Last week I had a deep and committed relationship with our couch. I was on it every day, in nearly the fetal position, with my trusty lap top within fingers reach and a Criminal Minds marathon on the t.v. It takes a lot for me to be knocked down for the count. I've dealt with fevers, flu, double pneumonia, and full on arthritic flares on major joints and still gotten the kids to school, made meals, and had all the laundry washed and folded by nighttime. Not this time!
It started on Friday when I scratched what I thought was a rare mosquito bite on my back. Saturday that bite had grown to the size of a half dollar, literally if you took a dollar and cut it in half it was that size. Sunday the swelling had started from under my right breast and had spread to the spine all in the size of one of those dried sausages you see in the pictures of a butcher. I had a spare tire and it hurt. Monday brought me to the doctor's office. After waiting until 4:30 for my 3:30 appointment...it was diagnosed that either I had MRSA, Staph infection, or...he really wasn't sure. But he prescribed an antibiotic and said that if it didn't start draining on its own by Thursday I would have to come back for him to lance it and drain it. That also hurts. I've had it done, it sucks.
Now all of my life whenever I had a doctor appointment the appointment would start the very same way each and every time: what hurts, is it swollen, and how would you rate your pain? How would I rate my pain? As a kid I had a hard time figuring this one out. Rate my pain? Like how? Like I would rate a movie? Two thumbs up? Two thumbs down? What about those weird days where I didn't really hurt but I couldn't move my joints, would that be a one thumb up one thumb down deal? As I got a little older this fancy schmancy new rating system came out that all the docs seemed to go gaga over. It was a scale starting a 0 and ending at the number 10. So 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain I'd ever felt I would have to make my little crayola line over the number closely relating to the level of pain I was feeling. Well how did I know what was the worst pain I'd ever felt? I was only 8, I hoped I had a lot more life to live, which meant childbirth and I had heard that was excruciating. Plus I'd never broken a bone or anything so how did I know if maybe one day I would break a bone and THAT would trump the current pain I was experiencing in my right ankle? I struggled with the pain rating, I really did. While most 8 year old girls were anxious over having the right clothes for their Barbie, I worried that I was not giving an accurate pain rating for my doctors. Then they brought out the smiley face rating scale. That thing really ticked me off. There is no smiley face on this earth that can accurately portray what I feel inside. Seriously hated the smiley faces.
I finally found a way around those annoying pain ratings. Instead of making a mark on a line, I started describing my pain to the doctors in the most vivacious words I could come up with. Instead of just, "it hurts" I would have an entire diatribe of how the pain would vibrate under my skin, starting from the marrow of the joint itself. That each wave would bring a cresting of heat and pressure with it, crushing the bone and skin until it felt as if my ankle would become just bits of sand, giving away underneath me. I read a lot as a kid and I had quite the vivid imagination along with quite the substantial vocabulary to choose from. I would describe feeling, if it were a sharp pain, that someone was using an ice pick and hammer to bash away at my finger joints every time I grasped a pencil or crayon. A dull thudding pain was described as the slow beat of an African drum heard off in the distance. Where you are never sure where it came from but it matches your heart beat pound for pound.
Back to my current pain of last week. After some input from a message board I frequent, I diagnosed myself with Cellulitis, inflammation of the skin cells. Resulting in swelling, pain, fever, joint pain, and a gross collection of pus and fluids in the area of a blister. By Tuesday this 'bite' had grown into a spare tire of inflammation, a collection of hardened pus and a blister that would.not.break. The pain was insanity. The slightest shift in air pressure around my skin caused me to curl up and close my eyes praying for stillness to return. When I saw my kids come running at me for a hug or kiss goodnight I would scream out for them to stay back and not touch me in a panic that they would accidentally hit my sore and I would implode into a million pieces. The pain wasn't just in that one spot, I felt it in each and every joint in my body, that thudding aching stiffness. It was if someone had poured molten lava that was just starting to solidify in each joint causing pressure, heat and stiffness. Hot moist packs wouldn't work, a heating pad didn't work, I was beginning to doubt that even the antibiotics were working their magic. Thursday came and I knew I HAD to get my one son to his doctor appointment that morning. It had been cancelled two weeks prior and it was a very important visit. So despite cringing and nearly vomiting while getting dressed myself I got the 3 boys dressed, fed, and in the van heading towards our friend's house. I dropped off the 2 boys and took the 1 to the office. Even the doctor noticed the pale look on my face and the way I was walking. I told him it was mind over matter this morning and lets just focus on what I came for. On our way back to picking up the other 2 I began to think it was Emergency Room time. I was having hot and cold spells, the pain was so intense I was crying, it was time to admit it: I was in over my head. We get home and my husband is home, thankfully early! He took the boys and I figured that first I would lie down on the bed and then once I got my breath back we would head to the ER.....
Five hours later I woke up.
I went into the bathroom and almost wept with joy, the stupid blister was finally draining. Not a whole lot, but enough to make it so I wouldn't need to go to the ER or to the doctor to have it lanced. Oh it hurt like a son of a *itch but it was draining. I was never so happy to see pus. In the days that have followed my spare tire of swelling has gone down to the size of a tube sock. The pain is gone and it still weeps a bit as the rest of excess fluid works its way out. I've had cellulitis before but never ever like this. It was a reminder that as much as I would like to think I'm in control, my body has the last say in the matter.
