Beginning Again

So much has happened since the start of our first walk and its finish…
Murphy being diagnosed with nasal adenocarcinoma within weeks of our final mile and dying a damn hard death less than a year afterwards broke my heart beyond repair.  
And then I tried my best to live a normal life but I have a mission that beckons me back on the road.    
Come this May 11th, I’m walking again and if you’ve been reading this blog, you know the route: Canada to Mexico via the West Coast Seaboard.  
And as we begin making final preparations and training for it, I’ve realized that this is the way to portray the first walk.  
I’ll begin again.  

Yawnp

I got a call this morning from a good friend.  Just jawing about theoretical physics and Gillian Anderson in The Fall, and why reds just don’t do it for me.  But as a blonde, well, she’s some kinda special.  

My friend is an architect and after the man to man cheese-mo speak about babes and blondes and blondes and babes, he said he couldn’t find his way around how to incorporate a state mandated inclusion in his design project he was working on. 
So I said, ‘If you can’t plan around it, make it your plan.’  
Two hours later, we completely redesigned the plan that it’s now educational, eco-friendly, inspirational, motivational, market driven, the focal point of the structure and to boot, it’s never been done before.  
It’s too early in the morning to pound my chest and yawp so I’ll yawnp.  

The Turn

Tomorrow begins training day.   
The immediate moment that Hudson was diagnosed with a mast cell tumor, I knew my plans for walking cross Japan would be delayed or discontinued indefinitely at best.  The red cranes of Hokkaido have to wait another day.  
Still, it is time for me to return to the road.  
Come this May the fuzzybutts and I will walk from Seattle to San Diego (which, yeah, pains me especially since they sneaked into the playoffs), the California corridor from Canada to Mexico. 
Over the past few days I have chewed this thru with my trusted compadres, that’s Spanish for knuckleheads, and made my decision.  Hudson and Indiana are def on board.  
Most certainly Ginger will say the idea came from her.  Hey, I just go where I’m told to go.  
——–
2 Dogs 2000 Miles 2.0  
Haven’t slept much since the inspiration and there’s a bit of planning and preparation between now and May.  But I have made a few important decisions.  I’ll embark with the same amount of money in my pocket as in 2008 which was $200. 
I have most of the gear and won’t require anymore save a few pairs of socks and liners.  My right strap on my Osprey pack is still bound only by a crimp and a carabiner which tore apart in North Attleboro just weeks before the final mile.  
I might get that fixed but it kinda reminds me of me.  
Osprey declined to sponsor my first walk for which I cannot fault them but they were a big big help when the frame snapped on the Great Allegheny Passage. 
Speaking of sponsorships, I’m not really keen on the idea on seeking very many though the ultimate determination probably won’t be mine.  First I spent a lot of my time chasing pairs of socks and hiking shoes and the lot.  Second, we don’t need much to get from Canada to Mexico.  What we will be looking at are strategic long-term partnerships with companies committed to work together to end cancer in our lifetime.

This is our second last and there will be a third and a fourth, maybe more and I’m a patient man to wait and find those partners.   

Also, (1) There won’t be a follow vehicle like our first walk. (2) We’ll have a vet clear Hudson’s health at every leg of the journey.  (3) We won’t be staying with host families (even though we’ve had the greatest of experiences doing so – this walk is all about time and efficiency).  (4) Nor will we be doing media or press events throughout other than start and finish perhaps.    
While I’m still mapping out the route, it seems 1,500 or so miles from border to border.  East CA is out of the question so I’m trying to determine a coastal route given Google maps.

Leaving Loudoun County

I failed Art History which, if ya know me, it’s kinda ironic.  But I didn’t get an ‘F’ for lack of trying.  Quite the opposite actually.  I loved it but the course design was graded on writing not exams.  And I never turned a paper in.  I couldn’t.  

Caravaggio was one of the topics and I became fascinated with him and I spent weeks researching his life and works.  And a five page essay became ten then twenty and then it was too late. 


Walking on the rails trails from Pittsburgh to DC was one of the most special times during the walk and I spent a few days in the Blue Ridge Mountains and along the Potomac this weekend.  Its beauty indescribable just like that famous painting of Byblis. 


There’s so much I haven’t written about and I have hundreds of drafts on my blog and dozens of notebooks and journals still unpublished because, truthfully, I don’t like most of what I write.  And so I throw things out there in pieces and parts most of which ends of confusing the hell outta people, even the ones that know me. 


But my weekend taught me one thing.  We’re all busy, inundated, I hope, pursuing our passions and dreams and just trying to keep a sense of self throughout it all.  And my blog has sort of been one long continuous thread of stream of consciousness.  

