I've been in a foul mood of sorts lately. With my sinus infection rearing it's ugly head again, I'm back on the heavy anti-biotics. The pain in my head hurts so bad sometimes it feels like my bottom teeth are going to fall out. I've also been under considerable stress as of late, due to various issues I've had with my bank. They MISPLACED my stock certificate for almost a month, and Caity and I are itching to buy the Honda Odyssey we've had our eye on, so I've been rather distressed that neither my bank or myself had any idea where my money went.
With those two issues now resolved I am feeling lighter today. My nose is still plugged up, but at least I'm not wanting to surgically remove my eye socket with a hammer anymore.
I wanted to talk today about kicking a cancer patient in the ass. I don't want to speak for other cancer survivors, but I've been sitting around doing nothing for a long time. I did this because it doesn't hurt to sit on the couch, it doesn't make me dizzy, and it doesn't make me realize my limitations. Well, Caity gave me a swift kick in the pants yesterday and told me that I WAS GOING BACK TO THE GYM. I've got weights in the basement, but the bench press bar currently has about 300 pounds on it. I can't even make it budge, and the effort of removing some of the weight actually makes me breathe heavily. I used to look forward to working out, now I'm just intimidated by the whole thing.
So I made the trip to Okotoks this morning to go back to Bruce Grieg, my former powerlifting trainer. All the people I used to train with were there, and I basically gave then the 2 minute summery of the last year of my life. I don't know why I was nervous about going back there, but I think I was feeling sorry for myself knowing that there's no way I can keep up to the big boys anymore. All I got when I walked through that door was support, and it made the super light workout feel like an accomplishment, rather than a shameful experience. I'm super tired right now, and my chest feels like it's going to fall off, but I'm going to try to make it to the gym tomorrow. That's all I'm going to worry about for the next little while. It's like when I was in the hospital in November. The nurses told me that the only two things I HAD to do daily were walk and shower. I can remember laughing at them before the transplant, but as time went on, I honestly wondered how on earth I was going to make it all the way across my room to take a shower. Well, now the hospital shower has changed into working out at the gym. Bruce and Wendy have a ton of experience with sports injuries, so they're starting me off the same way as if I was injured. They also provide a ton of motivation, and I find myself looking forward to getting under the squat rack, even if I only squat the 45 pound bar. Anything I do right now needs to be viewed as an accomplishment, and I think I was too pig headed to start working out before because I couldn't compete with my former self. It really makes me realize that I've been holding on to an image of my older self. That person was very strong, but the person I have become is much stronger, just in a different way. I've been mourning the person that I was, but in time, I hope that the physical strength will come back.
If you know or live with a cancer survivor, you might have to kick them in the ass, because after chemotherapy, a La-Z-Boy is more appealing then anything else in the world. After so many setbacks and problems, us cancer survivors just want to relax and forget about what we just went through. It's hard to know when to kick a cancer survivor in the ass, and I wish I could give you a better idea about when it's time to kick, but that's something you're just going to have to figure out for yourself. You might kick too early, but I doubt you could ever kick too late.
Thank you to my wife, for magically knowing the right time.
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