It also made me realize that while pain is universal, we all feel pain, pain is also highly individualized. What hurts me, may not hurt someone else to the same degree. So when a doctor asks us to rate our pain and I check off a 5 and they can't figure out why I'm even in the ER then if it's not a 10, it's because my tolerance for pain is way higher than someone elses. And somewhere out there is someone who may have been able to take on my cellulitis last week and still been able to get up, get dressed, and lived their life. Instead of me, who became addicted to Mahjong and left a body imprint on our couch.
After a week off I am jumping back into my training. I was very angry when I first realized that training was NOT in the cards for me last week (the tip off was when trying to get dressed made me dry heave). I was pissed off that after only 1 week of in earnest training my body was already crashing on me. Oh I was pissed and I had a lot of not nice things to say to myself. But it's a week later, I feel better so it's game back on. I have to realize that while there will be interruptions in my training that's no reason to stop altogether. I want this challenge, I need to face this challenge. I will and I can.
Oh and next time I got to the doctor and need to rate my pain, I'm bringing this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/search/label/pain%20faces
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Dragon Lady
Growing up with Art I had two forms of torture that I had to face both at school and at home. The first form was called Physical Therapy (PT) or as I would call it in my mind, Pure Torture. The second form was Occupational Therapy (OT) which I never came up with a fun little nickname for but despised as much as I did PT.
In school I had PT twice a week. The Dragon Lady would come to my classroom and interrupt my schedule of being as quiet and unnoticeable as possible in the class as to avoid being teased on the playground. I dreaded that time because the sheer act of getting up in front of everyone to walk out to meet the dragon lady meant that all 25 pairs of eyes were on me from the time I stood up to the time I quickly slipped through the classroom door out into the hall. And those same 25 pairs of eyes would be on me when I came back, all but guaranteeing I would be teased at some point during afternoon recess. Oh how I hated those biweekly visits from the dragon lady. She wasn't mean, really she was pretty nice to me considering I would barely speak to her, I tended to glare at her, and I would perform my exercises with the same enthusiasm saved for facing ones death. I hated PT. I hated the idea behind it because honestly, it didn't feel good so how could it BE good? They all kept telling me and my parents that movement was GOOD, that it would be HELPFUL. Funny, but the more I moved, the more my joints hurt. The hotter they got, the redder they got and the more swollen they got. I hated PT and I hated that it felt like no one was listening to me. So I stopped talking. I just shut up, got up, and went into our little conference room and did what ever form of torture the dragon lady had dreamt up in what I imagined was her evil lair, filled with exercise bands, therapy balls, and various Velcro ankle weights. Ooooo how I hated those heavy, hard clunky ankle weights.
OT I don't remember as vividly. I don't think I had it very often and since when I did have it it tended to focus on doing art work, playing with putty or coloring. Things that I thoroughly enjoyed. Even the act of having to get up and GO to OT from class didn't bother me because I knew that while my classmates were toiling in class working on vocabulary words or diagramming boring sentences, I was getting to be creative and play. Ha! In your face third grade!
Growing up, PT and OT were always on my mind. Dreading that physical movement each and every day. Even on the weekends I wouldn't get a break from it. That evil dragon PT lady, well her clutches spread into my parents! She sent home the poison apple in the form of MORE exercises for me to do at home. At home! Even in the peaceful sanctity of my own home I would be forced to do the hated exercises, all while being told it was GOOD for me. That it would HELP me feel better. Whatever! Not only did it hurt sometimes, they were BORING! I mean really for any 8 year old how exciting is it to lie on your belly and have to lift your arms and legs up like you are Superman? I'm 8, I'm not an idiot, I know I am not Superman. I will not fly, I will not leap tall buildings in a single bound. Heck there were days I couldn't manage the two steps from my bedroom to the bathroom. So don't sell me on exercises with "Ooo imagine your Superman!" Trust me, in my mind I was saying screw you. I'm sure if they looked close enough into my eyes they probably could've read that thought as well.
This morning I woke up and the first thought was, I wonder how my run today is going to feel? When can I fit it in our schedule today? It hit me, wait a minute, I'm looking FORWARD to this! It's physical activity and I can't wait to do it? Wow that's weird. My day was going to be busy, dropping boys at school, stopping at the retirement villa to vacuum the pool, grocery shopping, etc. Midget was still sniffly so I couldn't take him to the Y kids center so I could run. Hmm. Then after lunch I had a meeting at the boys school followed by escorting the oldest child to an audition. Ah the rock n roll lifestyle of a Mom! Around lunchtime I was back to thinking about my run when it occurred to me that after Ian's audition we would have about 2 hours before hubby would be home with the other two munchkins. Why not take him with me on the run? Ah ha! Problem solved.
After a good audition and a fairly good school meeting Ian and I got home and got changed into running gear. I instructed Ian on what we were going to do, I would tell him when to go and we would run for a certain time and then walk for a certain time. And to stave off any hopes he may have of 'beating' old Mom I told him that we were to match our pace of running so that he was next to me. We were not racing!! We headed out the door and I was curious to see how Ian would rate as a running partner.
I now understand why some articles recommend having a run partner. Having Ian with me definitely made a difference in how I ran and how fast I went. First off, he had the great idea of getting off of the road and running on the trail that is in the golf course which runs throughout our housing complex. That way we could run/walk without fear of being hit by a car or trying to avoid all the cars parked on the road. Then I noticed that since I was also keeping an eye on him and making sure he was keeping up and trying to keep up with his idle chit chat I wasn't so worried about falling as I was with the first run I did. I was still thinking left, right, left, right but the "don't fall" phrase dropped out pretty early. The proudest moment was when I realized that I had to tell IAN to keep up with ME during one of the run intervals. I hope it was because he truly was getting winded and not just placating his Mom and letting me think I was outpacing him. Either way, it felt good.
