Post-Cancer Comeback

Running and Life, or, Running versus Death

Sub-8 Mile's Battle-o-Rama

(maybe this story will, in some way, help someone you know; if so, that's cool. oh, and F Cancer.)

Chapter 21

early November 2016

I am a ghost. I am a physical being.

I am neither, and I am both.

People look frightened when they see me. A corpse with fierce eyes ablaze. Yellowish-gray skin, unable to hold myself up, animated by some primal force. At every moment, I am simultaneously collapsing and yet somehow moving under my own power.

It has been six brutally hellish weeks. I am here, and I am not here.

Not that it’s been zero fun and games. We made a music video of me dancing and pulling out my hair a couple weeks ago, when it all was loose and painlessly detached from the roots. Not just the hair on my head. Beard. Eyebrows. Arms. Chest… hey, you gotta laugh when you can. Then I slept for 15 hours, until being awakened and made to eat a giant plate of organic food while I glared at my supportive tormentors.

I have ditched my wheelchair because, well, because I have ditched my f***ing wheelchair. All right, unless I’m going more than 50 feet. No, f*** that, I don’t care if it takes all day, I can do it … F, ok, gimme the damn wheelchair.

*****

I’m at the Well Known Hospital And Medical Research Place. They have been in touch with the Extreme Treatment Place, and the Extreme Treatment team says I have to get some tests to see if my cancer has, um, reduced enough for me to qualify for their treatment, which is only for the worst, very serious cases.

Now, scans and bloodwork indicate that I have quite a lot of cancer. Which is an improvement. So far, so good.

The next test. I’m sitting in a plexiglass booth, blowing into a tube. They have to make sure that I have sufficient lung function to have any chance of surviving the Extreme Treatment.

It takes about half an hour. Feels like running 8K while holding my breath. I manage to finish without passing out.

They will compare my results to typical data for adult males my age and height. Everything has to be at least 40-60% in order to go to the Extreme Treatment Place. If not ...

*****

I’m back again at the Well Known Hospital And Medical Research Place.

Results say … what?? Most of the lung tests are either 100% or … I tested off the charts?? For how much oxygen gets from my lungs into my bloodstream? But … I have lungs full of tumors. Well, mostly full of tumors, at this point.

It’s correct, they tell me. Yes, it is surprising, they say. But those are the results.

Okaayy ... I guess that sheds some light on how I kept breathing for the past few months. Not really, though. It just moves the question mark.

The only score that is below 100% is lung volume. Apparently, the total volume of air that my lungs can hold is in the 80th percentile, pile of tumors be damned. How this is possible, I don’t know and nobody explains.

I wonder what these tests would have said a few weeks ago, when I was making gurgling sounds and coughing blood. And what the hell was my lung function pre-cancer?

I think maybe I should have run a lot better than I did in high school and college. Long ago, when I was alive.

*****

The nurses have me lie on a table, shirtless, face down. They shove large needles deep into my lower back. It goes numb. Then they jam some kind of little pliers in there. They break off a piece of bone from my spine. They suck some marrow and stem cells out.

They deposit the fluid and bloody bone into a cup and show it to me. This is what we’ll be testing, they say.

My eyes see the contents of the cup. The corpse doesn’t care. The ghost is in another space; earthly matters are not relevant. The life force, binding what’s left of me to this place, exists.

I go home, force-feed myself a gigantic smoothie with yogurt, avocado, and flax, then sleep deeply and blackly for many hours.

?

Your inspring keep up the great work and continued progress.

Thanks. Cancer touches many lives, too many. Although my case was unusually extreme, I hope that maybe someone can get something helpful out of what I have shared here. Maybe a reminder that feeling unusual or having weird symptoms means go to the doctor; it could be nothing, but it won't hurt to check. Or knowing that you aren't the only one who's been through the wringer with a cancer battle, whether personally or with a friend or family member. Or simply saying, hey I can make it cuz look at that guy.

Or even just that tomorrow is not guaranteed so make all your todays count.

F cancer.

Hey all, I would really welcome some input here.

After running 2 mi/day (big increase!) two weeks ago, I ended up getting pretty tired. Aerobically, I seem ok but my legs are tired and I have weird pain all over, but nowhere specific. Normally, I have some level of vague background pain that is everywhere and nowhere, but this is much more. And I have been hungry! Eating a ton.

