When the surgeon first told me I had cancer, it was as if I was in a dream, watching her tell someone else this sad news. Granted I was on mind altering medications at the time – propofol, morphine, dilaudid. I also had an NG Tube stuck up my nose and it was hard not to focus on that and all the pain, let alone a horrendous diagnosis.

She was talking to ME though. It was me who had cancer. It was me who sat in an oncologist’s office one week later, talking about Stage 3 ovarian cancer and what the chemotherapy and hysterectomy would entail.

This has been my year. Pretty much hell. I have been thru 8 rounds of chemotherapy and 2 surgeries – the first to fix a blocked bowel in my small intestine, and the next to remove all my Lady Parts and any other nasty little tumors hanging out in my abdomen.

Chemotherapy was hard, but different each round, which happened every 3 weeks. The first 2 weeks were full of nausea, extreme fatigue, muscle aches, mouth sores, and a lot of bad movies and Netflix shows. But on the 3rd week, I felt almost like my old self. I had energy back and the first thing I wanted to do was ride my bike. Which I did with pure joy and freedom, like when I got my first ten-speed at age 13.

On my bike, I am as mindful as I ever get. I suck at meditation but the riding is pure “here and now” for me. The endorphins while riding provide a respite. A respite from cramps in my groin that feel like someone is wringing my ovaries like a wet towel, the nausea that is always on the cusp of pukeage, the insecurity of having a bald head, and the constant anxiety of what the future holds – will I be a “cancer patient” for the rest of my life?

My oncologist officially said the word “remission” on February 10th. It was a relief and a happy feeling but my wife, Annie, was much more celebratory than I. My mind went to “yeah sure, for now! What’s around the corner?” This post-cancer thing is quite odd. I experience a plethora of emotions. My type of ovarian cancer has a high percentage of returning which adds to the not-knowing anxiety. I don’t know what’s next, I feel like I’m in constant limbo- land and I have an overwhelming need to have a purpose in life again. Work provided a purpose but that was an occupational purpose. I need a more “giving-back” kind of purpose.

This brings me to the reason of this long diatribe – on one of the few bike rides during chemo, I realized that I have the fortune and privilege to be able to – 1) have this amazing e-bike that is like riding a Porsche, 2) I am not just surviving this stupid disease, but I am thriving. And last but most important – 3) most women with cancer are too sick to do what I am doing. What can I do to help “these” other women? I can ride my ass around Lake Tahoe! That’s what I can do.

I am going to ride my bike – yes, it’s an E-Bike but I still have to pedal, and this is how it’s done at age 58 – all the way around Lake Tahoe – 72 very hilly miles. The joyful ride will be in August (I’m not yet sure of the exact date). I will ride for the women with cancer who can not ride. My plan is that I ride and YOU give me money! I then give all the money to the UC Davis Health Cancer Center that saved my life. They have an amazing clinic! It’s a well-oiled institution that is extremely efficacious. The receptionists are kind, welcoming, and quickly learned my name. My gynecology -oncology physician and nurse case manager treat me as they would treat their own family – with compassion, respect, awareness and expertise. They actually return my phone calls! They also always included Annie in updates, care, and decisions.

Therefore I want to help them as much as possible. Please donate whatever amount who are comfortable with. (perhaps $72 dollars for the 72 miles?) I have no idea how much I can, or will raise – I just want funds! My cancer center social worker suggested that the funds would support the Patient Services program that helps patients with gas money, grocery money, lodging money, and any other necessities that I take for granted in my cancer care.

I am sending this to you because you are a good person. You wouldn’t be in my life if you were not. You (most likely) were part of my incredible support team that got me through a vulnerable and needy year. Thank you for supporting me and now supporting others.

Enough of this cancer talk. I’m going for a bike ride!