Believe in Hope - Cleveland Street / Chippendale (Wed 29 Jul 2015)

Believe in Hope - Cleveland Street / Chippendale (Wed 29 Jul 2015)

Doug Miller writes on Hope:

Hope is a thread that exists in our lives. It has been there since the day we took our first breaths. It has existed alongside us as we built our lives. It exists now in the shattered reality of brokenness. Though we are broken, hope remains strong. In our weakness Hope rises as an unbroken thread stretching out into our uncertain future, beckoning us to follow and explore the potential that lies dormant and hidden by our pain. Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. The question is not if hope exists within our brokenness. The real question is if we are willing and able to allow ourselves to stretch out of our brokenness, our preconceived attitudes, and self imposed assumptions and grasp hold of the only hope that exists, the only hope for our brokenness, our humanity and very existence. There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances. It is true. I have seen it. There are many others that have shared in it as well and testify of its existence and power and potential. Lift your eyes out of the brokenness and glimpse it, it is before you. You are not alone.

You are not without HOPE.

via A Message To The Broken by Doug Miller.

A Moment - Doug Miller (Fri 28 Aug 2009)

Gulf of St Vincent - Blue Sky, Blue Ocean - South Australia (Fri 01 May 2015)

Doug Miller on a Moment and Eternity:

One of the most difficult parts of walking the early stages of cancer seems to be the waves of feelings, emotions, guilt, etc. that you feel. It is the strangest feeling. One moment you are having a normal conversation or doing simple daily tasks and SUDDENLY......WHAM you get hit by a wave of thoughts. [..]

But at times this weight lifts. And for a moment there is a lightness of being. At times as you face your mortality there are moments where the importance rests solely in a single moment. The blueness of the sky, a breeze, the warmth of the sun, a laugh with a friend, the touch of a hand, these moments sometimes sharpen the focus of life. And at once time stands still pausing in the simplicity and perfection of that moment. Maybe that is how eternity feels.

via Waves by Doug Miller.

The Healing Process - Doug Miller (Fri 04 Sep 2009)

Janice and Jenny - St George Private Hospital (Mon 22 Jun 2009)

Doug Miller on Healing:

None of these paths that these fellow travelers walk are easy, but I have seen such a lightness of being in them all. Each trying to see the hope in the midst of the raging storm, providing to others a glimpse of light that they themselves are searching for.

There is this strange principle I am discovering not just in myself but in those countless others that are members of this difficult brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering.

I am noticing that a significant part of the healing process is to reach out and give to others, both those that are sick and those that are well.

It seems to some possibly a bit ludicrous, but to me it seems as if it gives this journey a complete purpose, a usefulness of sorts.

I am coming to call it "A ministry of Brokenness" I am seeing it as a powerful balm to all in need. [..]

In our weakness we are made strong.

There is a deep truth in all of this.

via The Ministry of Brokenness by Doug Miller.

Saint Mary MacKillop Relic and Flowers - Greenwich Hospital (Sat 11 Apr 2015)

On Hope, Healing and the Future - Doug Miller (Sun 11 Oct 2009)

Hands - Janice and Joanne / Ashfield (Sun 15 Mar 2015)
Doug Miller (*) writes On Hope (*):

Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. [..] There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances.

via A Message To The Broken (*) by Doug Miller (*).

A Message To The Broken - You are not Without Hope - Doug Miller (Sun 11 Oct 2009)

Broken - George Street / Redfern (Mon 10 Mar 2014)
Doug Miller (*) writes On Hope (*):

Hope (*) is a thread that exists in our lives. It has been there since the day we took our first breaths. It has existed alongside us as we built our lives. It exists now in the shattered reality of brokenness. Though we are broken, hope remains strong. In our weakness Hope rises as an unbroken thread stretching out into our uncertain (*) future (*), beckoning us to follow and explore the potential that lies dormant and hidden by our pain. Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. The question is not if hope exists within our brokenness. The real question is if we are willing and able to allow ourselves to stretch out of our brokenness, our preconceived attitudes, and self imposed assumptions and grasp hold of the only hope that exists, the only hope for our brokenness, our humanity and very existence. There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances. It is true. I have seen it. There are many others that have shared in it as well and testify of its existence and power and potential. Lift your eyes out of the brokenness and glimpse it, it is before you. You are not alone.