We reached our driveway puffing and feeling good. Another run, better than the first, was under my belt. For once, the movement DID feel good. I listened to what my body wanted to do and how it could do it and it helped. My thigh muscles are sore, of course, but it feels good. It's weird to say that, that part of me is sore, but that it feels good. I'm still wrapping my head around that idea.
I will probably never cross paths with the dragon lady again. I don't even remember her name. And even if I did, I would never admit that the exercises probably did help protect some of my flexibility. It's a pride thing. But there was one thing she did also always say to me, "Listen to your body, you are the only one who knows what it can do." And ok, I'm listening.
In school I had PT twice a week. The Dragon Lady would come to my classroom and interrupt my schedule of being as quiet and unnoticeable as possible in the class as to avoid being teased on the playground. I dreaded that time because the sheer act of getting up in front of everyone to walk out to meet the dragon lady meant that all 25 pairs of eyes were on me from the time I stood up to the time I quickly slipped through the classroom door out into the hall. And those same 25 pairs of eyes would be on me when I came back, all but guaranteeing I would be teased at some point during afternoon recess. Oh how I hated those biweekly visits from the dragon lady. She wasn't mean, really she was pretty nice to me considering I would barely speak to her, I tended to glare at her, and I would perform my exercises with the same enthusiasm saved for facing ones death. I hated PT. I hated the idea behind it because honestly, it didn't feel good so how could it BE good? They all kept telling me and my parents that movement was GOOD, that it would be HELPFUL. Funny, but the more I moved, the more my joints hurt. The hotter they got, the redder they got and the more swollen they got. I hated PT and I hated that it felt like no one was listening to me. So I stopped talking. I just shut up, got up, and went into our little conference room and did what ever form of torture the dragon lady had dreamt up in what I imagined was her evil lair, filled with exercise bands, therapy balls, and various Velcro ankle weights. Ooooo how I hated those heavy, hard clunky ankle weights.
OT I don't remember as vividly. I don't think I had it very often and since when I did have it it tended to focus on doing art work, playing with putty or coloring. Things that I thoroughly enjoyed. Even the act of having to get up and GO to OT from class didn't bother me because I knew that while my classmates were toiling in class working on vocabulary words or diagramming boring sentences, I was getting to be creative and play. Ha! In your face third grade!
Growing up, PT and OT were always on my mind. Dreading that physical movement each and every day. Even on the weekends I wouldn't get a break from it. That evil dragon PT lady, well her clutches spread into my parents! She sent home the poison apple in the form of MORE exercises for me to do at home. At home! Even in the peaceful sanctity of my own home I would be forced to do the hated exercises, all while being told it was GOOD for me. That it would HELP me feel better. Whatever! Not only did it hurt sometimes, they were BORING! I mean really for any 8 year old how exciting is it to lie on your belly and have to lift your arms and legs up like you are Superman? I'm 8, I'm not an idiot, I know I am not Superman. I will not fly, I will not leap tall buildings in a single bound. Heck there were days I couldn't manage the two steps from my bedroom to the bathroom. So don't sell me on exercises with "Ooo imagine your Superman!" Trust me, in my mind I was saying screw you. I'm sure if they looked close enough into my eyes they probably could've read that thought as well.
This morning I woke up and the first thought was, I wonder how my run today is going to feel? When can I fit it in our schedule today? It hit me, wait a minute, I'm looking FORWARD to this! It's physical activity and I can't wait to do it? Wow that's weird. My day was going to be busy, dropping boys at school, stopping at the retirement villa to vacuum the pool, grocery shopping, etc. Midget was still sniffly so I couldn't take him to the Y kids center so I could run. Hmm. Then after lunch I had a meeting at the boys school followed by escorting the oldest child to an audition. Ah the rock n roll lifestyle of a Mom! Around lunchtime I was back to thinking about my run when it occurred to me that after Ian's audition we would have about 2 hours before hubby would be home with the other two munchkins. Why not take him with me on the run? Ah ha! Problem solved.
After a good audition and a fairly good school meeting Ian and I got home and got changed into running gear. I instructed Ian on what we were going to do, I would tell him when to go and we would run for a certain time and then walk for a certain time. And to stave off any hopes he may have of 'beating' old Mom I told him that we were to match our pace of running so that he was next to me. We were not racing!! We headed out the door and I was curious to see how Ian would rate as a running partner.
I now understand why some articles recommend having a run partner. Having Ian with me definitely made a difference in how I ran and how fast I went. First off, he had the great idea of getting off of the road and running on the trail that is in the golf course which runs throughout our housing complex. That way we could run/walk without fear of being hit by a car or trying to avoid all the cars parked on the road. Then I noticed that since I was also keeping an eye on him and making sure he was keeping up and trying to keep up with his idle chit chat I wasn't so worried about falling as I was with the first run I did. I was still thinking left, right, left, right but the "don't fall" phrase dropped out pretty early. The proudest moment was when I realized that I had to tell IAN to keep up with ME during one of the run intervals. I hope it was because he truly was getting winded and not just placating his Mom and letting me think I was outpacing him. Either way, it felt good.