Did I overdo it 2 weeks ago, or am I just tired & adapting and it's fine?

Any thoughts? I'd appreciate it. Here's how things went -

Last week's training log:

Mon 5 Oct - Grass athletic fields. 2 1/2 mi @ 21:08. HR 150-155.

Tue 6 Oct - Grass athletic fields. 2 1/2 mi @ 20:53. HR 155-160. Felt like a bit more of an effort today vs yesterday; probably due to the increased distance / run time yesterday & today, esp after the mileage increase last week. I’ll see how things progress; if I need a shorter run or two, or a day off, I’ll take it.

Wed off, tired

Thu 8 Oct - Grass athletic fields. 2 1/2 mi @ 21:37. HR 145ish. Legs very tired. Went out in smooth easy 8:20-25 pace. Ran progressively slower after that, with harder effort (not harder aerobically; it was the same or easier aerobically) Last 1/4 mi was approx 2:40 (10:40 pace). Maybe a day off tomorrow?

Fri 9 Oct - Off. Totally wiped out. Exhausted, hungry, hurting vaguely all over. No specific muscles particularly sore.

Sat 10 Oct -Off. Feeling terrible. Exhausted, hungry. Hurting all over, like in my rib cage and stuff. Eating all the time, hungry right after eating.

Sun 11 Oct - Grass athletic fields. 1 mile slow jog, 8 x 100m carioca drills. HUNGRY. Was feeling like crap, trained anyway and felt a little better after. Exhausted in general.

Yes, you are tired. Back-off, rebuild again.

Great stuff. Sorry I can’t help with distance questions. Hey, maybe you’ll take up sprinting, who knows?

Ghost of Igloi wrote:

Yes, you are tired. Back-off, rebuild again.

That's what I was starting to conclude as well. One the one hand I guess it's obvious; on the other hand it's such a small volume of mostly just jogging around so I'm like "this can't be too much. this is basically nothing!"

My treatment was far less than yours, and I face similar periods of too much. Remember the terrible toos: too much, and too soon.

Igy

Ghost of Igloi wrote:

My treatment was far less than yours, and I face similar periods of too much. Remember the terrible toos: too much, and too soon.

Igy

Igy - You are right. Thanks for that perspective, and the reminder.

Sprintgeezer wrote:

Great stuff. Sorry I can’t help with distance questions. Hey, maybe you’ll take up sprinting, who knows?

Thanks, yeah, I don't know what's possible or where this is going. Right now, I wouldn't even say that I'm doing distance; just trying to get some basic fitness before getting into more serious speedwork and/or distance training.

I will say that if I ever get it together, the first thing I'm doing is 400m.

I was treated for prostate cancer last year. The recovery was awful. 3 ER trips ...

Ruined my carpets with blood..woke up at 1:30am one morning laying in my blood, one testicle 4 times the size of the other....less than a year ago.

The scariest ER trip was the first time when I couldn’t pee.. abdomen swelled up.. indescribable pain.

I did go out at 1am once and jog 100 yards with a catheter in me ha... Lindgren woulda never done that.

Sorry for what your going through... good luck.

Robert E . Lee wrote:

I was treated for prostate cancer last year. The recovery was awful. 3 ER trips ...

Ruined my carpets with blood..woke up at 1:30am one morning laying in my blood, one testicle 4 times the size of the other....less than a year ago.

The scariest ER trip was the first time when I couldn’t pee.. abdomen swelled up.. indescribable pain.

That sounds pretty rough. How are you doing now? I hope your recovery has progressed well. Have you been running at all?

Running and Life, or, Running versus Death

Sub-8 Mile's Battle-o-Rama

(maybe this story will, in some way, help someone you know; if so, that's cool. oh, and F Cancer.)

Chapter 22

early November 2016

The Well Known Hospital And Medical Research Place says that my tests are good, and that their part is done. I am now a patient at the local Tertiary Cancer Place; soon I will be going out-of-state to the Extreme Treatment Place.

The Tertiary Cancer Place is for patients whose cancer has returned after secondary treatment; most of these patients don’t make it. Victory here is defined as extending life for some time, not defeating cancer.