You are not without HOPE.

via A Message To The Broken (*) by Doug Miller (*).

An amazing piece of writing. All the more so, if you know the motivation (*) behind it.

A Rainbow always brings Hope - Alexandria (Sun 09 Mar 2014)

A Familiar Path - Doug Miller / A Single Path (Sat 19 Sep 2009)

Skate Cones - Hyde Park / London (Sun 18 Aug 2013)
Doug Miller (*) writes On Life (*):

A single step (*) repeated hundreds and thousands of times would eventually arrive at the end. It did not take superhuman (*) strength (*) or a talent (*) that most do not have. It took a steadfast commitment (*). Step by step as the miles added up and the challenges (*) slipped by. Today just like those days on the trail, is another step. Tomorrow yet another. I walk this journey (*) in anticipation (*) of the end, but I also know that there is much to learn (*) in the process (*). It is the process (*), no matter what the hardship (*) where great beauty (*) and adventure (*) can be found.

via A Familiar Path (*) by Doug Miller (*).

I found this today in a search for a friend. It was also for me to remember the path we have taken, and how far we have come, over the last 4 and 1/2 years. I said this once before, about the blog this quote came from, that is the single most moving piece of writing (*) I have ever read. It still is and I am glad I looked for it and found it again today.

The Climb - Our Main Range Summit Challenge

The Climb - The Main Range Range Summit Challenge

Dragons Abreast Ausrtralia Seminar
Cancer Council Queensland
Tuesday 31st August, 2010

Next is a little story that covers another aspect of Jenny’s Life – our annual trip to the Snowy Mountains and our Main Range Mt Kosciuszko Summit Challenge.

The Colorado Trail is just short of 500 miles in length. Doug Miller spent a summer (approximately 60 days) hiking the trail. In August 2009 he was diagnosed with Cancer.

A few months into his journey with Cancer, he wrote about the lessons he had learnt on the Colorado Trail and how they paralleled the lessons learnt on his journey with Cancer.

I read his story a few months after Jenny had passed away. It resonated with me and I could relate to it, in particular the following quote:

"A single step repeated hundreds and thousands of times would see us eventually arrive at the end.

It did not take superhuman strength or a talent that most do not have. It took a steadfast commitment.

Step by step, the miles added up and the challenges slipped by. Today just like those days on the trail, is another step.

Tomorrow is yet another.

I walk this journey in anticipation of the end, but I also know that there is much to learn in the process.

It is the process, no matter what the hardship where great beauty and adventure can be found."

Doug Miller on the Colorado Trail
Around New Year, for the last 11 years we have travelled to the Snowy Mountains area, around Perisher Valley and Jindabyne, to get away from the holiday crowds, to relax and take in the sights of the Snowy Mountains.

Each year we would also take the opportunity to challenge ourselves to the 22km Main Range Summit walk, to not only witness the beauty of the mountains, but to test ourselves and to benchmark our fitness to the previous year’s effort. This was particularly important for Jenny as she, and we also, could see what effect her cancer and treatment was having on her physical body, for the previous 12 months.

Some years were easy, while others were more challenging, particularly the long and steep uphill leg from the Blue Lake to the Summit of Mt Kosciuszko.

One of the more difficult years for Jenny was January 2008 when a side-effect from one her treatments, which caused soreness and tenderness of her feet (Hand-Foot Syndrome), made it very difficult for her to walk even a few steps. This did not stop her and she did the 22km walk, one painful step at a time. We were so proud of her, though, in typical Jenny style she thought it to be nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.