We reached our driveway puffing and feeling good. Another run, better than the first, was under my belt. For once, the movement DID feel good. I listened to what my body wanted to do and how it could do it and it helped. My thigh muscles are sore, of course, but it feels good. It's weird to say that, that part of me is sore, but that it feels good. I'm still wrapping my head around that idea.
I will probably never cross paths with the dragon lady again. I don't even remember her name. And even if I did, I would never admit that the exercises probably did help protect some of my flexibility. It's a pride thing. But there was one thing she did also always say to me, "Listen to your body, you are the only one who knows what it can do." And ok, I'm listening.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
I like to move it move it
Today was the first day of the running part of my training program. I was nervous and was thinking about it alot last night. Would I even be able to do the 30 seconds running interval? What if I hurt myself the first day? Was this just a crazy idea? It didn't help that I ended up staying awake until 2a.m. reading a book instead of getting much needed rest. With only 3 hours of sleep under my belt the day started like most others: wake up the boys, feed the boys, clothe the boys, drop boys at school.
Now the youngest one stays home with me until preschool starts at 1 so usually I have a shadow throughout my morning. But it would appear that the nasty cold bug has bit my little midget. He fell asleep on the couch and all was quiet in the house. That was not good. When it's quiet I can hear myself think. When I can hear myself think I tend to overthink things that I should probably just let go but don't. I obsess, thinking about the things I should've said or should've done. I start working myself up feeling angry and disappointed about a situation that really I should just let go. By the time lunch rolls around I'm pretty keyed up, tired, and slightly dreading the impending run.
After dropping off my revived midget who ate lunch and seemed to perk up when given ScoobyDoo fruit snacks I headed over to my parents house (aka the retirement villa). After stretching a bit, putting on my now fully functional mp3 player (yay for charging!) and I opened the front door and took a deep breath. I can do this.
I figured I shouldn't just hop out the front door and start the first 30 second run interval. So since I had mail to drop on the mailbox I quickly walked to it and figured that was a good warm up. Using my cell phone I found the stopwatch function and hit START.
The first running step felt weird. I can't describe it. I felt like I was limping quickly. I could definitely feel that my right knee is weak and I'll need to work on strengthening the surrounding muscles on my cross training days. Next thing I knew the first 30 seconds were over and I was walking again for my 1.5 minute interval. Ok not too shabby, I didn't fall. And it went from there. Run 30 seconds, Walk 1.5. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Don't fall. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Don't fall. As it went each run interval got a little easier. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable, not that limpy stiff gait that I had in the first 30 seconds, something that I imagined felt like running. I mean, I've never run before so I wasn't sure how it would feel but I assumed it must feel like this, or something kinda like it.
I did my cool down by walking back to the villa, feeling good. I was sweaty but thankfully today was a rare cool day in the desert with a high wind so not as bad as I'm sure I'll be come the end of June. As I walked home I realized that the anxiety and tension that had filled my head all morning was gone. While I was running all I focused on was putting one foot in front of the other (and not falling). It didn't matter what else was going on in my life, for those 20 minutes my only focus was movement. It was freeing. That anger, anxiety, tiredness wiped off of my brain with the basic instinct to move the muscles, tendons, and sinews of my body to propel forward and keep going.
It's been about 3 hours since the run. My body is definitely letting me know that it is not amused. I'm sore but not the bad type of sore one usually endures with Arthritis. The bones don't hurt. The muscles are sore and tired. If they could talk, and they sometimes do, I think they are saying "What the HECK are you doing to us? What is this? Are you insane?!" But so far the joints are staying quiet. My mind is also quiet. Still relishing those 20 minutes of stillness that rarely happens in my mind. I remember watching people run when out and about. I would always interpret the expressions on their face of a person who is upset, in pain, preoccupied. But now I think that while I'm sure some of them were in pure agony, there were some that were just of the single mind of focusing on moving the right then the left foot. Moving forward, moving their bodies, just moving and nothing else.
Now the youngest one stays home with me until preschool starts at 1 so usually I have a shadow throughout my morning. But it would appear that the nasty cold bug has bit my little midget. He fell asleep on the couch and all was quiet in the house. That was not good. When it's quiet I can hear myself think. When I can hear myself think I tend to overthink things that I should probably just let go but don't. I obsess, thinking about the things I should've said or should've done. I start working myself up feeling angry and disappointed about a situation that really I should just let go. By the time lunch rolls around I'm pretty keyed up, tired, and slightly dreading the impending run.
After dropping off my revived midget who ate lunch and seemed to perk up when given ScoobyDoo fruit snacks I headed over to my parents house (aka the retirement villa). After stretching a bit, putting on my now fully functional mp3 player (yay for charging!) and I opened the front door and took a deep breath. I can do this.
I figured I shouldn't just hop out the front door and start the first 30 second run interval. So since I had mail to drop on the mailbox I quickly walked to it and figured that was a good warm up. Using my cell phone I found the stopwatch function and hit START.
The first running step felt weird. I can't describe it. I felt like I was limping quickly. I could definitely feel that my right knee is weak and I'll need to work on strengthening the surrounding muscles on my cross training days. Next thing I knew the first 30 seconds were over and I was walking again for my 1.5 minute interval. Ok not too shabby, I didn't fall. And it went from there. Run 30 seconds, Walk 1.5. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Don't fall. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Don't fall. As it went each run interval got a little easier. I found a rhythm that felt comfortable, not that limpy stiff gait that I had in the first 30 seconds, something that I imagined felt like running. I mean, I've never run before so I wasn't sure how it would feel but I assumed it must feel like this, or something kinda like it.
