Post-Cancer Comeback

Yes, foam rolling is a good one!

Wow, thanks for sharing that. It sounds like you came through it amazingly well. From Stage 4 to sub-20 ... that's really something.

Good luck with the ongoing follow-up treatment, and with working towards that 1/2-M. It would be great to hear about your progress!

Thanks - I appreciate that! One of the challenges I'm having is figuring out what's "hard" vs "moderate" vs "easy" -- and how many down days I need in order to keep going.

For example, I ran 8:04 1600m (on the track) at moderate effort the other day as part of what I foolishly imagined would be an easy-moderate workout. Doing 100m drills afterwards, my legs were exhausted and many of the drills I only went for 85-90m because my form was breaking down. My legs, esp quads, felt tired for 3 full days afterwards.

All that is fine; it's just part of re-training. The tricky part seems to be that most sessions aren't easy unless I'm just walking for 3 miles or less. Anything else that on paper seems “very very easy” is, at this point, actually moderate or hard.

This is what I need to keep reminding myself. Thanks for that.

MAG_1962 wrote:

Heel drops and foam rolling calves is my go to for the Achilles.

BrokenLungs wrote:

Yes, foam rolling is a good one!

Thanks for recommending the foam roller. I think I may possibly have known about this in the past (pre-cancer), but it’s a faint memory that I never would have recalled without somebody mentioning it. I’ll get one and make it part of my routine. Thank you both for bringing it to my attention!

I’m a little confused about my Achilles. It was sore for 3 days after that oops-not-easy track session last week; my legs felt thoroughly tired for 3 days also. I mostly rested, with some easy walking.

On the 4th day, my legs felt better and the Achilles was less sore … but I could feel tension extending from the bottom of the Achilles, below my heel, and into the bottom of my foot. Doing ankle rotations for 2 days resulted in some crackling and crunching in the Achilles and relief of that sensation of tension/tightness (I did some gentle stretching also).

Today or tomorrow, I was going to start trying out the recommended heel drops. But the Achilles now feels more flexible than before the soreness, with zero pain. And it passes the “pinch test” … I have no sensation of tendonitis at all.

So … I dunno. I guess I’ll do some super-slow light jogging to see what’s going on.

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 8

Early September 2016

It’s been 1 year since they told me I had a tumor. It’s been 6 months since they told me it’s gone.

This summer, I’ve been tired, kind of. It takes a while to get past chemo, you know? They gave me a lot. So I’ve been tired. No big deal. Soon, probably, I’ll be less tired.

My back has been hurting. For maybe 2 or 3 months, I think. Probably because I’ve been biking. You know, doing athletic stuff. A little bit, anyway. When I’m not tired. So my back is hurting because … well, because my muscles are sore and my body is adjusting. They said it takes a while to get back to normal after chemo. Soon, probably, I’ll be back to my athletic glory. I’m focused on that.

For now, I’m up most of the night with back pain that won’t quit.

At work, we’re about to go into a busy season. Intense dread looms over me. I absolutely can’t do this, and I know that I am going to fail. Panicked, tell the owner that I quit.

***

September 8, 2016

My intestines have been acting up. I’m either shitting out food that I just ate, or not shitting at all for a couple of days at a time. And my stomach gets full easily, with really small meals. I figure, well, every cell in my body absorbed that poison, so every cell in my body has to readjust. Probably now all my abdominal organs are working through the process of getting back to normal.

They said it could be a year or two before I feel like myself. Well, it’s been six months and I don’t feel like myself.

What I really can’t explain is this shortness of breath. I walk up the stairs, and it’s like I can’t breathe. My heart pounds for a few minutes. This is strange, but probably just part of the process. Before long, I’ll be good as new. Just have to give it time.

***

September 12, 2016

I’m hiking with a friend. We’re doing four miles, an easy walk. We’ve done this hike many times at a pleasant brisk pace. But ... this time it’s not easy, or pleasant. Or brisk. I can’t go any faster than a very slow pace, and I’m gasping for breath the whole time.

As we finally make it back to the parking area, my friend pauses. She says that there’s something wrong with me. She tell me I should have gone to the hospital a couple of weeks ago.

There’s nothing wrong with me. Just a little out of breath. I feel OK. Some aches and pains, and a little out of breath. Nothing to worry about.

I’m a little puzzled. Why is she so worried?

***

September 14, 2016

Stopping by to say hello to a neighbor, I park on the street and stroll across his lawn. He’s standing next to his garage, a glass of lemonade in his hand.

As I get to where he’s standing, I am completely out of breath. It takes me a couple of minutes before we can have much of a conversation.

I catch my breath, we chat briefly, and I drive home to my comfortable little cottage. I’m looking forward to the autumn here. I didn’t get to enjoy it much last year, with all the chemo. It’s going to be a great fall.

***

September 15, 2016

It’s evening, after sundown.

I’m at home, enjoying dinner by myself at the rustic pine table in my cottage, amidst the dark and towering oaks just outside. It’s a gorgeous night; I have the windows flung open. Relaxing blues music flows from the speakers plugged into my laptop.

