I was recently diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy. I still have feeling in my fingers, but I’ve lost most of the feeling in my toes. Do you have any advice on ways I can manage this condition through exercise or supplementation?
—Lee, Cheyenne, WY

Peripheral neuropathy causes pain (sometimes described as tingling or burning) and numbness in the hands and feet. While HIV is one cause of the condition, it’s certainly not the only one. Diabetes and cancer treatments (such as radiation or chemotherapy) are also common causes. Sometimes the condition improves with treatment of the underlying cause, sometimes it doesn’t. (more…)

My mom died this morning after a brave battle with ovarian cancer; she was 59.  I am grateful for butterflies.

Courtesy of LA Times

Modern evangelist Marianne Williamson was one of the presenters at  LA Times Magazine’s “Conversations on Health & Wellness” at Terranea Resort. The conference was a nice break from my mind, which has been mired in thoughts about mom’s cancer. I was glad to see that Marianne was one of the speakers, since her book, A Return to Love, influenced our coming back together. Whether you’re well or ill, her remarks are worth a listen:

Optimal vitamin D level is 2,000 IU/day. Keeping your levels in this zone can *significantly* reduce your risk of cancer and other diseases.  If every woman kept her blood levels of Vitamin D above 50, we would reduce breast cancer by 50 percent, says Dr. Soram Singh Khalsa, a founding member of the American Holistic Medical Association and the American Academy of Medical Acupuncture.

I spent many weeks this year with my family in Utah, shuttling back and forth to the hospital, where mom received chemotherapy. One morning, she was excited to tell me that there was a 1 mile jog/walk trail around the hospital. So while mom received her treatment, I went running. I came back sweaty, but I could tell she was proud of me for doing it.

Sooner or later, we all experience hardship, but nobody feels like exercising when faced with stressful life circumstances, such as the death of a parent.

During times of stress, I now believe it’s important to exercise more — not less. Exercise works about as well as antidepressants to lift your mood. My doctor calls it our “natural morphine.”

I know my mom wants me to take excellent care of myself.  So I’ve started running again and am making more healthful food choices. As HER mother (my 79-year-old grandmother) says: “Food is my medicine.”  You don’t have to break the bank to make healthy choices, just be smart about it.

It might be hard to get started—that’s inertia. There’s no way around it. So, put on some shoes and shorts, grab your iPod, and just do it.

It will get easier once you start, I promise.

Isopure, that “clear protein” company has launched a new line of nutritional drinks aimed at people who are restricted to a clear liquid diet. Isopure Plus Nutritional Drink come in 6 packs, contain 15g protein, and come in either grape or fruit punch. They should start popping up soon at major chain pharmacies and nutrition shops around the country. This is a great way for people who may have difficulty digesting products such as Boost or Ensure to keep their lean body mass while undergoing treatments for cancer, such as chemotherapy.

I am grateful for the surgeons who aren’t assholes. I am grateful for Taxol and Carboplatin and painkillers and radiation and CA-125 markers and carrot juice. For clean windows and Tylenol and singing penguins. For poppies and Subway and walks around the neighborhood. For candles finally lit, for losing our expectations. For flat rate boxes and black licorice scotty dogs from Trader Joe’s. For the O-VAX and the Hamster Dance, peach salsa and Seinfeld. For long talks with grandmothers. And mothers. For the friends who ask “how’s your mom?” and for those who don’t, because it’s too much to explain again, anyway. For Skype and Sha Sha, and her friend Kathy, and that high school friend who takes her out to lunch sometimes. For picnic lunches, heirloom tomatoes and flax muffins. For hand sanitizer and urgent care and shopping at Costco in a surgical mask. For e-mails from survivors and free nights and weekends. And I’m grateful for “good” days; really grateful for those. I pray for more days of getting sandwiches and driving to the park and watching clouds fly and wondering if we should buy a kite? I pray for a trip to Cheyenne and for a rodeo somewhere so that she can see me dog a steer. I pray for time.
Protect her during this time of magical thinking.
I am grateful for butterflies.

After a quick pit stop in Los Angeles this week, I’m driving back to my grandmother’s in Utah tomorrow. On Saturday, we will make the drive north together to see my mom, who is in the hospital. I am grateful for all of your positive thoughts and prayers. Peace, Love, Lunges. —Sam

GROWING UP, I used to pretend that my red Radio Flyer was my very own car. I’d take imaginary trips to see my grandmother in southern Utah, holding an invisible steering wheel as I guided the “car” along each bend in the road. When I arrived at her house, I never wanted to leave.

Some things never change.

On my shoulder is a tattoo from Where the Wild Things Are. It’s the story of Max, a mischievous boy who goes on a scary adventure in a jungle far from home. He dances with monsters, who crown him “king of the wild things.”  We named our Yorkshire Terrier after him.

Max has come to symbolize my journey through life. After high school, I needed to get out of Utah. I didn’t know how to deal with the reality that I was into guys. After college, I moved to LA and launched HERO Magazine. Maybe then they’ll accept me, I thought. I spent the better part of a decade chasing that.

In the wake of my mom’s health, that seems so distant and unimportant now.

There’s this flood of conflicting emotions inside me; I’m still in a daze.
I’m angry that we’ve essentially lost 12 years: we’ll never get them back.
I feel guilty: did I contribute to her cancer?

I’m coming to grip with that line in Fight Club:

This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.

I’m overwhelmed by all the love and support, and at the same time I’m not very good at accepting help. Ironically, the concern of loved ones causes me to retreat deeper into the jungle.

Fortunately, Where the Wild Things Are ends on an up note: Max eventually gets lonely and returns home to his room and finds a hot supper waiting for him.

Like Max, these past seven days have taught me that no matter how hard you try, you can’t run away from home.

My mother is not well, and I am worried about her. She is due for a pretty major operation tomorrow, St. Patrick’s Day, which is also my grandmother’s 79th birthday. My mom and I spoke on the phone yesterday for about an hour, and it was one of the most difficult conversations we’ve had, probably only second to my coming out conversation in 1996. When we hung up the phone I was left with the nagging reality that she could be… mortal.

I never think about my mother dying. She is the impermeable stalwart of life — the one who bore me, after all. Imagining a world without her, even though our relationship is very different now, is terrifying.

If you don’t see many blog entries this week, you’ll know why.