I did my cool down by walking back to the villa, feeling good. I was sweaty but thankfully today was a rare cool day in the desert with a high wind so not as bad as I'm sure I'll be come the end of June. As I walked home I realized that the anxiety and tension that had filled my head all morning was gone. While I was running all I focused on was putting one foot in front of the other (and not falling). It didn't matter what else was going on in my life, for those 20 minutes my only focus was movement. It was freeing. That anger, anxiety, tiredness wiped off of my brain with the basic instinct to move the muscles, tendons, and sinews of my body to propel forward and keep going.
It's been about 3 hours since the run. My body is definitely letting me know that it is not amused. I'm sore but not the bad type of sore one usually endures with Arthritis. The bones don't hurt. The muscles are sore and tired. If they could talk, and they sometimes do, I think they are saying "What the HECK are you doing to us? What is this? Are you insane?!" But so far the joints are staying quiet. My mind is also quiet. Still relishing those 20 minutes of stillness that rarely happens in my mind. I remember watching people run when out and about. I would always interpret the expressions on their face of a person who is upset, in pain, preoccupied. But now I think that while I'm sure some of them were in pure agony, there were some that were just of the single mind of focusing on moving the right then the left foot. Moving forward, moving their bodies, just moving and nothing else.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Death of an MP3 Player
May 16, 2011. Yesterday was rough. Woke up filled with a head ready to explode, thank you children and hubby for sharing your cold germs! Fannnnnntastic. Spent the day on our couch. Just me, Criminal Minds Marathon, tissues and various over the counter congestion relievers. It's amazing I wasn't seeing dancing hippos with tutus. I was making some wicked combos of Benadryl, Tylenol Cold and Advil Congestion Relief. I knew today was the kick off day of my first phase of training and I wanted to get as close to 'healthy' as I could.
Woke up this morning feeling somewhat better. At least I didn't want to rip my face off to relieve any pressure so I took that as a promising sign. Got the boys ready for school and packed up my gym bag. I'm not a 'regular' at the gym so my gym bag is probably considered kinda sad by a gym rat. A bottle of water (hydrate hydrate!), my mp3 player and a hand towel. But really, what else could I really need? Dropped the older 2 boys at school and let the youngest, Ben, know that we were going to the gym. His response, "Finally!". Oh the honesty of children... Ben then went on a 10 minute discussion of how at the gym I work out and get skinny while he gets to play with all of his friends. I was informed that I was not to come back to soon and disrupt his social time. Oookay boss.
Arrived at our local Y. I go to the Copper Basin YMCA. A very nice facility, way better than the old one we attended in Illinois. Very clean, equipment is in excellent shape. No funky gym smell. That smell of stale sweat and socks that have been forgotten in lockers years ago that usually inhabits a gym. After dropping off the royal king of social butterflies in the kids room I headed to the equipment room. Now according to my program my first day is supposed to be cross training. Any type of exercise, my choice. So I though I would start off with the elliptical which I find is easiest on my knees and hips. I found one and climbed up on it. I do this carefully, one time I went to get on an elliptical and the darned thing moved and I almost fell off of it. So now I have a paranoia that I'm going to step on and then oh so gracefully fall off the other side and never be able to return to the gym out of humiliation. So I do very carefully get on the elliptical...First thing is putting the water bottle in the holder, check. Then I pull out my mp3 and press the on button. Nothing. Oh come on. I then start pushing all the buttons thinking I had just forgotten which was the on button (trust me, it happens when you have chemo brain). Still nothing. Not a blip. After 2 minutes of desperate mp3 squeezing of buttons I come to the realization that my first work out will be sans music. This sucks. I really enjoy blocking out the sounds of the people around me and it also prevents people from striking up a conversation with me. Yeah, I've got issues with people. That's a whole other blog trust me. So I suck it up, shove the defunct player in my bag and grudgingly get back on the elliptical. At least I have a machine in front of a t.v. so I can feign complete absorption into the program in front of me. Oh crap, it's Fox News...
15 teeth grinding minutes later I'm sweaty and had completed .80 of a mile. Not bad considering I'm congested and it's the first time in the gym in lets just say several months. I'm also thoroughly convinced that Fox News is nothing more than a tabloid with really stupid reporters. Though I did enjoy listening to the lady in front of me do her acapella rendition of Usher "My Boo" while biking. If it was American Idol I think she would have made it to at least the final 5.
Next was weights. I use the machines and not free weights, I don't trust my hand grip to be able to safely keep a secure hold on free weights. I alternated machines for my arms, legs, back, and abs. On my first machine I heard the grunts of what I thought was a man doing free weights. But there was no one over there. I moved to the second machine and still heard what was becoming slightly erotic moaning coming from somewhere in the gym. Hmmm see this is why I need my mp3. Third machine I really look around to see this lady on a machine working her biceps. This woman would make Linda Hamilton in Terminator look like a wispy twig. She had muscles. Her muscles had muscles. And apparently she really really gets enjoyment out of pumping ridiculous amounts of iron. Really. That was the source of the moaning. She moved along and finished and silence refilled the gym. I made a mental note to be sure to spend extra time wiping down that piece of equipment once I got to it....
