The Next Adsit Adventure

$57,000 of $75,000 goal

Raised by 442 people in 8 months
Created November 30, 2018
Fire and Aviation
on behalf of Evan Adsit
A good friend to all he meets and iconic adventurer, Evan has been diagnosed with Primary Mediastinal B Cell Lymphoma.  After having left arm pain while on run, he visited the ER where they suspected a blood clot.  Upon further examination, doctors discovered a large tumor near his heart and constricting his aorta.  Evan is optimistic as always, as is the prognosis by doctors.  Immediate intervention is required, and Evan begins intensive chemotherapy December 1st in the Boise area.  He hopes to move to North Carolina, where his family resides, to continue and finish his treatment cycles.  It will be a long, hard road, yet somehow Evan is sure to make it look easy.  Any contributions will help fund lodging while in Idaho, travel to NC to continue treatment, medical bills, and expenses incurred.
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You all have been with me for the following part of this journey, and I cannot thank you enough for the love and support. There were challenging days that I didn't reveal to many of you. Because they're not glamorous. The days after my five day chemo retreats in the hospital when I felt severely hung over for a couple days, or the mouth sores and hemorrhoids that made eating and evacuating totally religious experiences. Or the long sleepless nights and exhaustion from a casual walk. The days I'd look in the mirror thinking I looked at least twenty years older than I am.
But for all the challenges there were great rewards. Like the love of a woman, Anna being there for the entire journey, still being here. I told her this winter that she was literally saving my life. She has. I have been able to open my heart to her, shedding the weight of the tumor that was literally directly above my heart, weighing it down. Anna made tremendous sacrifices to love and support me through this challenge and I am forever grateful for her. There were also gifts like the loyalty of a dog and the support from hundreds of people near and far. The simple things were rewards, like a babbling creek of spring runoff, or the unfurling of bright green leaves in springtime. The opportunity to go inward and re prioritize the things in life that really matter. Like speaking directly from the heart, appreciating all that is, especially the little things. And spreading love throughout the world. Letting go of anxiety, worry, control, or living for someone else's expectations. Simply being me, and expressing that. Cancer helped me let go of all the things weighing me down. For that it has been a gift. It allowed me to understand the value of vulnerability, and the need to be part of a community, leaning on others when times call for it. Nobody can walk this earth alone. I learned the power of connection and presence.
This winter was the most challenging time in my life, but with any great challenge comes great reward. I learned so much, but some days I wake up thinking it was just a strange dream. I do not want the lessons learned to fade away as I step back into a society that seems so caught up in the superficial. So I return to gratitude. Thankful to be alive. Thankful to have a loving girlfriend and dog. Thankful for my family and all the loving friends who have given me so much. I'm grateful for the birds and trees as they dance in the wind, the clouds as they transform across the sky, the smell of rain right before a storm, and the sparkle of all the drops of water as the sun hits them after the storm has passed.
For those of you who have not heard, I finished my sixth and final round of chemo just over two months ago. Five weeks later I went in for a PET scan which showed no cancer activity where the tumor was. Since then Anna, our dog and I have journeyed north from Idaho back to Alaska. I'm reintegrating right now trying to figure out what the next step is for continued healing. Regardless of what that may entail, right now I feel great and am happy to still be walking this beautiful earth!
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Spring Time in Alaska