I tried to separate and maintain several blogs but that became untenable and unbearable, especially since the adventure continues, so I’ve pared it down to just two now here and Chef Big Dog.

I have a lot to do and say but I realize now, I only have mere moments of your time to share this story with you and I’ll try my damnest to respect them more. 

This weekend is already a long time ago.  Sail.

Zero At the Bone

A narrow fellow in the grass

Occasionally rides;

You may have met him,–did you not,

His notice sudden is.


The grass divides as with a comb,

A spotted shaft is seen;

And then it closes at your feet

And opens further on.


He likes a boggy acre,

A floor too cool for corn.

Yet when a child, and barefoot,

I more than once, at morn,


Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash

Unbraiding in the sun,–

When, stooping to secure it,

It wrinkled, and was gone.


Several of nature’s people

I know, and they know me;

I feel for them a transport

Of cordiality;


But never met this fellow,

Attended or alone,

Without a tighter breathing,

And zero at the bone.



Truthfully, I’ve never been a fan of Emily Dickinson. 

I came down to Memphis to say goodbye to Murphy something I haven’t been able to do.  But it’s time.  

Murphy was Menschkeit.  Maybe he was the thing that made Malcolm so much of me.  And maybe that’s why I miss him so.  

I’ve been reading Victor Frankl’s ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ and in it he writes, 

“But there was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.” 

I wonder if that’s what Emily meant.  There is no more absolute than zero. 


The Nature of the Beast

“I really try to put myself in uncomfortable situations. Complacency is my enemy.” – Trent Reznor.  Nine Inch Nails

My time in the tent this past week wasn’t spent sliding down spirit caves with power animals or searching for blue orchids, I worked.  Or to put a more fine point on it, I studied in solitary quietude.  

One of my lifelong friends, now gone, was a philosophy professor and he always said, ‘Luke (That’s how I was known back then before becoming Yer Big Dog I mean).  Life isn’t about answers, it’s about the questions you ask.’   

And now that I’m 3 for 3 for dogs with cancer, I have a lot of goddamn questions.   We all do.  

But being back in the tent again I couldn’t help but wonder if I had missed something the first time.  And the second time.  So I need to start again.  With the first question.

——–  

What is cancer?

According to Withrow & MacEwen’s ‘Small Animal Clinical Oncology‘, there are two generations or iterations of our understanding of cancer.  The first, Gen 1 let’s call it, was from a 30 year compilation of research published in 2000 by Drs. Hanahan and Weinberg called the ‘Six Hallmarks of Cancer’.  

They were attempting to distill the down and outright differentiation, the lowest common denominator, the absolute zero, between a normal cell and a cancer cell and they accomplished something close to it – an approximation that became an early and important precedent.  

Before I begin with my folksy analysis of it, I encourage you to purchase this inestimable tome.  Most nearly all of the thought leaders and minds both past and future in comparative oncology contributed to it and I’m humbled even at an attempt to understand it.  

Heck the flow charts look like a John Madden schematic to me. But here we go.  

——-

The Six Hallmarks of Cancer

1. Self Sufficiency of Growth Signals.  

This is the ‘To Be or Not to Be’, the Hamlet, shall we say, of the hallmarks.  Cancer is a genetic disease but not all predisposed or mutated cells become malignant.  Proto-oncogenesis doesn’t presuppose oncogenesis.  

But once it ‘Be’, like Hamlet’s ill-fated love for Ophelia, a cascade of events occur very few of which can stop the inevitable.  

2. Insensitivity to Antigrowth Signals.  

If only cancer was a cell on a homicidal steroidal rampage, unchecked and running amok, like Arnold Swarz… shit, the Terminator, well, we’d deal with it kind of the same way. We gave him the run of 80’s action films, made him the Governator but, whoa, president and potentially the ruler of the universe?  

That’s what Tumor Suppressor Genes, or the Kindergarten Cops, do and this is important.  

Back in the 1970s, before Arnold was clad in a loin cloth in Conan, scientists were trying to understand retinoblastoma* and in researching its heritable traits they discovered the existence of a tumor suppressing gene which in subsequent research yielded the discovery of p53 (more on p53 later).  

But the ‘Terminator’ will always be back.  Like what Michael Chrichton wrote in Jurassic Park.  ‘Nature finds a way’.  So does cancer and it found a way to suppress and/or inactivate the biochemical mechanisms and fool-proof machinery incorporated into your DNA to prevent tumor suppressor genes and p53.  

