Tag: Exercise

This Is Your Arm On Drugs, Part I

Chemo drugs, that is.

Say “chemo patient” and people think of a hairless, skeletal person who could be blown down by a gentle breeze. But is that really what happens?

I was anxious about how much chemo was going to ravage me, so I decided to document everything. That way when treatment was over, I would know how much work I had to do to rebuild myself. The simplest way for me to do this was to photograph my right biceps. The cancer was on my left side and I had not been using that arm as much, so the right arm would provide a more accurate view of what chemo treatment was doing to lean mass.

I hope you’ll forgive the following photos. It was never my intention to actually post these (or else I would have chosen a better background!). The cropping is a bit off and I’ve only now realized that even my biceps curl isn’t consistent throughout all the photos. In my defense, I was focused on getting through treatment, and worrying about getting the angles and lighting right was the last thing on my mind. All these pics were taken on the mornings of my infusion days.

Infusion 1 – 4/27/2017:

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Infusion 2 – 5/18/2017:

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Infusion 3 – 6/8/2017:

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Infusion 4 – 6/29/2017:

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Infusion 5 – 7/20/2017:

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Infusion 6 – 8/10/2017:

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Is there a difference? I think there is, even with the relatively crappy and inconsistent photos. I also think that hanging towels over the door makes the bathroom look messy. And, YEOW, I am mole-y!

Six courses of chemo (Taxotere and Carboplatin), one every three weeks, won’t destroy you, although the drugs do smack you around a lot. It would take about a week or so to recover following each infusion, at which point I could work out again. As the infusions went on, the recovery time increased.

So, no, my chemo regimen didn’t turn me into a skeleton, although my weight did take a hit; there were times that I was literally too tired to eat or my GI tract hadn’t fully recovered, making it tough to get food down. Because my infusions were spread out, I got a pretty hefty dose. But women whose cancer dictates weekly infusions, while possibly receiving smaller doses, don’t get the same amount of time to recover and the treatment effects build up. In that sense, I was very fortunate, and that made it possible to maintain my strength.

Once again, my worst fears weren’t realized. It took time to get back to feeling normal and training hard again, but I got there.

 

Lifting My Spirits

I received an unexpected but incredibly satisfying compliment today. It was from a worker at Trader Joe’s who made a flattering comment about my arms. A little background here: I like to work out, and even obtained a personal trainer certification when I was a stay-at-home-mom. While I’ve never trained people as a profession, I have maintained my certification over the years — in addition to a vigorous training schedule. I’ve been told that this is unusual for “a woman of my age”.

When I received my cancer diagnosis, I was shocked largely because in my mind my lifestyle didn’t seem to fit the profile of someone at high risk. One of my greatest fears as far as cancer was concerned was that it would affect my ability to train regularly. While so many people engage in eye-rolling when it comes to exercise — it’s popular to equate exercise with misery — having to take time off from working out was one of the most horrible outcomes I could imagine. My version of hell involves a sedentary existence. I train hard to enjoy my life, to be able to move and lift and not feel pain. I work out to live and that energizes me like nothing else. And anything that jeopardizes that is a death sentence to me.

Okay, maybe a little dramatic? But you get my point. I.Love.Exercise.

Today’s compliment was particularly poignant. During my 2017 doctor’s appointment to check out that suspicious lump in my breast, the doctor’s assistant commented that she wished she had my arms. I remembered that as I went through diagnostic tests and oncology visits and surgery. I followed my surgeon’s orders regarding not lifting heavy things (well, mostly, because “heavy” is negotiable), but as soon as that time limit passed, I was off and running. Exercise meant normality, and I craved feeling normal, as in “not sickly and dying from cancer”. There was mention of this nasty impediment to my life called lymphedema. I didn’t really think about it much until I was discussing lifting weights with my oncologist, who said, “Exactly HOW MUCH weight are we talking about here?” and sent me to the lymphedema specialists so that I wouldn’t go full-Schwartzenegger without knowing whether I was risking having my arm blow up. (It hasn’t so far.)

But my point: the compliment I received today made me feel like I’d come full circle. While, yeah, fear of death from cancer is a biggie, drastic changes to one’s lifestyle are also anxiety-provoking.

Today, I felt, I’m back.