Survivors

In April and May of 2009, I was undergoing radiation treatments following my cancer surgery. The doc had told me that the effects of radiation were cumulative, that I would get more exhausted as time passed.

The problem, for me, was that it was my favorite time of year in Yellowstone.

Typically, I would be spending most days during those months in the park, but radiation meant treatments five days a week in Bozeman. That wouldn't stop me from doing what I love.

Nearly every weekday morning I'd get up at 3 am and drive a couple hours into YNP to look for wildlife. Scheduling radiation as late in the day as possible, usually 4 pm, meant that I needed to be headed out the North Entrance by 2:30 in order to make the one and a half hour drive to Bozeman to get zapped. Afterwards, another half hour drive back home to set the alarm and crash for a few hours. Weekends were spent entirely in the park.

In the waiting room before my appointments, I heard other radiation patients tell tales of woe. One woman said all she could do after her appointments was go home and cry.

Meanwhile, I would come in giddy with stories of the bears, wolves and other wildlife I had seen earlier in the day.

One of the many animals I was watching that Spring was a playful young grizzly. She looked like she had not been out on her own for very long and was delighting the paparazzi with her antics.

In late April, I noticed that this little bear was limping pretty badly.

Apparently, she had experienced a “life lesson” with a porcupine and her right front paw was full of quills.

She would walk on her knuckles so she didn't step on the quills, and lean on her elbow to dig with one paw.

A paw full of quills could mean a death sentence to a bear…between difficulty foraging, crippled movement, and the possibility of infection. Quills don't "fall out". As I understand, they have to work their way THROUGH.

Still, she persisted.

As I was learning to deal with life under different terms, so was she. She was learning to dig with one paw and run on three. She was obviously in pain, but she hunted, explored…and played.

Through weeks of radiation, I kept doing what I loved and never felt the exhaustion or depression that seemed to be crippling other patients.

Hoping to share a little of the joy that buoyed me through it, I started printing photos to share with other patients and staff.

Shortly after finishing radiation, I saw the little bear again. She had moved miles away, across mountains. She was hunting, running and playing in a different part of the park. She still limped…but her skills at managing had improved greatly.

When I saw her in 2011, no one would have known that she’d been quill-crippled in the past. My sightings of her were rare over the next few years, as I tended to spend time in other parts of the Park and avoided the construction in her home range…but I heard stories about her.

Visitors tagged her with “names” and Bear Management fitted her with a collar and corresponding number. She had cubs, lost some, but she's figuring things out...and her current cub is starting its third Summer. (typically born in February, “third year” cubs are actually about two and a half years old).

This Spring, I've had several opportunities to spend time with her and her cub. She will probably kick that cub out in the next few weeks…but, for now, they are affectionate and playful. It seems she has taught her little one well. Recently, she dodged the advances of a boar and has been ranging across her large territory, as usual...delighting her fans wherever she goes.

Wild stories don't always end so well.

When crippled by quills, the bear didn’t feel sorry for herself. It is bear nature to deal with her new reality and simply carry on.

Human nature doesn’t always work that way...but I had made a choice long before "meeting" this little bear.

After surgery, I remember standing in front of a mirror and thinking “this is just what it is now”.

Chin up and carry on.

Nine years have passed since we first crossed paths. She has no sign of a limp and my scars have faded.

We’re both older, tougher, and (hopefully) wiser.
There is no shortage of tragedy in either of our worlds,
but she still romps and plays…and I am still laughing.

Against the odds, we have both survived.