Today was the first day I rode my trainer in a week. I’m shocked to write this. What happened to my sense of purpose? What happened to helping my immune system beat the cancer?
It’s not exactly that I’ve slacked. I’ve ridden my bicycle to work every day since the most recent chemo session, and I’ve gone on long walks over the weekend. But does this matter? Does this have a positive effect on the immune system? Is it any better than watching the Swiss cyclocross championship (in conditions so good and uncyclocrossy that I half-regretted not entering the citizens race on my half-suitable Cube) on the Baldegg on Sunday?
A friend from highschool visited us over the weekend, which explains all the walks and animation. Both the boy and the girl took a quick liking to him, the boy especially. He likes male company, something he unfortunately doesn’t get at childcare where all the teachers are female. When I picked him up tonight, the first thing he asked about was my friend, who had departed for home in the morning.
The visit also explains why I didn’t ride the trainer. It’s not the best way of spending an evening together. So instead of getting my circulation going and my legs in shape, I lounged on the sofa, watching Dawn Wall yet another time. A great climbing movie, the best I’ve seen, but it can’t substitute for my own activity.
My friend arrived on Thursday evening. My previous trainer ride dates to Monday. It is totally unclear to me what happened on Wednesday. I should have been on the bike. Why did I not work out? My mom had just left, and I was without obligations. What did I do on Wednesday night that might excuse my inactivity? And shouldn’t a blog be a record of such things? If I didn’t ride, I should have had all the time to write.
Turns out there isn’t much to write about. The sixth chemo session went well, like the ones before, without problems. My white blood cell and platelet counts were on the low side before the session, but this didn’t worry the oncologist too much. She had seen it before. These drops are side effects of the therapy, and the body can’t fully recover in the two weeks it has. For now this is ok, but it’s conceivable that the recovery periods have to be extended if the counts drop too low.
When the pump was removed after two days, I observed something I had seen after the previous session. I became almost painfully exhausted. I went to bed early, and wasn’t up to much the next day, forcing myself to run through a shopping center to buy new beds for the children when I would have much rather lain in my own, unconscious. Add to this a somewhat protracted cold that I brought back from Singapore and nursed over the past two weeks, and you can imagine how I felt.
Today, and this fills me with great satisfaction and a sense of “I told you so”, the cold seems to be gone, the tiredness is definitely gone, and I’m back. I applaud the ride on the trainer (nothing better than driving out a cold with well-timed exercise) and the long hot shower afterwards. My nose, which had been running (bloodily) all day, is dry and happy, though probably still bloody because of the low platelet count.
A few points to take home from this rambling post:
- Chemotherapy is bound to get worse before it is over. Six more session is a lot.
- Whining is for posers and, as Stevo said in Salt Lake City Punk, "only posers die".
- Exercise is good. Even if no one agrees, I heartily recommend it even for the sick.
- Two weeks is quite long. One’s body can change a lot during that time.
- Two weeks is quite short when you're full of toxins and trying to overcome their effects.
- I’m doing well, and if I’m not, I’m fighting my way back.
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