Since May, I’ve been part of a pilot study for a cancer survivors’ group called Create to Heal, meeting at the regional cancer hospital in Santa Fe. We recently finished our final session together, and I’m reflecting on how much it has meant to me.

The program was led by Patricia Varga, author and publisher of Create to Heal, whose mission is “to gently take us out of our critical mind and into our heart where the healing process begins.” We explored various creative practices — writing, drawing, painting, working with clay and music — to access deeper emotional healing beyond traditional conversation.

Our Friday afternoon group included seven participants, all women except for me. One member was also a program evaluator. As a prostate cancer survivor (now in remission) and someone currently undergoing treatment for Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, I’ve had experience with cancer support groups, mostly online. This was my first in-person group, and the difference was profound.

From the start, it was an emotional experience. Several group members had endured or were still facing cancer and medical conditions much more serious than my own. I was deeply moved and humbled by their resilience. I made a point of telling them how much they inspired me.

By our third session, my emotions were spilling over — I cried openly, something I rarely allow myself to do around others. That vulnerability was a turning point. I’ve been working with an existential psychologist for a couple of years, and she introduced me to the philosophy of “here and now” therapy developed by Dr. Irvin D. Yalom, a Stanford psychiatrist and acclaimed author. His approach emphasizes the importance of authentic interpersonal connection and emotional expression within a group setting.

I’ve read many of Yalom’s works, which explore the human condition and the therapeutic potential of group dynamics. In our Create to Heal group, I began to see exactly what he meant. The atmosphere of shared stories, honest feedback and creative expression created a safe space where emotional walls came down. It mirrored Yalom’s ideal group experience.

This group helped reduce my feelings of isolation and gave me a much-needed sense of belonging. We often worked through personal issues that had nothing to do with cancer, which was incredibly healing. Cancer may have brought us together, but our human experiences — grief, fear, resilience, hope — were what really connected us. I felt seen, heard and accepted.

The creative exercises allowed me to access a part of myself I often keep hidden. Through them, I found the emotional vulnerability and personal growth I didn’t even know I was seeking. I’ve come to recognize just how difficult it is for me to honestly express my emotions — and how relieving and freeing it can be when I do.

Yalom identifies several key principles in group therapy, which I experienced firsthand:

u Catharsis: Expressing long-held emotions in a supportive environment can bring powerful emotional release.

u Group cohesiveness: The trust and support within a group foster strong emotional bonds and a sense of shared experience.

u Existential reflection: Facing illness together naturally leads to confronting deeper questions about life, death and meaning. These reflections can open doors to greater self-awareness and a renewed sense of purpose.

I believe Patricia Varga’s Create to Heal program succeeded in creating exactly this type of space. Through creative expression, it offered us tools to reframe our experience — not just with cancer, but with life itself. It helped us find meaning in places we might not have looked at and opened possibilities many of us never imagined.

As I wrap up this chapter, I carry with me the deep emotional insights, personal breakthroughs and, most importantly, the heartfelt connections I made. Healing doesn’t always come in the form of medicine or treatment. Sometimes, it comes through a paintbrush, a lump of clay, a song — or simply a shared story.

As I prepare for the inevitable—though not death—I find myself on the brink of of beginning treatment for my Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (CLL). This transition brings a cascade of emotions: anger, apprehension, and deep reflection on my journey with cancer.

I’ve lived with CLL for three years, heeding the CLL Society’™s advice to delay treatment. Research supports this approach: starting treatment too early often means needing it again sooner, with no measurable benefit. But as my oncologists at the UNM Comprehensive Cancer Center and Christus St. Vincent’s Regional Cancer Center have noted, the time for treatment will likely come in 2025.

The knowledge that treatment carries its own burdens—vulnerability to infections, fatigue, bloating, and other side effects—has kept me vigilant and thoughtful about this next step.

Facing Fatigue and the Challenges of Aging

Of all the potential side effects, fatigue worries me the most. Running, even at a slower pace since turning seventy (I am now seventy-five), has been my solace. It clears my mind and quiets my anxieties. However, a recent fall while running left me with broken ribs, sidelining me temporarily. The thought of treatment threatening this cherished part of my life is hard to bear.

Adding to this challenge is the frustration of aging itself. Time chips away at my endurance and strength, amplifying my concerns as I approach treatment.

