What a pain in the ass...

This was not meant to be a daily thing, but here I go, figured I'd update on what a pain in the ass this process can be. Most people just don't know and there are kids out there dealing with worse. Keep that in mind and the fact I'm fucking writing a blog from my cell phone because my legs are wiped out at the moment. More on that later.

Background

This might be longer than I want but whatever, maybe someone can relate it learn something. Flash back to 2013. I beat cancer in December 2011 recovered and became a personal trainer. I wanted to help people. It's awesome when you take a journey with someone that completely trusts you, and you them. When they hit goals and you both end up feeling elated and happy, but humbled by the new goals you set because there is no such thing as settling but only achieving something more. OK, so now you know. Then I ended up at FFC East Lakeview in Chicago and ran an outdoor boot camp in the mornings. I have nothing but amazing things to say about Chicago on the north side, so don't ask haha. Back in April I met a girl and by September we had a sweet 2 bedroom corner apartment within walking distance of both Wrigley Field and my job. My mom bought me a motobecane hard tail downhill mountain bike that was stolen the first month I was at FFC. I ended up chasing down the bastard a few weeks later, he got startled and when he looked over his shoulder he must have forgot where the fuck he was because he ran head first into a giant orange city dumpster. Turns out it wasn't my bike he was on. Ooops. My bad bro. He wasn't hurt too bad, but didn't kick my ass which I was grateful for. Never saw my bike again. Insert your choice of emoji.

I digress. In November 2013 I was peaking pretty well, making good money and getting invited to physique competitions for amateurs. Talk about feeling great! Compliment someone and see for yourself! But there was a catch. My neck was swelling on the side and people started noticing. My energy started to fade and the girlfriend and I had some issues like getting along, and whatever so we broke up and I ended up in an apartment across the street from my work. I started to fade at my job, no longer motivated and destroyed by the breakup. It hurt my clients progress, and I busted ass to fix that, giving free sessions and joining in since workouts. I met another girl that I went cray cray in a good way for, and she told me I could take a wicked pay cut, like the kind of pay cut where you suddenly go from whole foods to Walgreen's. Not knocking it, but it's a bitch. I must be a basic bitch. So I took the job and got on one if the company's flag football teams. I made great friends and really enjoyed the people and comraderie they I hadn't expected, sharing beer and pizza and stories about how shitty your day was. I ended up snapping a tendon in 2 fingers in game, one on one play and the other the next play. The next day my boss let me go to northwestern to get checked out. And yep, nothing they could do. "Oh let's MRI that neck of yours too". Probably should have checked insurance, when I thought I had it, buy I didn't. Oooops. A Dr came in and was struggling for words. I used some colorful language that drill sergeant Sandsbury would be proud of to let the doc know I inf if figured it came back. This is November 2013 now. So we went to Loyola to my oncologist to start it all up again.

Treatment

Dr wanted to start me on a new drug that was more accurate at targeting the cancer cells and leaving healthy cells alone. It is called SGN-35 and it's powerful stuff. Every 3 weeks I went in and got my infusion. I missed work a bunch thanks to the immunosuppressive properties of the drug. Getting sick was beginning to become a regular occurrence. In the midst of all that jazz my job wanted to fire someone in the top 40% for sales while missing so much time. That was me, to be clear. A new guy. So they settled and I bought a motorcycle. Bucket list time!! I rode route 66, California's amazing PCH from southern LA to San Francisco to my best bro Dan and then up through Tahoe and down to Vegas (no gambling, just bucket list stuff) up through Denver to visit my dude Matt (Dan's brother) whom has the most adorable daughter! The last 1,000 miles home I knocked it the next day,  and it was awesome. Back to treatment. The SGN-35 wasn't enough, so I fenced up getting traditional chemo, 4 kinds I think it was. But I hit the gym everyday and played lots of videogames! The doctor was confident we could knock out the cancer, but wanted a transplant really put the nail in its coffin. We couldn't find a match for a doner, so we had to settle on cord blood. You see, when a baby is born the mother can donate the umbilical cord to science. They freeze the blood and a small sample goes into an international database. So we found one similar enough, cord blood is a lot better at agreeing with one's internal organs when the match percentage isn't super good. Other doner blood will attack your body, and they call it graph vs host disease or GVH in PhD talk. November 2014 I was reborn. First, 2 chemo types sometimes 2x a day for 7 days, then the transplant. Everything went smooth. I read Arnold's autobiography before my concentration started to go. Then the appetite went. Then the weight stayed to go. 215 up to 235 thanks to forced fluid and steroid orders. Then you wait, for 30+ days in a hospital bed fit your blood counts to rise to normal levels. See they bring you to 0 and phoenix you into a badass survivor. Sometimes when you are at your lowest (I thought I was there but I hadn't a clue) you remember a particularly difficult road march you struggled through and never quit. That motivates to no end. Cancer is bested again. I'm lucky. Really really fucking lucky. I like fighting my battles alone, but my neighbors quickly stepped to and smothered me with love and support. I like my alone time to think and recover, but even my sisters friends got involved. I got sick and ended up dropping to 145 lbs. So they put me in the hospital over 2 weeks to put in a feeding tube and get the weight up. My sisters friend Stuart owns a badass catering company and is a damn got chef. I had list my taste so I didn't want to eat..... Until they brought me foods. I could taste it. Saffron rice and chicken. Basic but Indian style, lots of spices and taste. It was enough to smile about, which I hadn't done in some time.