45 minutes later I was done with my work out. I did enough to break a sweat and I felt that lovely ooey gooey warmth that runs down the muscle when you do work it. Day one down. I picked up two class schedules to keep my cross training days interesting. I cross train 3 times a week and then running 3 times as well. I saw an aqua aerobics class that looked like fun while I was working out. So I think next Monday that will be my workout. Wednesday is my next cross train day this week and I'm going to try something called ABS-olution with Trish. I picked up Mr.Social Butterfly and apparently it was an acceptable time for him to end his reign in the kids room. I'm now charging my mp3 player in hopes that tomorrows first run will be to my tunes. Otherwise I won't be able to drown out my wheezing...
Woke up this morning feeling somewhat better. At least I didn't want to rip my face off to relieve any pressure so I took that as a promising sign. Got the boys ready for school and packed up my gym bag. I'm not a 'regular' at the gym so my gym bag is probably considered kinda sad by a gym rat. A bottle of water (hydrate hydrate!), my mp3 player and a hand towel. But really, what else could I really need? Dropped the older 2 boys at school and let the youngest, Ben, know that we were going to the gym. His response, "Finally!". Oh the honesty of children... Ben then went on a 10 minute discussion of how at the gym I work out and get skinny while he gets to play with all of his friends. I was informed that I was not to come back to soon and disrupt his social time. Oookay boss.
Arrived at our local Y. I go to the Copper Basin YMCA. A very nice facility, way better than the old one we attended in Illinois. Very clean, equipment is in excellent shape. No funky gym smell. That smell of stale sweat and socks that have been forgotten in lockers years ago that usually inhabits a gym. After dropping off the royal king of social butterflies in the kids room I headed to the equipment room. Now according to my program my first day is supposed to be cross training. Any type of exercise, my choice. So I though I would start off with the elliptical which I find is easiest on my knees and hips. I found one and climbed up on it. I do this carefully, one time I went to get on an elliptical and the darned thing moved and I almost fell off of it. So now I have a paranoia that I'm going to step on and then oh so gracefully fall off the other side and never be able to return to the gym out of humiliation. So I do very carefully get on the elliptical...First thing is putting the water bottle in the holder, check. Then I pull out my mp3 and press the on button. Nothing. Oh come on. I then start pushing all the buttons thinking I had just forgotten which was the on button (trust me, it happens when you have chemo brain). Still nothing. Not a blip. After 2 minutes of desperate mp3 squeezing of buttons I come to the realization that my first work out will be sans music. This sucks. I really enjoy blocking out the sounds of the people around me and it also prevents people from striking up a conversation with me. Yeah, I've got issues with people. That's a whole other blog trust me. So I suck it up, shove the defunct player in my bag and grudgingly get back on the elliptical. At least I have a machine in front of a t.v. so I can feign complete absorption into the program in front of me. Oh crap, it's Fox News...
15 teeth grinding minutes later I'm sweaty and had completed .80 of a mile. Not bad considering I'm congested and it's the first time in the gym in lets just say several months. I'm also thoroughly convinced that Fox News is nothing more than a tabloid with really stupid reporters. Though I did enjoy listening to the lady in front of me do her acapella rendition of Usher "My Boo" while biking. If it was American Idol I think she would have made it to at least the final 5.
Next was weights. I use the machines and not free weights, I don't trust my hand grip to be able to safely keep a secure hold on free weights. I alternated machines for my arms, legs, back, and abs. On my first machine I heard the grunts of what I thought was a man doing free weights. But there was no one over there. I moved to the second machine and still heard what was becoming slightly erotic moaning coming from somewhere in the gym. Hmmm see this is why I need my mp3. Third machine I really look around to see this lady on a machine working her biceps. This woman would make Linda Hamilton in Terminator look like a wispy twig. She had muscles. Her muscles had muscles. And apparently she really really gets enjoyment out of pumping ridiculous amounts of iron. Really. That was the source of the moaning. She moved along and finished and silence refilled the gym. I made a mental note to be sure to spend extra time wiping down that piece of equipment once I got to it....
45 minutes later I was done with my work out. I did enough to break a sweat and I felt that lovely ooey gooey warmth that runs down the muscle when you do work it. Day one down. I picked up two class schedules to keep my cross training days interesting. I cross train 3 times a week and then running 3 times as well. I saw an aqua aerobics class that looked like fun while I was working out. So I think next Monday that will be my workout. Wednesday is my next cross train day this week and I'm going to try something called ABS-olution with Trish. I picked up Mr.Social Butterfly and apparently it was an acceptable time for him to end his reign in the kids room. I'm now charging my mp3 player in hopes that tomorrows first run will be to my tunes. Otherwise I won't be able to drown out my wheezing...
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The begining of every journey begins with one small step.
June 21st, 2010 Chicago, IL. This was the big day. It was two years in the making and it had finally come. This would be my 13th surgery. I'm not incredibly superstitious but still, the fact that it was my 13the surgey did not escape me and maybe made me a wee bit worried. On this day my surgeon would be performing a Roux n Y on me. Gastric bypass. Now I know a lot of people think this is the 'cheaters' way to losing weight but the surgery was being performed for different reasons than that of celebrities like Star Jones or Carnie Wilson.
