Tag Archives: recovery

Physical Fit: The Long Road Back…

So, I haven’t really posted in a while. A lot has been going on, to be quite frank. Work and life… and work… I have just let time get away from me.

I observed, when going to my gym one morning, that someone had written a quote on the white board that they have hanging on the wall for encouraging words and announcements. It said, “Your body can do anything. It’s your mind you need to convince.” It took me some time to figure out to whom we could attribute this little gem, but it turns out it was a modified version of “The good Lord gave you a body that can stand most anything. It’s your mind you have to convince,” which apparently Vincent Lombardi said.

Ignoring my perpetual nerdiness and need to find source references for words that are not coming from my own brain, I had to think about the adage for a while. I ruminated about it, in fact. I appreciated the underlying message. We’re often our own worst enemies when it comes to change or doing things for our betterment. I find that I can argue myself out of chores or things that I really need to be doing. If I could debate so well in a public forum, I could run for office. However, that doesn’t mean it is a good trait. And it isn’t just me… I know this. I have friends, family, and patients. All of them will know that there are steps that they need to take in order to manifest the changes that they badly wish to have in their lives (better health, more life satisfaction, financial stability, etc.), but without fail, when it comes to those initial, sometimes painful, first steps… I hear a bunch of, “yeah… but…” So, I get it. Get your mind on board with the project, and the rest will follow, right?

And that brings me to the second side of my ruminations. I’m here to tell you that my mind has been “on board” with getting back to my pre-surgical state of activity and fitness. I was chomping at the bit, as they say. I couldn’t wait for my doctor to give me the “all clear” to get back into my routine. The body had some alternative points to make about it, though.

In truth, I fully expected to be back at ground zero, so to speak. I had been largely inactive (unless you count my regular 250 step laps around the downstairs living areas and my adventures in showering those first couple of weeks) for nearly two months. Given my age has severely depressed the former bounce back ability I once had, I truly did feel that I was likely to be starting back at the beginning. That, I am happy to say, was not the case. My first day back at running, well elliptical-ing went well better than I had expected (maybe those laps around the kitchen island were useful after all). I was slower, and the “distance” was less, but I was able to go for my full time without feeling too bad. I was cautiously optimistic. I felt like maybe this whole climb back to the top of my game might not be as much of a slog as I feared.

But then… reality reared it’s ugly head. “You were gutted like a fish. You’re core muscles torn asunder. What the @#$% did you expect?!?” I tried to lift some weights (once cleared to do so by my surgeon). I’d been curling roughly 25-30 pounds prior to my illness. I was benching 125-150. I knew I was not going to be jumping right into my pre-surgery routine, but I was truly unprepared for what my body decided was its limit. I could barely do 10 pound dumb bells. That’s barely a gallon of milk, for heaven’s sake! I know that is is completely normal. Start slow. Work your way back. But I couldn’t manage more than two sets that first day. It wasn’t my mind. My arms literally would not move those weights hanging off the ends of them. I could barely keep my fingers clasped around them and avoid dropping them heavily to the floor. (Who knows, if I had dropped them, I likely wouldn’t have been able to pick them back up.)

Back to our friend, Vince and his helpful tips about mind over matter. The key word that is in Vince’s words that was left out of the encouraging quote by the anonymous contributor at my gym would be “most”. Vince didn’t say “anything” or “all things”, he suggested some natural limitations. There are some things that the body cannot do. Granted, these are sometimes things that we can train the body to do over time, but I had to be patient and willing to let my body heal. I had to wait for my upper body muscles to build back the strength. I couldn’t rush it. I couldn’t push it (found out the hard way what happens when I do). I had to exercise some patience (probably my biggest challenge weakest attribute) and trust that with time, I can improve my performance again. Maybe I’ll even surpass my previous summit. It just may take a bit longer than I’d hoped…

Prepping for Surgery and a sense of the absurd

anesthesia

I know I’ve been quiet for a while. Seems like time got away from me, and a severe case of writer’s block apparently required surgical interventions or at least the threat of them to budge.

Surgery is a funny thing. I don’t mean funny “Haha,” but funny peculiar. Think about it. In order to fix something in our body, someone with letters after their name and hopefully a lot of impressive training is going to actually injure and go poking around inside what is generally supposed to be a closed and intact system. Now, I’m not knocking medical procedures. We’ve accomplished some astounding things, and it seems like every day they are improving the methods to prevent complications. Modern surgery and the accomplishments thereof are a far cry from the near butchery of the antecedents. Still, I wait with great impatience for the days when I can take a pill and grow a new kidney (or any other organ for that matter… Points to the people who get the reference).

