugal, we got off the ship and wandered around the port towns. In Spain and France, we took bus tours to sights we wanted to see. Once we landed in Southampton, England, however, our travel became more energetic. Over the next ten days, we spent several days in London, sightseeing and enjoying West End theater most evenings, then we took the Eurostar train to Paris for a few days of sightseeing. After that, we returned to London for a few more days before flying home.

The combination of cancer, treatment, and side effects tends to limit my energy; and so there were some concessions, such as a daily nap. We would have breakfast, do a museum visit or some other activity, have lunch, and return to our hotel so that I could have a nap. Then we’d be able to enjoy late afternoon, dinner, and evening activities. We did quite a bit of walking, and I occasionally used my walking stick to take some pressure off my perpetually sore, swollen feet (a side effect of the cancer treatment). Often we zipped around London or Paris on the subways, which invariably got us close to our destinations.

A couple of other concessions: We left our largest suitcase in a railway left-luggage facility in London rather than schlep it to Paris. And I reserved a chauffeured car to Heathrow airport on our last day, rather than deal with luggage on the airport train.

London and Paris have been favorite destinations over many years, and being able to visit them again was psychologically energizing even though it was physically exhausting. My attitude has been that cancer is unpredictable, and who knows if I’ll get another chance to travel in this manner. The maxim, “Seize the day,” seems all the more reasonable, given the circumstances.

And the trip was exhausting. As I write this nearly a month after our return, I’m still struggling to regain some energy. Prior to the trip my oncologist noted that my anemia was worsening. Upon our return, he switched me from the daily iron tablet, which didn’t seem to be effective, to iron infusions. I’ve had two infusions now, a week apart, and hope they’ll eventually help decrease the anemia and return some energy. Anemia is energy-zapping. In addition to fatigue, it makes my fingernails like tissue paper, shortens my breath (because fewer red blood cells are available to carry oxygen), and diminishes my appetite. I often feel too tired to eat. I lost about ten pounds, mostly during the last two weeks of the trip, and have lost a few more here at home. While I can stand to lose a bit of weight, I’m trying to slow that down. I don’t recommend anemia as a weight-loss program.

But, bottom line, would I do it again? Absolutely! I have a passion for traveling. Other people have other passions. I tend to believe that in pursuing one’s passions the benefits outweigh the negative consequences.

Travel

Travel is a passion of mine, at least to the extent permitted by time, money, and energy. Prolonged medical treatment, for whatever condition, necessitates adjusting one’s schedule to accommodate doctor visits, procedures, and recovery. Diminished energy can be ongoing. For me, consequently, treating kidney cancer has meant curbing some travel, though fortunately not all and not permanently. 

A peripatetic childhood as the son of a career Army serviceman permanently engendered in me a love of travel. Traveling, for all that it can be exhausting in the moment, is wonderfully energizing for the senses. I prize the mental stimulation that comes from encountering unfamiliar people and places. I am never more fully alive than when I take on the role of foreigner, navigating the unfamiliar with my wits stretched to ingenuity.

It doesn’t matter whether I’m actually in another country or merely away from familiar surroundings by only a few miles. There’s still an intriguing “foreignness” in being the stranger. Travel encourages independence and broadens my outlook. Over the years travel has given me many good memories, adventures to be recounted, incidents and characters to be woven into my own writings, and sights to inspire drawings and paintings.

The diagnosis last spring that my renal cancer, to which I lost my left kidney seventeen years ago, had returned forced my then fiancé and I to cancel a planned tour of Italy. Later, in the fall, I had to cancel another trip, this time to Kansas, because of some fairly severe side effects. With that period behind me, however, and with a new targeted therapy regimen in place and working well, I have now cautiously begun to travel again.

Initially I stuck with short, local excursions. There was a convention trip that required a few hotel nights in Indianapolis, only fifty miles from home. That November trip was followed by a pre-Christmas trip to St. Louis in December to visit my daughter. And there have been several day trips. All of these outings were done by car, which served as a kind of security blanket. Whether alone or traveling with my now spouse (we married in mid-August), driving has allowed me a measure of control. Driving on my own has helped to reestablish my sense of self-confidence.

Of course, like anyone with a chronic condition, I travel with my own pharmacopeia, which largely fills a separate overnight bag with the pills, solutions, salves, and devices that treat the cancer, various side effects, and the usual complement of conditions, such as high blood pressure, that seem to come with aging. My rattling bag of pills is a necessary nuisance. I wondered until today if it might cause some holdup at airport security. Happily it did not. You see, I am flying for the first time in many months.

A couple of weeks ago I celebrated my sixty-eighth birthday. This trip is an extension of that celebration. I’m writing this post on an American Airlines jet on the second and final leg of our trip south to sunny San Juan, Puerto Rico. Neither my spouse nor I has been to this destination. Technically we aren't leaving U.S. territory, and the Condado Lagoon resort will probably be more relaxing than adventurous. But it’s another step toward reclaiming my passion for travel. My spirit is already soaring as high as this airplane.

Postscript: The getaway was excellent!