My condition has, for now at least, improved from should-be-dead-right-now, to gonna-be-dead-pretty-soon. Great.

I have lost everything in this battle. Empty bank accounts. No vehicle. I don’t live at the cottage any more and what's left of my stuff is in storage. When I’m not at one of the hospitals, I’m in a spare room at the friends’ house closest to the relevant hospital.

And I now know that the hardest part is still coming

Doesn’t matter. I am doing this.

The few people who have not disappeared from my life (cancer and abandonment, apparently, go hand in hand) are supportive, and -- although they look deeply disturbed at my appearance -- their presence is crucial to my survival. Yeah, I'm tough enough to make it through any round of treatment. But without care and sustenance, I cannot make it to the next round of treatment.

*****

I’m in the shower. Showers have to be quick, before I run out of energy and fall down. Can’t move too rapidly, or … I’ll run out of energy and fall down. Every movement is careful and efficient.

Soap, quick scrub, rinse … soap, quick scrub, rinse … soap, quick sc-wha?? Where the hell is my ass? I stand there, on the sticks of my legs, water cascading over me, groping the flat area where my rump used to be. I poke … yep, skin and pelvis, that’s all. Feeling around back there, I am intrigued by the deflated flap of skin that formerly housed my buttocks. The skin is thicker than I would have guessed, and it hangs down like a mud flap on a truck.

It’s f***ing horrible, and it’s f***ing hilarious.

Aw Crap. Standing here, feeling myself up where my butt used to be, I’ve used up nearly all of my remaining energy. That distraction was costly. I wobble out of the shower, quickly towel off, and manage a blend of collapsing and walking --- eight steps to my bed. I fall onto the mattress, roll under the blanket, and fade into the place between worlds that has become so familiar.

***

It’s half a day later. I’ve been mandatorily fed a plate of plantains, a bowl of unsalted mixed nuts, and a tall glass of whole milk mixed with heavy cream. Now, I instruct everyone to henceforth refer to me as Mr. No Butt, and to join me in marvelling at the buttless wonder I have become. Cracking up, I make everyone poke my non-butt and feel my pelvis. They oblige, and try to laugh along with the hairless dead-looking guy.

The thing is, it’s going to be as awful as it’s going to be. I am on this train and it is moving, regardless of whether I like the ride or the destination. So I sure as hell am going to laugh at the funny parts.

*****

I’m at the Tertiary Cancer Place. I have some required meetings before I’m allowed to consider agreeing to undergo extreme treatment at the Extreme Treatment Place.

First, I meet with a specialist. He describes what it will be like, getting extremely high doses of chemotherapy plus stem cell transplant. He describes the toxicity of the poisons that I will be given, explains how risky they are, and says that the risk is particularly higher for me because I have a lot of cancer and I have already taken large quantities of very toxic chemo. He goes down a long list of organs -- pretty much every organ -- that could shut down, hemorrhage, or disintegrate at any time, resulting in rapid death. The gory descriptions take a full hour.

Then the specialist details how the stem cell transplant works, that it is not guaranteed to work, and that even if it does work, there is no guarantee after that. This takes another half hour.

Finally, the specialist reviews what life would be like after undergoing Extreme Treatment. If I survive, I may not be the same. There is a serious risk of hemorrhage inside my cranium, which could damage or destroy an optic nerve. I could be blind in one eye. I could be blind in both eyes. The heavy metal toxicity could damage my hearing. I may need hearing aids. I may be deaf.

If I survive this Extreme Treatment, then I may possibly be cancer-free, deaf, and blind.

EFF. Like a man playing Russian roulette, I grimly grab the gun, hold it to my head, and pull the trigger. The specialist thanks me for my signature on the release, stating that I have been duly informed.

*****

I’m meeting with the Tertiary Oncologist, who is overseeing my case. He asks if I have any questions about what the specialist said. I say no.

The oncologist then describes a few additional horrors about the treatment, its side effects, and what he expects moving forward.

Frankly, he expects me not to make it.

“We haven’t seen a case like this,” he says. “The odds are not good.” This, from a highly qualified and experienced doctor who has spent 25 years managing the worst cancer cases regionally, and reading all the latest reports about the worst cancer cases worldwide.

