Journal of My 10-Day Silent Vipassana Meditation Course

I learned of Vipassana meditation during yoga teacher training (YTT) in 2016 where I struggled to sit still and hold in the scream wanting to escape my mouth. The others in my YTT class will attest that I was the least likely of the group to take a 10-day course, so I surprised myself when I signed up.

While I continue to process the more serious lessons learned over the 10-days, I thought it would be fun to share a daily log of this often hysterical experience.

Day 0: Nervous road-trippin’. Matthew, the LSU college student, arrived at my house early for the eight-hour drive from Nashville to Jesup, Georgia. We’d been texting for a couple of weeks about our nervousness and excitement. While driving we got to know each other and shared our expectations for the coming days. He learned of the course through a friend and decided it would be a good way to kill time before leaving for a study abroad program. When we arrived at the Dhamma Patapa Center, Matthew and I said our goodbyes. Not only was there no talking, but men and women are separate throughout the course.

Day 1: Flammable meditation hall. My 10-day journey had a delightful start. I and the rest of the group looked like Walking Dead walkers who took magic mushrooms. We slowly shuffled around the property with our heads cocked to the side and stupid smiles on our faces. However, everyone made the rookie mistake of overeating at breakfast, lunch and “dinner”, which was only fruit and tea. By evening the hall was inflated with so much gas.

Day 2: Nauseous freak out. Dare I say I was having fun? I was destroying and dominating my meditations. My focus was laser sharp and I tingled at the end of every sitting. Before this, my eyes were an iPhone 2 and now they are an iPhone X. This was short-lived because by bedtime I was freaking out so much I became nauseous after the evening discourse instructed us to no longer give importance to aches and pains. The determination mediation was starting. I took an anti-nausea pill even though it violated the no intoxicants policy because I assumed vomiting all night will get me sent home.

Day 3: Premature torture. I made it through each session without moving, but the pain was intense and my mind and body had several bloody fights. “I don’t know if I can do this.” At the end of the day, I approached to the teacher who explained, “We don’t start Vipassana until tomorrow.” I misunderstood the instructions.

Day 4: Super Bowl Sunday. It was Vipassana day and everyone is traumatized after an hour of sitting without reacting to itches, sensations, aches and pains. To deal with the PTSD, I spent the late afternoon comparing Vipassana to the Super Bowl. I created a fantasy that the teacher and other staff were having a Super Bowl Party. I pictured them in the hall, sprawled out on our cushions, eating queso and chicken wings in their respective Patriots and Eagles gear.

Day 5: Miserably bored. Even though I am walking around with a perma-grin after breaking noble silence with Matthew via eye contact and a smile, the day ends bad. The evening discourse discussed how life is full of miseries. I decided, “I am miserable. Not in my outside life, but in this moment. Miserable because I am so bored. Bored to depths I could have never imagined.”

Day 6: Save Matthew. The 10.5 hours of daily meditation was getting to me, so I decided to give myself some PTO. I traded the 4am sitting for extra sleep and instead of meditating in my room I spent the afternoon walking in the woods and laying on the dock. This works and my spirits rebound. At “dinner”,  I see Matthew through the dining room window. He was barefoot and staring into his tea-cup for at least three minutes. I have an urge to call his devout catholic mother who feared he was being indoctrinated into a cult. “Mrs. Matthew’s mother? Hurry. Come fast. They got him.”

Day 7: Fireworks in my brain. A storm was brewing. I noticed agitation growing during the morning sitting. Then within minutes of closing my eyes in the afternoon session I was crying. A terrible event was, as the teacher says, coming to the surface and something real is happening. Inside my left ear, I felt popping and heard, what sounded like, distant fireworks. Per the instructions, I didn’t react, but observed and at the end of the hour, my face and clothes were soaked with tears.

Day 8: So much anger. I met with the teacher and asked about the pops and fireworks. She shrugged her shoulders. Great. Thanks for the insight, guidance and encouragement. My frustration with her grew when at the last sitting of the day, I hung my head low to stretch my neck and back. The Course Manager, Marie, approached me with a message, “Teacher says for you to go take rest.” With attitude and anger, I said, “No.” This was the first time I felt singled out because of cancer and I wanted no part of it.

Day 9: So much anger (Part 2). When I entered the mediation hall that morning, there was a chair holding my pillow next to my meditation cushion. With severe rage, I wanted to punt the plastic chair across the room. I stomped over, angrily return the pillow to my cushion and sat for the hour with fury and indignation. Afterwards, I walked to lunch and saw the Course Manager, Marie, coming toward me. My blood was boiling. I planned to tell her, “I didn’t ask for the God expletive mother expletive chair and I don’t expletive want it.” As her eyes grab mine, I’m stopped in my tracks. Marie has the most beautiful eyes I have ever gazed into. They are every color and shade an eye could be – blue, green, hazel and brown. I realized I have not looked into anyone’s eyes for over nine days. She says, “Stacie, that chair is there for you if you need or want it at anytime. If not, that’s okay too.” Still lost in her disarming eyes, I say, “Thank you.” Immediately, I realized their voodoo got me. I have remained equanimous. I know what I need to do. That evening, I sat in the chair out of acceptance of the compassion (and not pity) it represented and out of gratitude. When I went to bed, I noticed for the first time in days, I was not angry.