This is the point at which pink elephants come into the equation.

My friend, Pete, loved pink toys.  It made him happy. In nature, happy, is referred to as homeostasis.  It’s the balance, the bad v good ballad that’s part of the Dance of life.  

If only cancer was an aberration, a beefy Austrian bad actor named Arnold that defied all odds.  But it isn’t.  And it only gets worse.     

3. Evasion of Cell Death. 

The Cell Cycle ain’t complicated in a cradle to grave sense.  Cells procreate to sustain the life of tissue, organ systems, and ultimately self.  Left unchecked, hell, it’d become part of the Kardashian franchise but pre-programmed in a cell’s genetic structure is a stop function called apoptosis.  

However, to quote the textbook, ‘Cancer cells, through a variety of strategies, can acquire resistance to cell death and apoptosis.’ I call this the Br’er Rabbit Effect.  

I’ll stop here and continue with 4-6 tomorrow.  I’ll start again.  


Sniffy and Donut

Back on the Summer of Murphy Tour last year we stayed at the home of Rob and Rhondda, the wonderful folks leading the Puppy Up! charge in Las Vegas and their young son, Owen or Cap’n Jack Sparrow as I knew him at the time, knighted Hudson and Indiana as Sirs ‘Sniffy and Donut’ respectively.  
It wasn’t the same in the tent this week without ‘Itchy Scratchy’ and ’12 short of a baker’s dozen’ (I can only guess that’s what Owen meant), and I missed them during my fast but I’m back and we’re back together and it’s time for us to get back on the road.  
Tuesday we’ll start making our way up to New England with stops in VA, MD, PA, NY for events and meetings. Stay posted…
YBD’s Notes:  Got your card guys and thanks… indeed it is an adventure.  

Puppy Up!


Before I head off for a week for my fast I wanted to share my speech from the Chicago walk with you.  I had intended to post it when we arrived in Memphis but that Monday kinda threw a monkey wrench into my plans with Hudson’s diagnosis.  
But here it is.  
I wrote on Facebook awhile back as response I made to one of our supporters who said, ‘You sure have started a great organization.’  
‘I didn’t found an organization’, I replied. ‘I started a family.’  
And at every Puppy Up! walk we’ve been to these past four years that’s precisely what I’ve felt.  A simple pride not only for all of the people a part of it but how 2 Million Dogs has effected their lives, too, and the pleasure it gives me when a city organizer, or PUPP as Ginger calls them, puts on a successful walk.  
Two years ago back in San Antonio, one of the participants in the walk there said, ‘I’ve been to a lot of these dog events but none of them had an energy like this.’  Well said.  
As we continue to grow this great grass roots movement of ours, my Chicago speech was about the meaning of ‘Puppy Up!’ since I’m the knucklehead who came up with that rally cry prior to my Austin-to-Boston walk back in 2008.  And I still get questions about it.    
I hope the speech finds you well on this special day and forgive the Ray Charles like swaying.  I was freezing my bollocks off.    
Happy Thanksgiving.  Now Puppy Up and Chow Down!

Day 16: If You Don’t Think Good…

…Don’t think much.’  Ted Williams

‘True.  But that’s precisely when you should be doing your research!’  YBD

——–

I feel quite confident now that I have a firm understanding of Mast Cell Tumors (MCT) and I wanted to share some of that with you.  

First off, I searched extensively for the most thorough though lucid account of this type of cancer from a microbiological and immunological perspective.  And that follows:

——–

A normal mast cell is part of our immunologic defense systems against invading organisms. Mast cells are meant to participate in the war against parasites (as opposed to the war against bacterial or viral invaders). They are bound within tissues that interface with the external world such as the skin, respiratory or intestinal tract. They do not circulate through the body.
The mast cell possesses within itself granules of especially inflammatory biochemicals meant for use against invading parasites. (Think of these as small bombs that can be released). The mast cell has binding sites on its surface for a special type of antibody called IgE. IgE is produced in response to exposure to antigens typical of parasites (i.e., worm skin proteins, or similarly shaped proteins). IgE antibodies, which are shaped like tiny “Y”‘s, find their way to a tissue mast cell and perch there. With enough exposure to the antigen in question, the mast cell may be covered with Y- shaped IgE antibodies like the fluff of a dandelion. The mast cell is said, at this point, to be sensitized.
As said, the IgE antibodies are Y-shaped. Their foot is planted in the mast cell while their arms lift up hoping to capture the antigen for which they were individually designed. When the antigen comes by and is grasped by the IgE antibodies, this should indicate that a parasite is near and the mast cell, like a land mine, degranulates releasing its toxic biochemical weapons. These chemicals are harmful to the parasite plus serve as signals to other immune cells that a battle is in progress and for them to come and join in.
At least this is what is supposed to happen.
A mast cell, coated with IgE antibodies, is exposed to pollen and degranulates, releasing its biochemical weapons of destruction.
The problem is that we live in a clean world without a lot of parasites. What unfortunately tends to happen is that the IgE/mast cell system is stimulated with other antigens that are of similar shape or size as parasitic antigens. These “next best” antigens are usually pollen proteins and the result is an allergy. Instead of killing an invading parasite, the mast cell biochemicals produce local redness, itch, swelling, and other symptoms we associate with allergic reactions.
As if the mast cell isn’t enough of a troublemaker in this regard, the mast cell can form a tumor made of many mast cells. When this happens, the cells of the tumor are unstable. This means they release their toxic granules with simple contact or even at random creating allergic symptoms that do not correlate with exposure to any particular antigen.