On the first day of 2009, we did the Main Range walk, for what would turn out to be our last time together. While temperatures in Sydney were the typical balmy 30's, the weather in the Mountains had turned and there was a wind chill factor of minus 15 C. This was our last chance to do the walk. We had tried a day earlier, but were not prepared for the cold. This time we were prepared, with Jenny and Joanne wearing seven layers, as well as beanies and gloves. We decided to at least walk the first 6 km to the Blue Lake and make a decision there whether to continue on for the next 16km or return.

For all of us, the conditions were challenging. However, for Jenny there were extra challenges which revolved around dealing with the many issues relating to her cancer, the most obvious for this higher altitude challenge, being the tumors in her lungs. Little did we know at that stage the cramping in her stomach she had experienced over the previous month or so, would be the early signs of countless tumors in her liver, which would be diagnosed in early March 2009. On top that, was also the embryonic stages of a tumor in her brain, which would manifest itself as a 4cm tumor in early June 2009.

This was definitely the most difficult Main Range challenge for us all, Jenny in particular. She was short of breath, even on the small downhill sections. As we reached the Blue Lake, we rested quite a while and we left it up to Jenny to decide what we should do. Eventually, she said she felt she could do it, so off we nervously set, in very strong head winds, to the Summit. We stopped at Lake Albina on the way.

Every step was a struggle for Jenny and she did amazingly well to make it to the Summit of Mt Kosciuszko. As usual we would take our Summit top photos - this time there was no one there (usually there would be 20-30 people) as we had taken twice as long as normal and we had reached the Summit hours after everyone had headed back to their starting points.

When I read the little story from where the leading quote comes from, I thought of Jenny initially, and later Joanne and myself.

I think it has helped me understand, that we were not only doing this walk each year (with each year being a "step") for the beauty and physical challenge of the Mountains, but also for the beauty that can be found in the "process" of doing something like this each year.

It also helped me appreciate Jenny’s approach to life, her journey with cancer and how she embraced it to live a wonderful and fulfilling life, and to achieve her dreams.

I think it also helps me appreciate the difficult "steps" that Joanne and I take each day, without Jenny's physical presence in our lives - but knowing we are "getting on with life" with the support of our family and friends, and knowing many great experiences and adventures lay ahead for us and those in our lives.

We did the Main Range Summit walk this year, on the 1 Jan 2010 (more here). Jenny was with us every step of the way.

Just another little story of perseverance and determination from Jenny. Jenny guides and inspires us from above.

In closing, we would like to take the opportunity to thank Dragons Abreast. It has provided many opportunities for Jenny, Joanne and I. We are grateful for the experiences in life Dragons Abreast has presented us. We encourage you to embrace these opportunities and experiences also.

The Climb - Power Point Slides (pdf)
The Climb - Power Point Slides (pdf)
The Climb - Power Point Slides (pdf)

The Lucky Ones

This is a work in progress. It has been in my head for a long time now, but it has been hard to write. Hopefully, it will make sense. I expect to modify it a bit over the next few weeks, but at least it is a start.

A few months before Jenny died, I read Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike". Jenny had been given a copy by a long time friend, Mena, not long after the book was first published here in Australia (sometime around 2002/3 I am guessing). She read the book quickly and I know she got a lot from the pages. For some reason I did not read the book until early May 2009.

Geoff, Jenny, Mena, Steve and Joanne - Natation DB Titles - Kawana / Qld - Sat 25 Apr 2009 (picasa)

I bought my own copy so that I could read the book that meant so much to Jenny. I think I was motivated by the fact the Jenny was progressing to the final stages of her Cancer (at least that is reluctantly what I quietly started to think - she had just been diagnosed with multiple tumors in her liver on the 11 Mar 2009 - not a very promising situation). I thought I might find something in the pages to understand her and our situation.

I read the book, intermittently over a few weeks, at my local coffee shop before work and on the train to work. There was lots of the book that resonated with me, particularly his encounters with cancer. One part in particular struck a chord with me. It was about a half through, where he writes about what he felt during chemotherapy following neurosurgery to remove a beign brain tumor.

