Tuesday morning, I headed for the Pratt Lake Trailhead at Exit 47. After aborting two hikes on Squak Mountain due to high winds and trail closures, and postponing a hike due to illness, I was desperate to get a good dose of mountain healing. The car needed servicing on Wednesday. And I knew I’d need a week of reduced activity following a medical procedure on Thursday. I was down to my last opportunity for a hike until New Year’s Eve Day. I gained an appreciation for the unexpected moment related to both hiking and healing.

Olallie Lake on December 17. I had the trail to myself except for two women and their dog.
Olallie Lake on December 17. I had the trail to myself except for two women and their dog.

Tuesday’s snowy hike and Thursday’s medical procedure provided a stark study in contrasts. I started from the Pratt Lake Trailhead parking lot at dawn, letting my eyes adjust to the overcast skies and near-dark. Three deer greeted me, darting through the woods before I could get a good photograph. A downy woodpecker and a flock of golden-crowned kinglets were the only birds I saw all day. I took many restorative breaths as the stress and frustration of the previous week disappeared.

By contrast, the waiting room was packed with people when I walked into the medical center in Mill Creek. I did several stretches, trying to soothe myself with deep calming breaths. My tension mounted as I waited an hour before being shown into a room. Whereas the expansive space of the mountains calmed and soothed me, the delay and clogged congestion of the waiting room made me antsy, anxious, and fidgety.

The delicate beauty of snow-laden branches on the Olallie-Talapus trail thrilled me.
The delicate beauty of snow-laden branches on the Olallie-Talapus trail thrilled me.

Hiking in the snow brings abundant delights. The crunch of fluffy whiteness underfoot. Laden boughs bending to the trail. Snowshoe hare tracks disappearing in the woods. Gurgling streams that made me pause to gauge the best path across. I had the mountain to myself except for two women and a dog on the trail between Talapus and Olallie Lakes.

My memorable WOW moment came after I’d reached both Olallie and Talapus Lakes. I considered hiking to the Olallie Lake overlook up the Pratt Lake trail. However, the wind picked up and I heard odd whumping sounds around me.

The logs at Talapus Lake where I saw a downy woodpecker foraging for bugs.
The logs at Talapus Lake where I saw a downy woodpecker foraging for bugs.

Suddenly it got very dark. I glanced up in time to see massive amounts of snow falling from higher branches, so I stepped close to a tree, ducked, and covered my face with my arms. Little pricks of snow bit into bare skin. I waited until the onslaught ceased. After the boughs had dropped all their snow, I brushed several inches from my boots and a thin dusting from my coat.

And I started laughing at the unexpected moment.

In 32 years of hiking in the PNW, I’ve never experienced what I coined a “tree avalanche,” only to discover it has a less glamorous term, “snow shedding”. It means lots of recent fresh snow, an uptick in wind, new precipitation adding to the weight, and all the snow from higher branches dropping at once. The rough video I shot as the air cleared looked like I had been in a whiteout. I prefer the term “tree avalanche”.

Unexpected moments: My attempt to capture the white-out experience of a "tree avalanche" with snow filling the air and covering prints in the snow.
Unexpected moments: My attempt to capture the white-out experience of a “tree avalanche” with snow filling the air and covering prints in the snow.

Realizing the wind would only pick up as I traveled higher, I decided Mother Nature had given me a clear message. Knowing that I was half an hour from my turn-around time also helped. So, satisfied with my visit to the two lakes, I returned to the car without seeing a soul or having more snow-shedding experiences.

Medical interventions are the exact opposite of hiking. I have had 6 Mohs procedures to remove BCC’s. By now, I know what to expect. At least, I thought I did.

Once I got whisked into a private waiting room, the nurse numbed my forehead and the surgeon removed the top layer of skin to be sure she’d gotten all the cancerous margins. It took about an hour for the results to come back from the lab. I crossed my fingers, praying she had removed it all with the first cut. But no, it required another.

When it was time for the dermatologist to stitch me up, she insisted on using epinephrine instead of Lidocaine. Her nurse had to cauterize more than usual as my blood wouldn’t clot. I explained how I loathe what epinephrine does to me, and that I would prefer any other solution.

According to Dr. Erickson, “Some patients are sensitive to Epi and it can make them feel like their heart is racing.” Check. “However, the small amount used in Mohs surgery contributes greatly to a smooth and uneventful surgery.” Um, no.

I'll take the start beauty and unpredictability of Mother Nature any day over anything medical.
I’ll take the start beauty and unpredictability of Mother Nature any day over anything medical.

I had an unexpected moment I will not soon forget. But this one was negative. Within moments of the injection, I felt like I’d lost control over my limbs and breathing in a way I never do in the mountains. Panic set in. I started to hyperventilate. My legs and arms shook despite squeezing two therapy balls. I could not do anything except battle for control over my racing breath and furiously beating heart. Was this how it felt before you had a seizure?

I told them no! Never again will I relinquish my power to decide in a medical setting.

When a nurse asked if I’d like to listen to any specific music, I grunted through gritted teeth, “Pentatonix.” I have been a huge fan ever since they won season 3 of The Sing-Off , an a cappella singing show that got canceled after five seasons. When they got to “Little Drummer Boy”, I could focus on something other than my trembling limbs and rapid breathing. I loosened my grip on the squeeze balls. And when the doctor finished the last stitches, I could talk without shaking. But I have sworn off epinephrine forever. They’ll have to deal with it.