Recovery

I was finally released a week after my birthday, happy 29th you sick figure looking scrawny guy!! I got home and as I was changing I noticed myself in the mirror, I could have cried. It was like looking at a picture of the liberation of Auschwitz. Knobby knees, protruding ribs, upper arms as thin as the forearms. Forearms so weak that my dear sweet mother has to open the pickle jar for. It was a shock. It took a few days to accept, but what can you do. The steroids prescribed knocked out my legs and shoulders to the point where walking around the block makes me sweat and puts my heart up in the 130-140s. Stairs are worse. I climb because i have to, but the steroids continue to eat away at my poor chicken legs. But in almost off of them just 1 week left!! Stuart came over everyday for breakfast and lunch for a week, assaulting my taste buds with new flavorful ideas and to die for sauces. Its just crazy what people will do to help. And even as busy as he is, he makes it a point to help when he can. He is going straight to heaven, along with my mom who delivers food and nourishment and pills and medicine and love and food. Yeah lots of food. I can't walk up stairs well yet, but you can't stop trying. Also imagine having dysentery and having to climb a flight of stairs when grandpa could kick your ass in a stair climber. The struggle is real. I've gained some weight and continue to recover and heal. Dr said I'd be good at 100 days, but here I sit at day 170+ waiting to gain enough strength to ride my motorcycle again. See you on the sidewalk.

First Walk

It's like Rambo! Get it?! First blood....OK

I should really start from the beginning, but I won't because that's for another part. This is about steroids that cripple you in an effort to help you heal. I found the paradox funny as hell.

"You want to take away my muscles to slow, SLOW the shits, but not fix it?!"

Constantly in a state of trance with all of the pills that are called anti depressant but their side effect is appetite stimulation. Great. But I tell you what, I'm a pretty happy dude! Back to my state of hunger.

So with atrophied, knobby knees hanging out, chicken legs I make a move. In the hospital I thought to myself 'I'm good and young, screw walking.' What I should have done was walk. Instead over the course of 2 weeks my legs shrunk and list power thanks to the steroids. They forced me into a wheelchair for the ride on the day I was discharged. So walking has been limited to say the least.

It wasn't so hard to lower myself into a squat like position, but rising up took everything I had. Everything from my hi flexors down is trashed. I need to move. So with my Powerbeats2 blasting AC/DC I threw on my bright orange flip flops and headed out the front door. I stumbled a bit and really had to concentrate to walk a straight line. Ask any cop. But seriously, half way around the block that stretches 1/2 mile,  my legs looked like tree stumps. Like little oaks but puffy. The music distracted me from the pain I felt from my hips to my toes, just king enough to get back in the front door and with the last bit of energy I flung myself into the couch. I had to peel my sandals off, add they left 1/4 indents in my grandma feet. Shit steroids, you suck. Every day I wake with energy and can climb stairs well. After I take the steroids I have to use the railing. Which is total horse shit, but hey I'm motivated so whatever. Ice cream is great for doing that. Speaking of, I'm cutting this short and making a shake!!