There’s additional info on diagnosis, grading, treatment etc. here.

——–

To Chemo or Not to Chemo

Now that we have received the initial pathology report as a Grade II with a low mitotic index, some of the oncologists with which I consulted have recommended a ‘Wait and See’ approach with quarterly re-checks since we had wide surgical margins.  

However, since some Grade II  tumors don’t always behave predictably, others suggested two additional tests. The first is the mast cell tumor panel that consists of two proliferation markers – PCNA and Ki67.  It has been demonstrated that dogs that have more rapid rate of cell proliferation are more likely to have an aggressive form of MCT and chemotherapy might be warranted.  

The second is know as the c-kit mutation.  It’s been shown that about half of grade II MCTs have mutations in the proto-oncogene, c-kit, and were more likely to recur after surgery and metastasize.  

——–

Mac and Me

Hudson’s tumor, affectionately known now as Mac, has been sent out and we’re awaiting the results of both tests. By Monday, hopefully, as that effects the decision I make about his treatment plan.  For now, more waiting.  And waiting. But having completed my research, I guess I can go back to not thinking much. 
I’ve compiled in excess of over fifty pages of research, links, etc. that I’d be happy to share upon request.  Email me at 2dogs2000miles@gmail.com  Some of the information is repetitious but for me, that’s just a way I make certain I retain it.  

Day 5: The Mighty Mississippi

I forced myself to return here today.  
This blog will break your heart. Not because of Hudson – we didn’t get the lab report in today and although that does cause some consternation, we suspected as much.  
It’ll break your heart because of what the Mississippi River represents to this cause of ours for two reasons.  
1. Back in August 2008, we stopped at the juncture of I-40 and I-55 because, well, there’s nowhere else to go.  Or to get across the river.  There are no pedestrian bridges and since Hudson and Murphy are hydrophobic, no chance of swimming across either.  
About and around this time, we met Ginger who was the Executive Director of the Humane Society and when I shared our plight with her, she suggested we cross via her boyfriend’s boat moored in Harbortown:  pina coladas, pink umbrellas, and perhaps a seersucker suit for myself.  
Problem was, that’s not my style. I didn’t walk 600 miles to Memphis to play fancy.  50% of all watershed in the US flows down the river to the gulf and there was no way I wouldn’t meet her mighty maw.  
I asked Ginger to find another way and she contacted the mayor, police chief, and a congressman and all said ‘No.’  There was no way to cross the river they said. Maybe upstream somewhere.  
Well for those of you who know me, the phrase ‘It can’t be done’ doesn’t really translate or process in my brain.  
Clearly I-40 was impassable unless the whole city, county, and state shut down the bridge and they weren’t doing that for dogs.   But after scouting out I-55 I felt there was something, possibly a utility bridge.  Turns out, my instincts were spot on & against all odds, Hudson, Murphy & me walked across the mighty Mississippi.  
2. The second time I was on the banks of the Mississippi when I was saying goodbye to Murphy in 2011.  He and I were there late at night all alone, listening to the passing barges signalling for safe passage.   
That night, I, too, sought the same.  
But because I couldn’t save him, I wanted to walk him down to the rocky shore to the swift and certain currents that would drown the two of us together and ultimately spit us out in the the Gulf Coast.     
‘Oh No, H2O’ was why I didn’t.  Murphy never liked water and that’s why I couldn’t.  Or at least I told myself that at the time.

I don’t know how to give up.  And the four forces of the universe don’t permit me to either.  Malcolm, Murphy, Hudson, Indiana.

« Previous Entries
Next Entries »