I cough, hard. My hand is strangely wet. I look down and see blood. Surprised, I grab my napkin and cough more.

There’s more blood. Slowly, through the hormone-laden, oxygen-deprived haze, I process it.

It’s time for the hospital.

Keep it up, interesting, well written.

Excellent.

Sub-8 Mile wrote:

I was going to start trying out the recommended heel drops. But the Achilles now feels more flexible than before the soreness, with zero pain. And it passes the “pinch test” … I have no sensation of tendonitis at all.

So … I dunno. I guess I’ll do some super-slow light jogging to see what’s going on.

I went to the track this morning for a test jog. My Achilles felt fine ... until the first step of jogging. 1 lap, slow and easy, 9-min pace. Mild pain, say 1-2 out of 10. Pain stops right away as soon as I stop running.

Seems like much of my Achilles discomfort was tightness, but that there is also the beginning of a mild injury. Starting heel drops immediately!

Interestingly, I was able to do carioca drills without any noticeable problem. Does anybody have experience or know about this?

I did 180 heel drops yesterday, just on the right leg since that's the questionable Achilles.

This same Achilles has had 2 serious problematic periods in the past; in my mid-20s and then again in my early 30s. (I'm 45 now and the cancer/non-running began at 40).

The heel drops went well. No pain/discomfort at all; after two sets of 15 reps early in the day (testing it out), I was able to do a set of 50 in the afternoon and another set of 50 in the evening ... I realize that the protocol calls for multiple sets of 15 reps throughout the day, but it was too easy so I thought I'd see what more reps would be like. The protocol also indicates that there should be mild/moderate pain during the drops, and calls for adding weight when there is no pain in the Achilles. I think I could add quite a bit of weight without trouble.

This morning, I hobbled around on my Achilles upon waking -- a classic sign of tendonitis, right? But while slowly walking about 3/4 mi, I stopped for several stretches (primarily my right hamstring -- very tight) and as I loosened up, the Achilles discomfort/tightness disappeared. Now, mid-morning, it feels loose and comfortable.

Anybody have any thoughts on this?

Forgot to mention - my right calf muscle feels the workout from yesterday's heel drops. The Achilles feels fine.

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 9

Thursday, September 15, 2016

I’m at the nearest local hospital, where they are figuring out my situation.

They wheel me out of my room, down to Radiology; the technician does an x-ray of my chest. Then they wheel me back to my room. I get onto the bed, wondering what’s the point of being in a bed right now. I mean, I could just sit on a chair. Except hospitals don’t seem to have comfortable chairs. OK, then, bed it is.

While waiting for x-ray results, I figure, it’s always good to ponder questions like this. Better than getting eaten alive by your own anxiety.

Eventually, a small team comes into the room, x-ray-related paperwork in hand.

Hmmm, they say. There’s something in your chest. It could possibly be pneumonia, they helpfully suggest. We don’t know yet. You need a CT scan.

I would love for this to be pneumonia. It has never occurred to me that pneumonia could be something that I specifically desire. And yet there are few if any things that I have ever wanted as much as I want pneumonia right now.

It doesn’t occur to my oxygen-starved brain that coughing blood isn’t particularly high on the list of pneumonia symptoms.

They wheel me back to Radiology. They do the CT scan. They wheel me back to my room.

For an interminable period of time, full of hope, I envision the word “pneumonia” showing up on my paperwork. Like a man staking everything, everything on one single roulette spin, going all in on 33. Pneumonia … pneumonia. It’s going to be pneumonia.

I’m in the room, on the bed. The wheel is going around, and around, and around. Come onnnnn … I grip the side of the bed.

The ball is taking forever to drop.

A nurse comes in to check on my basics and to tidy up a bit. I’ve been there for quite a while.

33 … 33 … it’s gotta be 33. The nurse glances over and speaks gently; my eyes are distant. In my mind’s eye, the ball bounces and the wheel rotates … pneumonia … pneumonia … it’s gotta-

The doctor abruptly marches in. Yep, it’s cancer, she announces loudly.

Just like that.

With the door open and everything. The nurse, mouth agape, is shocked at the stark lack of empathy in this moment. It’s cancer, the doctor says again in her loud bark. You have a lot of nodules in your lungs, she declares.

I scream.

“NO! NO! NO!”

It’s the only thought I have, the only thing I can say. I want to run and I want to fight, but the only thing that happens is these screams as I pound on the hospital bed.

“NO!! NOO!!!”

Flooded with adrenaline, I start tearing the bed apart.

The doctor makes a gesture out thru the still-open doorway. Three strong nurses come in. They grip me, inject me, and then stand around the disheveled bed while the sedative rapidly does its work.

Seething, chest heaving, I glare at all of them. They stare back, unimpressed. The first nurse, who was in my room right before the start of this fiasco, does not make eye contact with me.

Now calm, I resentfully fix a cold gaze upon the doctor, who again states that there are a lot of nodules in my lungs. Hundreds, she says.