We had the privilege of seeing Pentatonix and Rachel Patten in concert at the Tacoma Dome July 3, 2019.
We had the privilege of seeing Pentatonix and Rachel Platten (Fight Song) in concert at the Tacoma Dome on July 3, 2019.

People face far more complicated and challenging medical procedures for long-term health benefits. Mohs is pretty routine, with a relatively low risk of complication. If I had to choose a type of cancer, it would be skin, as mine have all been successfully removed in the early stage. But what is not okay is having my sense of agency challenged. I will no longer tolerate medical experts ignoring my choices and directions. I know what’s best for my body. But I must advocate for it. Nobody else will do so for me.

Both experiences taught me that nature and medicine can involve an unexpected moment or two and unpredictable complications. On my snowy solo hike, I relied on experience, skill, and knowledge of what my body could do. I laughed at the unexpected moment of a “tree avalanche.” In the surgical room, it felt like my body betrayed me. But only because I had an unwanted substance injected into me. It could have been avoided.

I have resisted Epi since first having it in a dental procedure in my 20s. I share “Sensitivity to Epi” on every medical form. And for the first two cuts, the medical team listened. If maintaining control over my body means making the people who serve me work harder, so be it.

I welcomed Mother Nature’s unpredictability with awe and wonder. I came back feeling refreshed, reborn. While medical procedures can be just as unpredictable, they often involve relinquishing control or removing our power. Why? I left the medical clinic feeling pummeled and battered. Which would you choose for your healing journey?

One of my favorite photo ops along the Talapus-Olallie Trail. I call this "elephant tree."
One of my favorite photo ops along the Talapus-Olallie Trail. I call this “elephant tree.”

I aspire to find ways to return natural elements to future medical settings that might provide more autonomy, power, and agency. Perhaps I could bring a grounding mat. Insist on specific music. Bring an infuser with healing aromatherapy oils. Wait in my car while listening to a book on tape until they’re ready for me. Our experience with the health care system should be positive, not terror-causing or shame-inducing.

In short, we need less fear and more joy. Less clinical and more natural settings. More opportunities to grow and learn. Less time mired in anger, fear, frustration, or shame.

As strongly as I resist, I know modern medicine has its place. I am grateful to be cancer-free today. I am thankful that my dermatologist could meet with me before the end of the year. And I am delighted it only required two cuts. But even more, I look forward to the next opportunity to return to the awe-inspiring, humility-producing, calm, and soothing mountains. I know which location I choose for my healing journey.

Talapus and Olallie Lakes from Pratt Lake Trailhead (Exit 47). Only one downed tree across the trail from the November windstorm.
Talapus and Olallie Lakes from Pratt Lake Trailhead (Exit 47). Only one downed tree across the trail from the November windstorm.

I realize Western medicine is a highly controversial topic. This post is meant to spark deep thought in readers. What matters most to you? How do you want your medical care to evolve? Are you satisfied with the treatment you get from your medical team? They are there to serve you. You have choices.

The Hippocratic Oath, or first rule in medicine, is to “do no harm.” If you feel you are being harmed, look for better treatment. I like my dermatologist, so I followed her when she moved her practice to Mill Creek. But patients deserve respect, especially around the holidays. If you have to wait an hour or go through an unpleasant experience that can be avoided in the future, speak up. Make medicine work for you. And then get outside for an unexpected moment or two in nature. It truly is our best healer.

Published by Courtenay Schurman

Co-author of The Outdoor Athlete (2009) and Train to Climb Mt. Rainier or Any High Peak DVD (2002), author of Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills/conditioning chapter 4 (3 editions), and Peak Performance column for the Mountaineers Mag (2014-present). Member of PNWA, SCBWI, EPIC. Served on the steering committee for WOTS (2019-present). Completed UW Certificate program for Children's Literature and Memoir. Co-owner of Body Results, Inc. in Seattle. Climb leader with Seattle Mountaineers for over 15 years. Volunteer at Woodland Park Zoo since 2014.

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  1. It is a very interesting article. 2 healing places. Medical treatment or Mountains. I am grateful & fortunate to only have used, Montains as healer. How to improve the medical care treatments is a challenging one. I notice everywhere i go & i had to wait, people are upset & treat other people badly. No one had patience anymore.. For them the waiting time needs to be zero wait….hard to achieve for some places…or everywhere, including the mountains.

    Happy to read you are doing better.. Always lovely to read your blog, especially at the beginning of a day.

    1. Hello Silvie-Marie, nice to hear from you. Yes, it’s a can of worms, how to improve health care. Avoidance is one way especially as medical insurance sky rockets, but there are definitely reasons to seek help. I understand waiting 10-15 minutes — I waited half an hour before returning to the desk to ask for an update, but an HOUR is simply not acceptable. And if it IS going to be that long, the courtesy is simply to let people know that’s what it may be instead of just making people wait in the dark. Common courtesy seems to be a dying art and it doesn’t have to be. Hope it provided food for thought. Happy holidays, dear one!