Back to the gym at the time the plastic surgeon said would be okay. I guess anymore I'm the odd duck at the gym. I go to lift and train. I'm not there to check and see how well the lifting is making my biceps/pecs/whatever look in the mirror every set. Nor am I there to seal business deals, talk on the phone, play games, or stare blankly into space for 10 minutes. All the while sitting on the equipment you were using so no one else can use it in your moment of "I cleared Level 123 on Candy Crush". I go to lift, and I put my plates and things I use up where they belong, not hanging on bars or scattered from here to hell's half acre, but that in itself could take up an entire blog. And it may
So, I lift. It's no where near the weight I used to use, and that frustrates me to no end. As I've said, I get hung up in "Yeah? Well I useta could!" which is bad if you're weight training, healthy or not so healthy. I don't dawdle, 5 separate lifts, 3 sets of 10 with increasing weight. My left shoulder is entirely upset with me, because I push it to the point of pain. It hates when I do that, but it is getting stronger. My PT shakes her head and says things like "Doesn't that hurt?". Well yes, love it does, but it's getting stronger all the time too. All said and done, 5 types of lifts, 3 sets of 10 and I'm in and out in 40 minutes. Let us lift and train. When I was healthy and training hard it took and hour to an hour and half of pretty steady lifting through way more than 5 separate lifts to get me there. I've decided the 40 minutes is enough, if I go home tired. I generally do.
Home! It's where the feed bag and formula is, as well as the heart. Drug up with the stuff for my thyroid that died after radiation, a little Prilosec, and because my left shoulder is pounding and yelling at me, a little pain med. Here I sit, writing yesterday's blog, all full and the pounding is down to a gentle tap, tap, tapping where my shoulder is sore (a poor paraphrase of Poe, I know), when I start to cough.
Normally big deal. My epiglottis doesn't work right so I aspirate some of my secretions and have to cough them out the trach. OH! Nope, this is getting worse. Bad enough I have to take off my glasses so they don't go flying. Bad enough I close the computer and set it aside.
Shit, now I'm choking and coughing. I know what comes next. I'm gonna vomit. Shit, and double shit, I hate to do that. Everyone does, but I don't have a soft palate, so what doesn't go out my mouth blows up into my sinuses and out my nose. Why yes, it does make my eyes water, and it's also a pain in the ass to get cleared up. Yep, I was right, throwing up. Wheeeeee. Dammit. When that stops I notice a real stabbing pain in my mid back on the right side. Fun!!! A muscle pull! Can't beat that. Dammit again.
At the SLP, it's a struggle. Mrs Trant, her student, McKayla, and I are working (I'm trying to talk more so we don't work because suddenly my entire body aches) on various words I can't say well and some exercises to strength my speech and swallow. MD Anderson calls, I can't speak on the phone so Mrs Trant gets it for me. I have to speak on the phone so they'll let her hear about my PET Scan report.
The Cancer is in my throat, this time on the right side as well. That means it's growing. Duh, I figured. Good news is it's not in my lungs. Very good news. They strongly suggest I see the medical oncologist Thursday. Duh, again, Liz and I will go just to hear what they have to say, and decide from there.
Barry Atkins set up a group for me on FaceBook, he's a nice guy. I'll post the blog there, and it's a place we can all gather up and act like fools and laugh. I'm gonna like that a lot. Thanks Barry.
Later we can talk about setting up your own final arrangements. It's not as weird as one might think