What is stronger, fear or hope? It's an interesting question, and perhaps even an important one. Initially, I was very fearful and without much hope, but as I sat there and absorbed the full extent of my illness, I refused to let the fear completely blot out my optimism. Something told me that fear should never fully rule the heart, and I decided not to be afraid.

I wanted to live, but whether I would or not was a mystery, and in the midst of confronting that fact, even at that moment, I was beginning to sense that to stare into the heart of such a fearful mystery wasn't a bad thing. To be afraid is a priceless education. Once you have been that scared, you know more about your frailty than most people, and I think that changes a man. I was brought low, and there was nothing to take refuge in but the philosophical: this disease would force me to ask more of myself as person than I ever had before, and to seek out a different ethic.

A couple of days earlier, I had received an e-mail from a military guy stationed in Asia. He was a fellow cancer patient, and he wanted to tell me something.

"You don't know it yet," he wrote, "but we're the lucky ones."

I'd said aloud, "This guy's a nut."

What on earth could he mean?

When I read this, I stored it away in my mind, eagerly awaiting Lance's own answer to this question - lucky .. What on earth could he mean?. It would come quietly on the last page of the book.

"You don't know it yet, but we're the lucky ones," my fellow cancer patient had written.

I will always carry the lesson of cancer with me, and feel that I'm a member of the cancer community. I believe I have an obligation to make something better out of my life than before, and to help my fellow human beings who are dealing with the disease. It's a community of shared experience. Anyone who has heard the words You have cancer and thought, "Oh, my God, I'm going to die," is a member of it. If you've ever belonged, you never leave.

Jenny had often indicated that she felt lucky (I think in both aspects - that of surviving an aggressive cancer and oddly enough, having had had cancer). She said this in the Australian Story Episode, "In the Pink":

'I don't understand how things work out, and why things work out the way they do. I feel like I've been lucky. I don't understand how cancer works, I don't know why I've been blessed the way I have been.'

Jenny - Australian Story - "In the Pink - Kirrawee - May 2004 (picasa)

and in her Talks:

'I feel I am so lucky and have a wonderful life. I have had some great opportunities through breast cancer to meet some very inspiring people. Geoff and Jo have been a constant source of support for me. Breast cancer has totally changed my life but for the best.'

Relay for Life 2007 - Jenny - Survivor Representative - Sylvania Waters - Sat 28 Apr 2007 (picasa)

The Rainbow Connection - Phil, John, Marj, Jenny, Liz, Noel - Phil passed away shortly after this photo was taken - he often spoke to Jenny about how luck seemed to play a big part in how things worked out, but sometimes you make you own luck - Rely for Life 2003 - Sylvania Waters - Sat 31 May 2003 - (picasa)

As Jenny's International Dragon Boating Career started, she came to the attention of the Media and in the first Newspaper Article she featured in, she was even compared to Lance Armstrong:

Don Iverson, Director of the Health and Productivity Research Center at the University of Wollongong, said that Ms Petterson could be compared to Lance Armstrong, who won the Tour de France after fighting testicular cancer.

'It's almost superhuman,' he said.

Cancer wont slow rowing champion - Sydney Sun Herald - 2 May 2004

She was a little embarrassed by the comparison, but Jo and I were very proud of Jenny and her achievements in her treatment, her sport and her life as breast cancer survivor.

Geoff, Jenny, Grace, Lynn, Betty, Thomas, Grant, Joanne and David - Relay for Life 2007 - Jenny - Survivor Representative - Sylvania Waters - Sat 28 Apr 2007 (picasa)


After Jenny's passing, I had an encounter in the Intensive Care Unit where Jenny left us. Joanne and I had gone back to thank the staff at the St George Hospital and to pickup some scans that had been lost in Jenny's move from the Level 1 to ICU. We spoke to the head ICU nurses (they were between shifts) and we knew both of them from Jenny's time in ICU (and I was well known to them as I had fainted in ICU on Jenny's second day in ICU after the neurosurgery). We talked a little and I mentioned that Jenny did consider herself lucky to have had cancer - as she said herself - it had changed her life for the better. One the nurses questioned this statement and she made me feel a little uneasy for saying what I had said. She could not believe anyone with cancer could consider themselves lucky. Maybe, she had seen too much of the cold harsh reality of cancer in that ICU. Maybe she was right. It did not seem too lucky now that Jenny was gone?