This is not my first brush with cancer. Years ago, I faced prostate cancer, now in remission. CLL, a slow-growing blood cancer, is a chronic condition and unlikely to claim my life. Yet it heightens my susceptibility to other cancers—a perssistent, if not looming, threat.

Living and Thriving Despite Cancer

Despite these realities, I remain focused on living. Researching my options and understanding my disease has empowered me to embrace the present. I take joy in my family’s milestones.

My wife stays active with yoga, swimming, and biking, and we often take walks together. My mother, who will turn ninety-seven on January 1, 2025, lives nearby in Santa Fe, keeping close ties to our family. My daughter has two young girls, aged one and three, and my son recently welcomed a baby boy. These bright moments are a constant reminder that life’s beauty persists, even in the face of health challenges.

Steps to Reduce Cancer Risk

If there’s one thing cancer has taught me, it’s that while some of us may be predisposed to the disease, we can still take steps to lower our risks. My father, who lived to 100, managed his blood cancer alongside other age-related disabilities. While he followed his doctors’ advice, his lifestyle wasn’t always healthy.

A balanced diet, regular exercise, and avoiding environmental pollutants like dirty air and water can significantly reduce cancer risks. Many in my generation grew up unaware of these connections. Smoking, excessive drinking, and exposure to toxins were commonplace.

For younger generations, cancer prevention is less about undoing the past and more about making informed choices today. Balancing career, family, and health while prioritizing screenings and preventive care can make a lasting difference.

The American Cancer Society recommends that screenings for colon, breast, cervical, skin, and prostate cancers begin at age 45. For those with a family history of cancer, early screenings are especially critical. A healthcare provider can help tailor a screening plan to your needs.

Moving Forward

Cancer may feel inevitable, but it isn’t. By embracing healthier lifestyles and prioritizing early detection, we can fight back. As I prepare for this next phase of my journey with CLL, I remain hopeful, grateful, and committed to living fully—one day at a time.

Advocate disabled in accident as teen helped others live with purpose, by Andy Winnegar

April 30, 2023

My friend, Gene R. Rodgers passed away recently after a short illness. He was 67. In my column, in the Santa Fe New Mexican, July 16, 2022, I shared with readers his adventurous life captured in his newly published memoir, Awesome by Accident, available on Amazon. When Rodgers was 17, he fell from a cliff, […]

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Why I Want To Run a Marathon by Andy Winnegar

September 23, 2020

In 2007 my wife talked me into writing a story for an Albuquerque Journal contest. The winner would get a free membership to Albuquerque Fit, a 14 week run-walk program. Winning the contest was a life changer. I had been overtraining for years. My injuries and a progressive disk disorder had prevented me from getting […]

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Training to Train

February 19, 2016

I was riding the ski lift in Taos on February 15, 2016 with a 60-year-old ski instructor, and a couple from Ontario who were 67 and 65. The couple had slept in their RV parked at the ski basin and were sharing with us how cold it was during the night. They were wondering why […]

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My Final Marathon

November 10, 2015

The Canyon City Marathon from the San Gabriel Mountains to Azusa LA County California on November 7th was my last marathon. I placed 3rd for my age group: 3:56:40. I have run in 15 of these 26.2 mile torture tours since a little before my 58th birthday. I agreed to run the Chicago Marathon October […]

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2014 Boston Marathon — No Looking At My Watch

May 22, 2014

Boston Marathon Race Details: Luckily I found Sam in the hotel elevator the night before the race. I didn’t have any safety pins for my bib. I ran with Hilary who had asked earlier that we run by feel; although, I had done this last year, feeling my foot for 7 miles. Hilary didn’t want […]

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Big Cottonwood Marathon – Sept 14, 2013

September 17, 2013

Today is the marathon. It’s 2 am and I’m heading downstairs to the lobby to grab a banana. I’m kicking myself for not buying one yesterday and worried they may run out if I wait. The hotel van will take runners at 3 am and 4 am to the bus pickup location. The bus driver […]

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My Boston Marathon Experience – April 15, 2013

April 28, 2012

I believe I was the first injured person out of 27K runners at the 2013 Boston Marathon at mile 7, which is impressive. Yet, I started the marathon injured. My daughter tried to get me to walk the rest of the race, but the staff wouldn’t let me leave the medical station. I believe my […]

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