I woke up today as if from a long dream. It was an overcast morning, everything was calm, peaceful. It felt like a restful day. Now birds sing songs perched in branches, a breeze blows through tree tops, a few lazy afternoon mosquitos buzz in my ear and a warm sun bakes my back as I sit outside the cabin enjoying a beautiful late spring day in interior Alaska. My girlfriend reads inside and my dog soaks up a little sun himself. Yes, today is a good day. It is a new dream, and the beginning of a new chapter in my life. A life without cancer, the clouds having parted, sun shining through after enduring a long storm. This winter was certainly a test of endurance.
And as I soak up the calm restful energy of this Memorial Day, I remember how this whole journey started. I honor those who have started similar journeys and come out the other side. I honor those who have not had the good fortune I've been afforded on this path.
For those unaware of where this story starts, we'll begin in Ketchikan, AK.
I had been diving for sea cucumbers commercially out of Ketchikan on a beautiful 1928 wooden troller captained by a more than good humored free spirit who had found his calling in life to be a commercial salmon fisherman in SE AK. In the fall he took two divers aboard to harvest sea cucumbers to sell to processors who eventually ship them overseas, mainly to China. Chris was the other diver, who I hadn't met until the season started, but we hit it off right away.
And so there we were, three grown men on a little old troller, a beautiful boat I may add. We would leave town for about five days every week, motoring out to the fishing grounds, doing camera work looking for sea cucumbers for a few days to narrow down our dive locations for the week. Once found we'd anchor up, play cribbage or rummy and regale each other with stories. And on Monday we'd begin diving, seven hours that day and finish the opener with a four hour dive day Tuesday. For those unfamiliar with sea cucumber diving, call for details. But essentially it is cold water scuba diving hand gathering sea cucumbers from the ocean floor. The dive days can often be very cold and challenging.
In any event the season begins in October and continues for five weeks or more depending on how productive fishing is. After the first week we were back in town and happened to meet a beautiful girl named Anna, who was certainly a sight for sore eyes to a man having been on a close quartered boat with two other men for a bit. There of course were a wonderful series of events that ensued, but to make a long story short, we hit it off and Anna eventually became my girlfriend.
The sea cucumber season carried on and we finished up the season in the north, off Baranoff Island. It was beautiful. The last dive seemed particularly challenging for me, but I just wrote it off as a result of colder water. But on the motor back to Ketchikan, which turned into a three day slog due to weather, I started to feel terrible. Sore joints, achy muscles, feverish and generally miserable. I was so concerned I went to a doctor who was mystified, as my vitals were normal. So we wrote it off as a little infection my body must have been fighting.
Upon returning to Ketchikan I started feeling a little better and was eager to wrap up the season and bee line it down to Portland, OR where Anna had been working temporarily. And I did, I made great time and had a wonderful stay with Anna. We even climbed Mt. St. Helens, which seemed exceptionally difficult to me. But I wrote that off as the result of having been on a boat for a month and a half. It's amazing how we can make excuses for how we feel. It wasn't until a couple weeks later at my friends house in Eastern Oregon that I finally listened to what my body had been telling me. I went for a run two days before Thanksgiving and when I returned my entire left arm was blue, completely cyanotic. This is what it took to go get checked out further. That day a clot, causing the blue arm was discovered, the clot being caused by a 14 cm long tumor in the center of my chest. That was a heavy day, finding out that everything was about to change.
I was admitted to the hospital and poked and prodded for a few days, eventually released to await the diagnosis. Anna had come, and another great friend was in town. We went to a cabin at a hot spring out of town for the weekend and tried to keep things light. But as you can imagine, I was on a roller coaster of emotion, passing through all the emotions, cycling back to the start, and repeating. Eventually I settled on gratitude and love for the opportunity at hand. It would be a heck of an adventure, full of challenges, but I'd get through. I was an otherwise healthy 38 year old man with a massive cancerous tumor in my chest, but I was grateful.
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March 22nd 2019


This is Anna, Evan’s girlfriend, writing from Cancer Camp 2019 live in St. Luke’s Hospital as Evan’s chemo drip slowly leaks it’s final bounty into his veins. He is getting discharged in a few hours, marking the end of 6 rounds of chemo. Closing the final chapter on chemo.

I’ve had the good fortune of being with Evan in the hospital for the entirety of this round.

I felt called to share some things about this man. What I have had the honor to witness and know throughout this process.

It’s pretty clear how loved he is, a testament to his caliber. The amount of support throughout this process has been overwhelmingly beautiful and pivotal in his healing. I’ve learned so much about the strength of the community & family that supports this man as well as the depth of brother and sisterhood via the national community of Wildland Firefighters.

My gratitude is immense.

But what I wanted to express (that you might not get to see) is the depth of his character throughout this process. The way he has navigated this storm with courage, joy, and good humor. He has taught me much about the power of joy and positivity.

Cancer is not easy. It, in-fact, does suck. But Evan continues to choose to not let it suck. Instead, he uses it as fuel to learn and grow. To inspire and help others. He can’t go a day without joking and laughing...well, let’s get real, he can’t go more than a few minutes.

He has taken one of the hardest things a human can face and has turned it into an opportunity for greater evolution and expansion. And he has done it with joy.

I am in awe of him. His dedication to gratitude and a positive attitude inspires me.

When we first learned of his diagnosis and spent Thanksgiving in a hospital room full of uncertainty and fear; I found myself falsely feeling that Evan should be sadder. That maybe he was holding things back he should be feeling because, well shit, this is cancer after-all. I was sad. I was scared. I know he felt those things too..but not in the way I expected. I learned his program doesn’t run that way. His program is love and gratitude. And it’s incredibly resilient and strong.

In this way, Evan is showing me and everyone around him that those two things are the most powerful healing forces inside us. The most potent medicine. The greatest choices we can make in our own minds every day. The keys to human potential and a thriving, joyous life.

Everyone here on the 4th floor of St. Luke’s is in awe of him. Of course, he is a favorite patient. He writes songs for the nurses and staff. He does lunges around the nurses station. He has made friends with the cleaning staff. The doctor told him he is the healthiest patient he’s ever treated. When they ask if they can get him anything he asks for an espresso machine or a baby elephant.

My friends ask me often what it’s like being in love with someone going through something so serious. They ask if it’s all about being a caregiver, if all our conversations are about cancer. If our relationship is all seriousness because of cancer.

