Managing Cancer Demands Flexibility and a Strategic Mindset

After surviving prostate cancer, Andy Winnegar received a diagnosis of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) in 2021. Catch up on Andy's blogs here!

I am currently starting treatment with a BTKi, or Bruton’s tyrosine kinase Inhibitor, which represents an important advancement in targeted cancer therapies. These drugs were approved about 10 years ago following extensive clinical trials and have since become a cornerstone in the treatment of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL). BTKis work by blocking a key enzyme, Bruton's tyrosine kinase, which is essential for the signaling pathway that drives the survival and proliferation of malignant B cells. By inhibiting this enzyme, therapy helps control the growth of CLL cells, slowing disease progression.

CLL is a type of cancer that originates in the bone marrow, affecting a specific type of white blood cell called lymphocytes. These cells are crucial for the immune system, helping the body fight infections. In CLL, however, they grow uncontrollably, crowding out healthy blood cells and impairing the body’s ability to fight infections. Despite being a form of leukemia, CLL is characterized by the slow and often indolent progression of these malignant lymphocytes.

As with any medication, BTKis come with their own set of side effects. I have new bruising and moderate night sweats and watch for any new infections. Additionally, in some cases, these drugs may inadvertently trigger autoimmune responses or worsen pre-existing autoimmune conditions, making the management of side effects a delicate balance. Each patient's experience with treatment is unique, requiring ongoing monitoring and adjustments. I have a blood test every week for the next six weeks.

We have a single daffodil outside our front door that blooms each spring. It serves as a poignant reminder of the delicate balance in nature — and, by extension, in life. The daffodil is a hardy flower, but like me, it is vulnerable to extremes. It wilts when the temperature shifts too drastically. Too cold, and it succumbs to the chill; too hot, and it withers in the heat. Much like the fragility of health, the daffodil requires care and understanding to thrive. It reminds me that resilience is not about avoiding change or hardship but about adapting to what is thrown our way.

As spring unfolds in Santa Fe, New Mexico, the weather in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains mirrors this dance of resilience. The mountains, named for their reddish hue when covered in snow, stand as a symbol of enduring strength. The Spanish explorer who named them, impressed by their vibrant colors, called them "the blood of Christ" in 1719 — a name that endures as a reminder of nature’s permanence.

Surrounding Santa Fe are the Pueblo communities of Nambe, Pojoaque, San Ildefonso, Ohkay Owingeh, Santa Clara and Tesuque. These communities have a deep spiritual and cultural connection to the land. They have many names for the mountains in their native Tewa language — names rich with history and meaning but not easily translatable into English. Their connection to the land is woven through the centuries, shaping their way of life even as they face new challenges brought by drought.

The landscape here in Santa Fe is stark and beautiful, reflecting both the allure and the challenges of living in a high desert environment. The discomfort of extreme dryness and strong winds is forgotten when viewing the mountains, the blue sky and the dramatic sunrises and sunsets. Many artists have come here to paint, drawn by the brilliance of the colors and the clarity of the light.

The juniper trees are blooming this time of year, and clouds of pollen hang in the air, carried by the wind. It’s an annual reminder that the climate here is shifting in subtle yet powerful ways. Everyone in the community feels it, sneezing and rubbing their itchy eyes. Like many of my older neighbors and friends, I have developed dry eye syndrome, where the body does not produce enough tears. Fortunately, I found an effective eye drop medication that relieves my symptoms.

This year, we are amid a severe drought, with very little snow and no substantial rainfall during the winter months. As a result, fire season is arriving earlier than usual, and the threat of wildfire looms large. Like cancer, we must be on guard, prepared for change, and ready to find safer ground if necessary. That preparation is important, but we must not let it consume us with anxiety or worry.

These incremental changes in the climate create a challenging environment for gardening. Yet, much like the Pueblo people, we have found ways to adapt. The acequia system, a traditional network of community irrigation ditches, has been a key part of Pueblo agriculture for centuries. These ditches are not just physical canals; they represent a community effort to manage water resources collaboratively. The acequia system embodies self-governance and shared responsibility, teaching us that resilience is not only an individual effort but a collective one.

Adapting and Finding Strength in Uncertainty

Our gardening practices reflect similar strategies for resilience. By planting fruit trees closer to the house and growing vegetables in containers, we protect them from the unpredictable spring winds and cold nights. This approach mirrors my own journey with cancer. Just as gardening requires careful planning, adaptation, and resilience in the face of changing seasons, managing cancer demands flexibility and a strategic mindset.

It isn’t easy having cancer. But like gardening in a harsh climate, survival and growth come from strategies, adaptation, and patience. Every change — whether in the weather or the course of treatment — requires a thoughtful response. In this way, both gardening and health teach us the value of resilience: the ability to adapt, to adjust, and to continue growing, no matter the circumstances.

By aligning myself with the resilience observed in nature and the wisdom of the communities around me, I feel empowered to face the challenges of my treatment. Just as the daffodil, the Pueblo people and the acequias have adapted to their environment, we too, will adapt and thrive through this journey. It is our community, and we can do better working together.

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