When I was diagnosed with JRA the only treatment was massive doses of baby aspirin. Actually to call that treatment is wrong. The aspirin was merely a way for me to deal with the throbbing pain in my right ankle, it would not stop the progression of my disease, merely make the pain slightly easier. By massive doses I mean my parents had to buy new bottles of aspirin about every 2 - 3 days. Aspirin is incredibly harsh on the digestive system. Then I was given prednisone, a steroid, which also over long term use will cause ulcerations of the stomach. By the time I was 25 I had several severe ulcers in my stomach lining. I lived on anti-acid pills. I could make a cocktail of pepto bismal, antacids, and tums in a jiff and then pray that I would sleep through the night without vomiting stomach acids and bile. It took me a year of living like this when I finally just could not take it anymore. After many false starts, crushed hopes, and intensive search for the right surgeon and right program I found my surgeon and started the process of getting my gastric bypass. By having this surgery I would no longer have the intense burning pain in my gut that often made me wonder if I actually was harboring a very angry alien in my stomach who would come bursting out at an inconvenient moment. As my surgeon said, the surgery would also save my life as several of my ulcers were dangerously close to perforating my stomach lining.
Surgery went smoothly, no problems at all. I woke up in recovery and all I could think was: ok, now what? What would my life be like now? I had taken the presurgical courses which outlined how I would have to change how and what I ate. How I would need to focus on proteins, protein shakes, calorie intake, etc. All these things I never thought of. It was rough the first few weeks. I had two drains coming out of my stomach which made me very uncomfortable, I did not want to leave the house with those drains. Watching my family eat was no big deal, I had no appetite. I worried that I was not drinking enough protein but my doctor kept telling me I was doing fine and not to worry so much. As long as I followed the instructions then I would be fine. Imagine my shock at my first post op check to find that I had lost a whopping 15lbs in two weeks. I started at 227lbs, size 22 pants, XXL shirts. I hated mirrors, I hated clothing stores and I especially hated trying on clothes in those annoying small rooms.
Over the next 11 months I followed my instructions and stopped worrying and the weight came off. By April I was down to 138lbs, size 10 clothing and medium shirts. But more than that, I stood up tall, I walked with my head held high and I was smiling. All the time. I felt ALIVE. My arthritis still hurt, but not the intensity and frequency that it had before. I still needed my meds to live life. I do injections weekly to keep my arthritis under some sort of control. I still needed pain meds daily to cope with the pain but I still felt better and more ALIVE than I had ever before. I could sleep without being woken up to a mouthful of burning acid. Heck I could sleep lying down and not propped up by all of the pillows I could find.
I was more active, hiking trails with my family and during one outing with my 3 boys, navigated a very difficult train up the side of a mountain in our area. For years I had wanted to be able to climb up one of the mountains that surrounds the Phoenix Valley. It was never a possibility with the shape I had been, with the joint pain I was suffering. But there I was, on top of this mountain, with my 3 boys who also were so happy to see their Mom smiling. It struck me at that moment, my world of possibilities had opened even wider after having the surgery. I would never be a star athlete but at least now, I could TRY things that the doctors had always said I could not do. Like running.
From day one the doctors had told my parents that I would never be able to run. The impact would damage my joints and the loss of flexibility would limit my ability to run with a 'correct' gait. As I got older they would remind me of this with each visit. In school I was given an excused note so that I never had to join in the class with doing their 15 minute mile runs. Then as I got older and I gained more and more weight due to both the steroids I was on for the disease but also from the stress/depressive eating I would do to stuff down my feelings of anger and loneliness that comes with the disease and being a teenager. It was a vicious cycle.
Now, I could see a glimmer of hope. That the one thing I had NEVER EVER been able to do might be a possibility for me. The docs had said, you will never ride a bike. I did it. They said you probably will never be able to have kids, I had 3. They said you can't roller skate, I tried it once and well, I didn't like it but at least I can say, I tried it. The one thing I've never tried, I never attempted was running.
That brings me to today. While planning a family trip to Disneyland I came across an article talking about the 1st ever Tinkerbell Half Marathon being held in January of 2012 in Disneyland. I love Tinkerbell because my youngest son loves Tinkerbell. He loves her so much he has a bedspread with her on it, he has a poster of her, and at one point when he was 3 he wore sandals with Tinkerbell on them. Now before people think that we are letting our boy be 'girly' let me assure you, he loves Legos, he loves Ben10 cartoons, playing in the dirt and playing pretend games involving shooting and 'boy' themes. But as he tells me, Tinkerbell is cool because she builds things. And she's pretty. Very very pretty.
Arthur and I's ultimate goal
I looked at this article and thought, can I do this? It requires you to be able to keep a pace of a mile every 13 minutes. I've gone to the gym a few times and knew that on average I could complete a mile at a walking pace at around 11 - 12 minutes. I thought that maybe with training I could do this. So here I am, tomorrow May 16th I'm going to start training. Me and Arthur, my nickname for this disease that has been a constant companion. I've talked to a few people who also have arthritis who have completed marathons and searched the internet for training programs. In my research the theme seems to be to focus on small chunks of the race, one mile at a time. So instead of setting myself up for failure and overwhelming myself with right off training for the half marathon I'm focusing first on training for a 5k. Once I do that, which I should be done with by the beginning of August I will then train for a 10k. After that I will train for the half which should bring me right to January.
I've picked this training program to guide me and will blog about how it's going, how it affects my Arthur and starting this new aspect of my life. I hope you will join me on this journey. Like my Harley loving Dad says, it's not the destination, it's the journey.