I find myself in a dichotomous relationship with cancer and chemotherapy. I deeply desire to take all of this away from Evan. To wake up from some strange dream with his full head of hair next to me. However, I also have immense gratitude to this process and what it has taught both of us. The way it has opened our hearts in deeper ways to each other and the world around us. Cancer has a funny way of cutting through all the bullshit of life and forcing you to be present with what matters. I’ve never felt so present and grateful for all the things in my life. In this way, cancer has been one of my greatest teachers.

While cancer feels like the mightiest mountain we have yet to finish climbing, life with Evan has been pretty normal and seriously joyful. Minus a few trips to the hospital, blood draws, and some hair loss; Evan is still Evan. I would argue he is even more Evan than he was before. Life feels strangely normal and sweet. Healing cancer has become part of the routine. The forefront is living and thriving and loving...and it’s because of him.

He is pioneering an example of a new, greater way to interface with human disease. It’s incredible to witness.

I wish I could somehow share all the moments of joy and laughter this man exudes. Instead, I think the first attached picture sums it up pretty accurately. This is what chemotherapy looks like...Evan Adsit style.

I hope this finds you choosing love and gratitude even in your darkest moments.

I am grateful for all of you. For all the support near and far, small and large. Every ounce trickles into our hearts and keeps us afloat.

I am even luckier to know and love this man.

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Greetings from Cancer Camp 2019! The spring sun is higher in the sky each day here in Boise and I feel the levity of the coming season. A season of transformation, of growth, of renewal. I feel great and can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve finished five rounds of chemo and have just one remaining. I have been very focused on allowing the medicine to do its job while not letting any side effects become a focus. This journey continues to be a marvelous adventure with countless lessons learned each day.

It occurred to me with infinite clarity just how real the mind body connection is. Our physical bodies are profoundly affected by what we think. The neural pathways in our brain are like road maps, and some routes, if travelled perpetually lead to dis-ease. Those pathways are the ones negative thoughts and emotions travel down. And as those pathways get used more the road becomes more worn in, like a rut we can’t get out of. When negative thought patterns and emotions travel down these pathways they produce chemicals that are toxic to our physical selves.
On the contrary, positive thoughts and emotions produce good, healing chemicals for our bodies. If our thoughts come from a place of love and carry that high vibrational frequency, our physical bodies will certainly heal and remain full of vitality. The more we have positive thoughts and express positive emotions, the more these “roads” in the neural network of our brain get worn in. Pretty soon those positive neural connections are so well worn in that we’re blessed with being “stuck” in a perpetual state of love and light.
Like our brain, the network of the people in our community, which ultimately includes everyone in the world, is intimately connected. I think that is why humans crave connection almost more than anything else, because we are inextricably connected already. But it seems society has done a great job of preventing that feeling of connection. We end up convincing ourselves that we’re not connected, or we end up firing negative “impulses,” or thoughts through that neural network which is made up of all humanity. This produces the same effect that negative thoughts and emotions have on our bodies. Our “body” of all humanity becomes diseased.
If you picture the network of connections of all humanity as an electrical grid, visualize a stray current sort of buzzing down the wire, sparking occasionally. Or a short, sparking dramatically casting an oppressive flash (a stress) on all the connections surrounding it. What does that type of current do to the wires? It wears them down, corrodes them, makes them more susceptible to stray currents and sparks.
Now picture a bright white light like that of a prism, sparkling smoothly down each wire of that electrical grid. You can feel it’s strength and positive energy. As it travels with speed, style and grace it is actually strengthening the wire. It is strengthening the connections around it with its high vibrational frequencies.
Now picture a group of people in your community. Picture the connections you have with them. Sometimes the impulse being sent down those connections is a “stray current” or a “spark.” It may come in the form of anger, hate, an argument, lack of trust, or perhaps most common, fear. In any event, that type of impulse clearly deteriorates the connection and the connections around it.
Now picture your community and all the connections. Picture that bright white light of a prism passing gracefully between all the connections, amplifying everyone in the community. That energy is love. Simple, love. This is how the human organism was meant to thrive. This is the grand design. Keep all the connections totally charged with love.
It is time for people to really connect. Speak in person, laugh, hug, cry. Take more time interacting with everyone, look them in the eye, ask them how they’re doing, hold the hug or handshake a moment longer. Share the love that you are.

A poem…

We are the web, our thoughts and actions are the electrical impulses travelling through the neural network which is all the human connections we’ve made. Zoom out, see all the connections you’ve made, and the connections of those who you’ve connected with. We are all connected. May those connections remain charged. May that charge carry the light and love that emanates from the highest frequency vibrations. May the scent be the sweetest smell of a honeysuckle in bloom, and the sound the prettiest melody dancing through the air, and the sight a field of wildflowers swaying in the breeze on a summer afternoon, deep blue sky overhead, and sunshine, warm sunshine on your face, eyes closed, your body floating as if on a cloud.
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$57,000 of $75,000 goal

Raised by 442 people in 8 months
Created November 30, 2018
Fire and Aviation
on behalf of Evan Adsit
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