This conversation stuck in my mind for a long time, and I started to question many things. It was not until I came across the following blog post by Doug Miller that I found some peace. Here was a man who had recently been diagnosed with Cancer. He was articulate and in many ways his post offers so much more than Lance's writings on Cancer and Luck. This is probably the most moving piece of writing I have read in my life. I don't have cancer, but I have lived a shared life with it and it's consequences. I can truly emphasise. Here it is. My heart is with you Doug ..

Doug Miller - Colorado Trail San Juan Mountains - 1994 - A Single Path - (blog)

The Lucky Ones by Doug Miller (Wed 23 Sep 2009)

[..] a friend [..] pointed me to Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike" I picked up a copy and quickly read through it. I liked it.

It had a bit much detail focusing on cycling, but that was an aspect of the man that could obviously not be separated from the larger reality of his battle with cancer.

There were portions though that left my mind spinning. Armstrong's description of his diagnosis and the roller coaster of emotions that ensued was painfully raw and hit the mark with a clarity and similarity I could not deny. I myself am walking those darkened and fearful paths as I write these very words.

Out of all the pages a couple simple statements that he made resonated with me in a powerful way.

Armstrong tells of a letter that he received. It was from a man he had never met before. He himself had battled cancer. He wrote Armstrong to acknowledge his support and positive thoughts. As he finished the letter he made a strange statement that confused Armstrong. He wrote, "you probably do not understand this right now, but we are the lucky ones".

What? How is anyone with cancer lucky? It is devastating. It not only has the potential to steal your life, but also has the destructive potential to steal your Hope. Those words are haunting. Lucky? We are the lucky ones. This brotherhood of suffering is somehow lucky..........blessed?

It is diametrically opposed to any sort of sane thinking that those outside of this brotherhood would agree with. It actually is an almost dangerous statement. As if you say it as you are waking off a cliff without a safety net. A statement such as that redefines everything. Life. Death. And even Hope.

But as I walk this path, and simultaneously encounter life in all its beauty and harshness, I find myself agreeing. "We are the lucky ones". I am lucky. I say those words with a part of me screaming, "how dare you, how can you say that". But it is true. The perspective that cancer gives to life is unbelievable. It has the power to refine you. Your thoughts. Your direction. Your focus.

It is as if you look at life for the first time. Everything is different. Nothing is the same. Everything is turned on edge, revealing a freshness and an urgency that is not seen outside of cancer. If this clarity does exist in our normal lives, it is missed. Overshadowed by the busyness of life. By worthless and empty pursuits.

Another quote from Armstrong's book was this: "Cancer is not about dying, it is about living" What a statement.

Most would argue against it. But those that walk this path find it to be true. Life after diagnosis becomes "alive". It becomes real. It is as if you can grasp it with your own hands, breath it in, consume it.

Oh if I could have had this view earlier in life. I knew that it existed. I sensed it. I chased it. Through the mountains. Through relationships. In the woods and fields of my youth. It was a whisper in the words of poets. And a reflection on the horizon as the sun slipped out of view. But i did not catch it until cancer became my reference. My reality.

We who are members of this brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering are the lucky ones, because now we can truly live. And Love. And Hope. And I dare to say Dream. They are painful dreams, haunted with the shadows of uncertainty, but they are vivid dreams. Passionate dreams. Dreams that leave your heart aching, your soul longing. We are released from the fear of death. Our finite lives are bared.

We come face to face with our mortality and realize that life is looking back at us. Raw and uncertain. But ALIVE none the less. There were days before cancer that I despaired. At times despising my life. But now I am hungry to live. I long to live. Whether that time be long or short, I hold tight to life and all of its glorious agony.

Posted by Doug Miller at 9:11 PM