Day 10: A happy day. At 10am, noble silence ended and I was never so ready for anything in all my life. Instantly, I was met with high-pitched squeals, laughs, voices and excitement. It was overwhelming, loud, chaotic and disorienting. The rest of the day I gravitated towards smaller, more quiet groups. It was wonderful getting to know the stories of the strong, badass, women I sat in a room with for nearly 110 hours. Hearing their experiences I realized I wasn’t the only one in pain, anger, boredom and euphoria. We spent the warm, sunny afternoon reuniting with the mens group, eating, talking and laughing in the grass around the pond. It will remain one of the most treasured, memorable and happy days in the record of my life.

Day 11: Breaking out. After a final 4am wake-up gong and two-hour meditation, we were paroled from the self-imposed prison. Matthew and I partook in the symphony of squealing tires – everybody could not get out of there fast enough. He and I drove back to reality, talking and not talking the whole way. After a quick stop in Atlanta for tacos, we both agreed the outside world felt like a video game. As for Matthew, I could not have chosen a better person to spent 16 hours in a car with. Who knew I’d develop a connection with a 20-year old southern college student? Certainly not me, but I have learned that some of the most special bonds in my life have been created with those in unexpected packages. Tacos and video games aside, I could not to wait to get home to Fabien, who I longed to talk to thousands of times in the past ten days. I am so lucky to have a partner who not only encourages, but supports my crazy pursuits. I arrived home to a clean house, flowers and a thoughtful card. After retelling the day-by-day play-by-play, we went out for long-awaited wings and queso.

Stay tuned for my next blog post where I’ll hash out the insights and lessons learned.


Learning to Breathe


fullsizeoutput_1546Carcinoid NETs Health Storylines presents Zebra Tales! This is a brand new feature which will allow you to learn from the experiences of others within the NETs community. For our first Zebra Tale, Stacie Chevrier shares her journey with NETs and how her dedication to yoga has enhanced her own life.

When I walked into my first yoga class in 2007, I was confused. During 60 minutes, the teacher lead students through a long sequence of postures followed by moments of no instruction. I was uncomfortably close to my neighbors and everyone was breathing funny. I can’t remember why I went back, but I did and with diligent practice I learned the physical poses. Little did I know it would become so much more than exercise.

In 2014, I was diagnosed with a metastatic pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor, the same cancer that killed Steve Jobs. Through surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation, I continue to use the valuable lessons contained in that one hour yoga class to navigate the disease.

Some instructors start class by telling students to leave their problems at the door, which I find impossible. Yoga has taught me the mental strength to sit with things that are uncomfortable. Sometimes this is a yoga pose, a 45 minute MRI, anxiety, etc.

During my early days of yoga, I often became frustrated by forgetting the long sequence, but eventually realized that was by design. I now understand the teacher’s intention was to empower students to figure out what is best for them on their own. This method taught me to follow my instincts and that I don’t need to follow someone else’s plan because I am in charge of my body.

Another important concept this practice has gifted me is the ability to truly be present. During my practice I become so focused on breathing and the series of poses that I don’t have time to think about cancer, the uncertainty of the future or the traumas of the past. I have been able to translate this while off the yoga mat. When I notice anxiety building, I stop and tell myself, “Right now, in this moment, you’re okay.” Because in the grandest scheme of life, the present moment is all any of us are guaranteed.

Last summer in class, I had an incredible moment of clarity in an uncomfortable core pose, when my teacher said, we hold our issues in our tissues. I realized after years of always avoiding core work, that I didn’t avoid core work because I was weak, but I avoided it because that’s where I hold my stress, emotion and issues. After a lifetime of avoiding this area, it’s no wonder that’s where disease developed.

However, the lesson that has been most valuable to me is that yoga taught me to breathe. Through a one hour class, I take approximately 600 big, intentional, long, strong, cleansing, releasing breaths. Before yoga, I’m not sure I took one deep breath a day. Through my most difficult moments, I remind myself that the only requirement is to breathe. As long as I can accept air in and out of my lungs, I am still here living.


Photo: Emmy Singer, Inner Light Yoga

I am grateful for the teachers at the Center for Yoga, Inner Light Yoga and Lifepower Yoga who have taught me to breathe through a life with chronic cancer.


fullsizeoutput_1545Do you want to share your own experience with NETs? Email:

Log into Carcinoid NETs Health Storylines App and click on the Zebra Tales icon or click here to create and access the tool online.

Click here for the Carcinoid Cancer Foundation’s announcement.



PRRT Diary #4: Finally

We arrived home from a wonderful couple weeks in Europe late January 3rd. I was eager to jump back into my daily routine of yoga, writing and freelance projects, however, before I could unpack my suitcase and enjoy sleeping in my own bed, it was time to leave for my last PRRT in Houston on January 8th.