“Now, if you survive, we expect between half and two thirds of your lungs to be full of scar tissue. And the, ah, status of your liver is uncertain.”

He goes on to explain that there is no 'standard of care' for this Extreme Treatment. By standard of care, he explains, it means that if a patient was diagnosed with, say, strep throat, they would prescribe a known quantity of a known antibiotic for a known period of time, and the very likely outcome is also known, so there is a standard of care for strep throat -- if a doctor or nurse makes a mistake, they can be held accountable.

What I am about to do is outside any such bounds. This is no standard treatment; there are no standard results. I can decide to give it a shot, and if so, what I get is what I get.

OK. Dangerous treatment. If I don’t die then I may be deaf and blind with no liver function, 1/3 of my lungs, and also crippled in other ways.

I tell the Tertiary Oncologist to sign me up right away and get me to the Extreme Treatment Place immediately.

He looks at me, surprised for a moment at my lack of hesitation or interest in considering the matter. Then he says, “Right. You’d be crazy to want to do this. But in your case …” He hands me the paper. I sign it.

*****

I have just run the first lap of 800m at 1 second over my 400m PR and entered the curve. I don't feel it yet, but it's about to hit me, hard. Pedal to the metal, I charge forward.

More should follow this story, like this part:

“Soap, quick scrub, rinse … soap, quick scrub, rinse … soap, quick sc-wha?? Where the hell is my ass? I stand there, on the sticks of my legs, water cascading over me, groping the flat area where my rump used to be. I poke … yep, skin and pelvis, that’s all. Feeling around back there, I am intrigued by the deflated flap of skin that formerly housed my buttocks. The skin is thicker than I would have guessed, and it hangs down like a mud flap on a truck.

It’s f***ing horrible, and it’s f***ing hilarious.“

That's so well written. I don't comment often, but you were in my prayers (don't know if you care)/thoughts given your follow up scan. It was such a relief!

Your running progress has also been so incredible, that it really helps put any setback into perspective.

It's a pleasure to follow your extraordinary journey.

you are awsome!!! wrote:

That's so well written. I don't comment often, but you were in my prayers (don't know if you care)/thoughts given your follow up scan. It was such a relief!

Your running progress has also been so incredible, that it really helps put any setback into perspective.

It's a pleasure to follow your extraordinary journey.

Wow, thanks. I appreciate that, esp after a rough day like today. Feel like I fell out of a 4-story window. Jogged half a mile and gave up. Everything hurts all over ... but nothing specific. Can't really explain :-/

Training update -

Been mixing short 1-2 mi jogs with days off, and a few days with strides or running drills thrown in. Had a problem last week after I unwisely did 8 x 80m strides, attempting a bit of speed. I did the first 40m with a smooth easy acceleration, then fast 40m @ 95%-98% speed/effort.

Times: 15, 14, 14, 13, 12, 12, 12, 12

Needless to say, I was sore for a couple of days -- but the problem I experienced was soreness inside my knees. It felt like my cartilage was bruised or something like that. Swelling and pain for several days.

I didn't run for a few days, then tried an easy 2 miles on grass (flat athletic fields) at 8:40 pace. I could feel it in my knees still, but it's a bit better. That was 3 days ago; I can still feel it slightly. About to go for an easy run and see how it feels.

Anybody have any ideas about this thing with my knees? Is it just age? No speedwork for years? I'm only 45 and wasn't going that fast, although it was hard for me with the shape I'm in.

Given the extent of full-body tissue degradation I experienced with all the treatment, and given (according to my understanding) the relatively poor blood supply / healing capacity of knee cartilage, I wonder if this is related to my extreme chemo/recovery.

Knees still sore. Anybody have experience with this?

Been running sporadically, every few days.

A few day ago I ran 1.5 miles @ 8:40 pace plus 8 x 50m strides.

Yesterday I ran 3 miles for the first time since pre-cancer! Started at 8:40 pace, then slowed to around 9-min pace as I tired.

I had to stop briefly at 1/2 mi bc my left foot felt like there was something piercing into it. Had to take my shoe off and physically touch & rub the spot, to convince my brain that there was nothing there. Phantom pain.

But I'm still counting it as a 3 mile run.