I don’t know what “a lot of nodules” means, but I sure as f*** am not going to ask this goddam doc for clarification. They couldn’t let me panic and scream for a minute? I couldn’t have a human moment?

Go to the oncologist next week, she says. At the Well Known Hospital And Medical Research Place … the same top cancer place that 5 years ago did their analysis of my freaky-deaky tumors and their lab report said something like "Oh man we haven't seen this before either and we don't know if anybody ever has but anyway we can say that based on the mixture of super-evil malignant stuff in these tumors well uh-oh seriously watch out if the cancer comes back cuz it's gonna be bad.”

The doctor tells me to go there on Tuesday. She already called, and spoke to one of the oncologists there. They are expecting me on Tuesday.

Today is Thursday. Wha … I get gaspingly out of breath walking across a small lawn, and I’m coughing blood, and HUNDREDS OF NODULES … and … Tuesday??

“Next week?” These are the only words I have.

She confirms: Yes, next week. That’s the very soonest available. It won’t affect the prognosis, she says. She marches out. They discharge me.

Walking outside, the doctor’s words ring in my ears. “It won’t affect the prognosis.” Right, ok. Probably because we’ll just kill it with chemo, like last time … oh, wait.

Wait. My mind, slow from insufficient oxygen, sluggish from the forcibly injected drugs, numb from shock, gradually processes another possibility.

….. Or …… hmm. Or.

……………..

It crystallizes.

Or: Because I’m already dead.

I don’t want to find out.

Thank you so much for sharing your story; it's been absolutely riveting to read and glad that there are more chapters to come after this particularly rough one. What a fight! Hope that Achilles keeps cooperating and that you keep updating us!

Fou2 wrote:

Thank you so much for sharing your story; it's been absolutely riveting to read and glad that there are more chapters to come after this particularly rough one. What a fight! Hope that Achilles keeps cooperating and that you keep updating us!

Thanks, Fou2.

For me personally, Chapter 7 was particularly rough. Even more than this last one, Chapter 9.

Because, now knowing that Chapter 9 and upcoming chapters were going to happen, it's hard for me to look back and re-live Chapter 7.

With tumors quietly and steadily filling my lungs, I was very slowly suffocating over that summer. There were so many warning signs, red flags that now seem so clear. But as my symptoms got progressively worse, my brain was getting progressively less oxygen plus an increasing flood of weird tumor-produced hormones that affected my thinking and personality.

During that spring and summer, I was so confident that everything was ok. Maybe it was the blindness of denial, I dunno. I really believed that I was recovering and healing, and that soon everything would be great.

The big thing that stands out in my memory of that summer is the juxtaposition of my blissful lack of awareness vs the dark sense of foreboding doom that grew and grew ... my body was telling me something, and I had no idea.

If anybody out there has any strange symptoms, go get them checked out. Don't wait. It doesn't hurt to take a little time, just to verify that it's nothing.

The issue is position of the foot while sleeping. Before you get out of bed, do some light stretches sitting on side of the bed. Then stand with some further light stretching, then walk,

Ghost of Igloi wrote:

Sub-8 Mile wrote:

This morning, I hobbled around on my Achilles upon waking -- a classic sign of tendonitis, right? But while slowly walking about 3/4 mi, I stopped for several stretches (primarily my right hamstring -- very tight) and as I loosened up, the Achilles discomfort/tightness disappeared. Now, mid-morning, it feels loose and comfortable.

Anybody have any thoughts on this?

The issue is position of the foot while sleeping. Before you get out of bed, do some light stretches sitting on side of the bed. Then stand with some further light stretching, then walk,

Thanks, Igy. I'll do that.

Keep up your story. Facinating.

I am still backing the foam roller, it will help to loosen up your hamstring and calf which could be contributing to your achilles problem.

My uncle was a runner all his life. He ran the 440 yards in high school and college where he finished with 47 mid mark. he later moved up to ultra marathon in his adult life and has competed at the Leadville 100 mile ultra marathon race for the first time in the early 90's. He has competed in the race every year (although only finished two times) until 2015 when he was diagnosed with near terminal cancer. His chance of surviving was slim. However he was able to overcome the sickness. the doctors think it was because of his amazing health from running. After spending a year regaining his strength, he was able to compete in the Leadville 100 again. Last year, he made it 80 out of the 100 miles and his goal is to become the first ever cancer survivor to finish the Leadville 100. I know he can do it and you will be able to accomplish your goals as well.

BrokenLungs wrote:

I am still backing the foam roller, it will help to loosen up your hamstring and calf which could be contributing to your achilles problem.

Thanks, yes I will follow this advice. It seems that tightness in my right hamstring and calf are definitely contributing to the Achilles problem. I'll get a foam roller as soon as I can.

There also seems to be a bit of an almost-injury brewing in that right Achilles at the same time. So I'll have to take some measures against that as well. Thinking about how to handle this, since there appears to be more than one thing going on.