I sat on the plane in disbelief I was traveling again, let alone to cancer treatment – I’m four years in and wondering when the shock will dissipate. That and the fact that Donald Trump is President are the two things I still can’t wrap my brain around sometime. But, I put my big girl panties on and hopped to it.

Wednesday morning I walked to Excel Diagnostics for a check-up and scans of my abdomen, chest and kidneys. I hate these days not just because of the obvious, but also because these tests require I fast. Also, I’m pumped full of contrast fluid that leaves me dehydrated and with a yucky taste in my mouth. This time took extra long because the staff at local oncologists office could not access my port. After two unsuccessful stabs in the chest, they sent me to the interventional radiologist in the building because, in their opinion, the port had flipped. This angered me because, I’ve had my port for two and a half years without having a problem getting it accessed anywhere…except their office. It’s a bit unusual for a Neuroendocrine Tumor patient to have a port, but I got mine due to terrible, tiny, magically disappearing veins. Pre-port a simple blood draw usually meant 4-5 sticks, leaving me traumatized so the port has been a handy tool for someone who gets frequent blood draws. Back at the interventional radiologist’s office, they had me disrobe and hooked me up to an ultrasound machine where I was stabbed two more times in the chest. The fourth unsuccessful access left me in tears prompting them to numb me with lidocaine. Attempt five was successful and their ultrasound machine confirmed the port did not flip making the two-hour long traumatic process completely unnecessary, in addition to making me late for the rest of my appointments. And have I mentioned that I’m not allowed to eat until all the scans are complete? That didn’t happen until 2pm and hangry was an understatement. Fortunately, my husband had lunch hot and ready for my arrival back at the hotel. Smart man.

Thursday was therapy day, which did bring on some manageable nausea. This was easier to deal with after Dr. Ali explained my scans are continuing to show shrinkage. Woot! Woot! I haven’t calculated the percentages, but the doctors are thrilled with my response. He explained the next step would be to return in three months for a Gallium-68 scan.  The hope is that the medicine will continue to shrink the tumors even after I’ve concluded the therapy. They have seen shrinkage in patients up to a year, post-therapy. Basically, keep the prayers and good vibes coming my way as I move into this period where I’m no longer taking pro-active steps against the disease, which can be unsettling.

Friday, we returned to Excel Diagnostics for one last test to confirm the medicine is in place. I also nerded out with Dr. Ali about a new clinical trial they announced that week called Targeted Alpha Therapy. He described it as similar to PRRT, but instead of breaking down the cancer cell piece by piece, the radioisotope destroys the entire cell – at least it has in the animal tests researchers have conducted. The trial is in phase one where the goal is to find the appropriate dosage. Currently, it is not open to those who have received PRRT, but they hope to explore this in later phases. So, if you are a NET patient and interested in learning more, shoot me a message and I’ll share the contact information of the Excel Diagnostics Therapy Coordinator.

By mid-morning, we were on our way to the airport and hoping our flight would land as scheduled due to the snow and ice storm hitting Nashville that afternoon. Fortunately, all went as planned and we were home in our jammies by the late afternoon watching a rare, Nashville snow fall through the windows of our bonus room.


The USAs cutest new citizen

I confess, the following days were filled with lingering nausea, Netflix binges and many, many naps. The only interruptions to this schedule were a trip to Vanderbilt for my Lanreotide injection and a long-awaited court date where my husband (finally) became a naturalized US citizen.

It may have been the accumulation of traveling with the therapy, but this last treatment took more recovery time that numbers two and three. As usual, I powered through and found myself back on my yoga mat, kicking ass by post-therapy day number ten.

Two weeks and one day after my final PRRT, the FDA (finally) approved this treatment, which is a huge milestone for the Neuroendocrine Tumor community. I had anticipated this day after my contact at the FDA reached out last fall searching for my input since I am the NET Patient Representative. Unfortunately, because I was currently undergoing the treatment, I was deemed to have a conflicting interest and therefore not permitted to participate in the approval hearing. Oh well. I am thrilled that more patients will now have access to this therapy without having to travel across the world or country and that insurance companies should (hopefully) begin covering the cost.

With my health back on track, I figure it was time to do something special for myself. This post has been pre-scheduled because from January 31st – February 11th I am off to a Vipassana meditation course in Jesup, Georgia where I’ll be meditating for ten days, 11+ hours a day, with no talking or distractions such as books, journals or smart phones. I know – I must be crazy?!?! I first learned of this meditation technique during my yoga teacher training in the summer of 2016. However, since then, my meditation practice has been sporadic and inconsistent, at best. I know I should do it, but always find an excuse not to. I’m trying not to enter the experience with too many expectations, but my intentions are to (1) make myself mentally stronger, (2) release repressed stress that is disserving my body and (3) detox from my technology addiction. BUT, we’ll see what happens and I look forward to sharing my experience and insights with you. To learn more about Vipassana meditation, click here.