And yet… there are parts of the process that still cause me to ponder, ruminate, become anxious, and aye, even cause me to shake my head with humor and irony. If you haven’t yet figured it out, I’m no stranger to the surgical theater. Due to a number of genetic quirks and other accidents, I’ve been the recipient of quite a number of procedures, mostly to my skull… No, they still haven’t found that brain they have been seeking. All the operations in question were to my jaws and dental structures. In fact, after one surgical procedure, I could walk through a metal detector stark naked and set it off. I quite enjoy to this day the look on the faces of x-ray technicians when they see the odd collections of wire embedded in my jaw hinges. But, I digress… I do that a lot, which is why this blog even exists, when we come down to it. If my brain always stayed on an expected track with normal and logical thought processes and zero tangential traipses through the ether, none of this rambling nonsense would be out there.

The interesting part of all the surgical curiosity is the instructions that the patients are given before (and after) the processes to insure the best possible outcome. Honestly, even understanding the reasons behind the directives does not always alleviate my perpetual ruminative escapades. Without fail, my mind will wander about after reading or hearing specific instruction and think about various aspects including what would happen if one didn’t actually follow the directions given. This last bit is frequently not really a good idea if one is, in fact, the patient. While I have been privy to a number of surgeries and recovery wards as observer or clinician, my imagination can still become quite creative enough to depict scenarios that are not only completely unrealistic, they would put the best of the horror directors to shame. So, as I said, not the best mental occupation for the intended target… I mean subject of the surgeon’s skill.

What brought on this recent rambling through my cranium is, as you might have surmised, that I am once again going under the knife. Nothing terribly serious, but as they do say there are inherent risks with all surgical procedures. It is another oral surgery, and I’ve become, after nearly three decades of experience with this form of intervention, somewhat inured to the general angst… but not entirely immune. I will occasionally and inexplicably have bouts of anxiety that are only relieved by contrarily imagining the worst possible situations and outcomes and making a complete farce of the whole ritual of instruction. Today, for instance, I receive the call (Like ya do) from the surgeon’s office reminding me of my appointed time and confirming that I had not left the state, country, or planet accidentally. I assured them that I was Earthbound and in the near vicinity still. As the caller was about to ring off, I asked if there were any instructions. To which, the lady gave me the usual “Nothing to eat or drink 6-8 hours before. Wear short sleeves. Bring someone to drive you and all your money.” Ok, I might have exaggerated the “all your money bit.” I think they only want most of it. Honestly, health costs in America… but I digress… again. I’m just a digressing fool today.

Anyhow, the caller ended the conversation at that point, and left me to my usual mental calisthenics about all of the foregoing… and of course the impending doom. I was so caught up in all of it that my usual morning conversation with my friend was the recipient of the overflow. I expressed to him that the worst part (aside from the monetary extortion) was that part about not eating or drinking. This is normally not a problem for me. It would be unlikely that I am imbibing or participating in a repast after midnight, but now… I will be thirsty as hell at 3:00AM. It’s true, and totally psychological. I consume more than enough liquid to keep myself hydrated (water, of course… a woman cannot survive by coffee alone, but without the blessed bean everyone else might die), but because someone told me I could not have anything to wet my whistle after the appointed hour, I will develop cotton mouth that would make the Mojave look like a lush oasis. Additionally, the eating thing… I’ve been in an appetite lull for a few weeks. That is the pendulum swing from the periods of time when I can’t seem to sate the empty cavern of my gut and want to eat ALL THE THINGS. For whatever reason, I just haven’t really been neck deep in the trough. I continue to eat small meals and snacks and consume protein shakes in an attempt to keep the energy stores going, fuel the physical machine, and avoid metabolism shut down, but otherwise… meh, just not that hungry. However… now, because I have been told I am forbidden to eat after midnight, I will very probably become quite ravenous at 12:01AM and nothing will do but to eat an entire wildebeest. Maybe it isn’t surgery that is so odd. It might actually be the perversity of my own mental nature. Nah! Surely that cannot be it…

On top of all the cogitating about the instructions for all good patients, I also, due to my years of experience, know what to expect in the aftermath. Again, this is where we have advanced beautifully from days gone by when I would have been laid up for hours or days in recovery and med-surge units while the anesthesia worked its way slowly from my system, groggy, nauseous, and grievously hung over (I usually try to reserve that for New Year’s Day). Now, the modern cocktail they use wears off very quickly with very few lasting effects. There is one, however, and it is a doozy. Because this is, as I said, oral surgery, one of the things they use is atropine. For those who don’t know, atropine dehydrates. In other words, it dries up everything. This makes it more convenient for people trying to deal with any and all things inside the saliva factory that is the human mouth. The natural consequence of using this tool is that there is a rebound effect when it wears off. It rather seems like everything on your face (and sometimes the rest of your body) is trying to liquefy or melt. Combine this with the local anesthesia that they use, and voila, snotty, drooling, tearful mess… I feel like a toddler left for the first time at daycare. On top of that, I cannot actually feel from my nose to my chin and so all attempts clean up aisle 4 are rather like Gumby trying to wipe the nose of a latex Richard Nixon Halloween mask. Super sexy, right?

And just like that… sense of the ridiculous appears to be my saving grace from rising anxiety levels. It is just virtually impossible to be scared of something that turns me into Tim Conway’s dentist routine or my own one-woman sitcom. See ya in the aftermath…