5K Training program
When I was diagnosed with JRA the only treatment was massive doses of baby aspirin. Actually to call that treatment is wrong. The aspirin was merely a way for me to deal with the throbbing pain in my right ankle, it would not stop the progression of my disease, merely make the pain slightly easier. By massive doses I mean my parents had to buy new bottles of aspirin about every 2 - 3 days. Aspirin is incredibly harsh on the digestive system. Then I was given prednisone, a steroid, which also over long term use will cause ulcerations of the stomach. By the time I was 25 I had several severe ulcers in my stomach lining. I lived on anti-acid pills. I could make a cocktail of pepto bismal, antacids, and tums in a jiff and then pray that I would sleep through the night without vomiting stomach acids and bile. It took me a year of living like this when I finally just could not take it anymore. After many false starts, crushed hopes, and intensive search for the right surgeon and right program I found my surgeon and started the process of getting my gastric bypass. By having this surgery I would no longer have the intense burning pain in my gut that often made me wonder if I actually was harboring a very angry alien in my stomach who would come bursting out at an inconvenient moment. As my surgeon said, the surgery would also save my life as several of my ulcers were dangerously close to perforating my stomach lining.
Surgery went smoothly, no problems at all. I woke up in recovery and all I could think was: ok, now what? What would my life be like now? I had taken the presurgical courses which outlined how I would have to change how and what I ate. How I would need to focus on proteins, protein shakes, calorie intake, etc. All these things I never thought of. It was rough the first few weeks. I had two drains coming out of my stomach which made me very uncomfortable, I did not want to leave the house with those drains. Watching my family eat was no big deal, I had no appetite. I worried that I was not drinking enough protein but my doctor kept telling me I was doing fine and not to worry so much. As long as I followed the instructions then I would be fine. Imagine my shock at my first post op check to find that I had lost a whopping 15lbs in two weeks. I started at 227lbs, size 22 pants, XXL shirts. I hated mirrors, I hated clothing stores and I especially hated trying on clothes in those annoying small rooms.
Over the next 11 months I followed my instructions and stopped worrying and the weight came off. By April I was down to 138lbs, size 10 clothing and medium shirts. But more than that, I stood up tall, I walked with my head held high and I was smiling. All the time. I felt ALIVE. My arthritis still hurt, but not the intensity and frequency that it had before. I still needed my meds to live life. I do injections weekly to keep my arthritis under some sort of control. I still needed pain meds daily to cope with the pain but I still felt better and more ALIVE than I had ever before. I could sleep without being woken up to a mouthful of burning acid. Heck I could sleep lying down and not propped up by all of the pillows I could find.
I was more active, hiking trails with my family and during one outing with my 3 boys, navigated a very difficult train up the side of a mountain in our area. For years I had wanted to be able to climb up one of the mountains that surrounds the Phoenix Valley. It was never a possibility with the shape I had been, with the joint pain I was suffering. But there I was, on top of this mountain, with my 3 boys who also were so happy to see their Mom smiling. It struck me at that moment, my world of possibilities had opened even wider after having the surgery. I would never be a star athlete but at least now, I could TRY things that the doctors had always said I could not do. Like running.
From day one the doctors had told my parents that I would never be able to run. The impact would damage my joints and the loss of flexibility would limit my ability to run with a 'correct' gait. As I got older they would remind me of this with each visit. In school I was given an excused note so that I never had to join in the class with doing their 15 minute mile runs. Then as I got older and I gained more and more weight due to both the steroids I was on for the disease but also from the stress/depressive eating I would do to stuff down my feelings of anger and loneliness that comes with the disease and being a teenager. It was a vicious cycle.
Now, I could see a glimmer of hope. That the one thing I had NEVER EVER been able to do might be a possibility for me. The docs had said, you will never ride a bike. I did it. They said you probably will never be able to have kids, I had 3. They said you can't roller skate, I tried it once and well, I didn't like it but at least I can say, I tried it. The one thing I've never tried, I never attempted was running.
That brings me to today. While planning a family trip to Disneyland I came across an article talking about the 1st ever Tinkerbell Half Marathon being held in January of 2012 in Disneyland. I love Tinkerbell because my youngest son loves Tinkerbell. He loves her so much he has a bedspread with her on it, he has a poster of her, and at one point when he was 3 he wore sandals with Tinkerbell on them. Now before people think that we are letting our boy be 'girly' let me assure you, he loves Legos, he loves Ben10 cartoons, playing in the dirt and playing pretend games involving shooting and 'boy' themes. But as he tells me, Tinkerbell is cool because she builds things. And she's pretty. Very very pretty.
Arthur and I's ultimate goal
I looked at this article and thought, can I do this? It requires you to be able to keep a pace of a mile every 13 minutes. I've gone to the gym a few times and knew that on average I could complete a mile at a walking pace at around 11 - 12 minutes. I thought that maybe with training I could do this. So here I am, tomorrow May 16th I'm going to start training. Me and Arthur, my nickname for this disease that has been a constant companion. I've talked to a few people who also have arthritis who have completed marathons and searched the internet for training programs. In my research the theme seems to be to focus on small chunks of the race, one mile at a time. So instead of setting myself up for failure and overwhelming myself with right off training for the half marathon I'm focusing first on training for a 5k. Once I do that, which I should be done with by the beginning of August I will then train for a 10k. After that I will train for the half which should bring me right to January.
I've picked this training program to guide me and will blog about how it's going, how it affects my Arthur and starting this new aspect of my life. I hope you will join me on this journey. Like my Harley loving Dad says, it's not the destination, it's the journey.
5K Training program
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