I've got a million things to do. Topics to review, a bathroom to sand and paint, a professional development plan to write. Mostly, a million thoughts in my head, I suppose. I can't do anything until I get some of this stuff out.
I've been conflicted as of late, feeling flattened, yet motivated and a bit lost with my direction, though feet light on the ground . The irony is paramount, a struggle in itself and throughout my recovery I've been so-often faced with these checkpoints. These are the days I need to just stop in my tracks and figure it out so I can keep moving ahead, while appreciating what brought me to this state of mind.
There's no secret, I'm not who I once was. None of us who we once were, at a different age and stage of life. On every level of my being I'm vastly altered. I've talked about this endlessly. I do still strive to be that person 'pre-cancer' in some respects, mostly when it comes to meeting goals and running milestones or having less health complications day-to-day. Perhaps my rehabilitating body is trying to tell me something, over and over again. Slow down. I'm hearing it loud and clear, I just don't really know how, yet.
Two weeks ago, I decided to test my unknown limits in an off- road trail race. A hilly, adventurous 10km. All along, I've been told by my doctors to do what I feel is within my limits, but there is no reliable truth to this, as I'm so young to have CLL. They say "if you can run and have the energy, go for it" and so I do. I tend to have more energy to run, then I do to complete a whole day of work. The mind power alone required to do what I do, for half a day exhausts me still. What none of my doctors know, what I don't know, is how hard I will push myself to "see how I feel." I'm learning to watch what I say to my patients as a result of recent events. Lesson 1 - never tell anyone, ANYONE to just do what they think they can do. Provide limitations, or endpoints, guidelines or frames of reference to previous expectations of abilities. Some way to keep things achievable, attainable and safe. This is not a knock to my doctors, it's a learning point for all of us. I still don't know the answers.
Back to this race. Let's say..I pushed it. For the first time in a couple of years, I pushed hard. Because, I was told to try. As I figure out if I can work more, do more, I need to know, how much more.. thereby taking necessary steps to increase what I'm doing (again, this is where the measurable guidelines come in). Well, the answer is..my body is not where my mind and motivation are, yet. There's a mismatch between the two and though that wasn't always the case, I do need to recognize this is how it is for now.
I looked for others in my race as the km's ticked on and realized I was in the front pack. It can't be, I thought to myself. I've never been in the front pack! In the last 500m we had a downhill into the finish and the other female who had battled me on every hill (she won the uphills and I won the downhills with my cartilage-intact knees) hugged me at the end. We had done it and done it well.
We finished 7 seconds apart, two minutes behind the winner. I don't think I knew what I was capable of! It felt amazing. I stood on the podium, with such gratitude and sheer shock, but I had finally made my way back to the running circuit..so I thought.
Not so fast. Four days later, I head to a medical conference on a flight and an overwhelming sense of nausea enters my body. I don't yet know why, but as the day goes on and leads in the next, things deteriorate. I'm taking regular meds to keep fevers down, but really wanting to attend this conference! I'm unable to look at food, feeling sweaty in between doses of anti-pyrexics, but taking medications to keep it together. On day three, I feel the familiar tingling sensation enter my body. I'm sitting down at a lunch table with fellow colleagues, who had been telling me to see a doctor since the day before. Why am I so stubborn, you ask? I just like to have faith the appropriate medications take time to have full effect and I want my body to also work at recovering. Its a fine line though it didn't go in my favour this time. I warn them "the rigors are coming and I'm about to start shaking. When I get a break in between episodes we will go to hospital."
Sure enough, I begin to convulse uncontrollably, for what seemed like hours. I make it to yet another ER, for yet more IV antibiotics. Life-saving. Again, I feel defeated, tired out, yet can't help but lay in a hospital room that night reflecting on everything. I'm alone in a four walled room with one light, a remote control bed and a jug of water. How did I get here, again? When does this end? But, the swift care I received to be stabilized was incredible, the kindness of my friends and loved one who sat beside me, as I rigored in a hospital bed was and still is heartwarming. Knowing the toll each episode takes on not only me, but them, makes me emotional and self-reflective.
I'm always learning that despite what you want to achieve or how many goals you make for yourself, you need to be realistic and open to change. Rather than trying to incorporate more control, enter checkpoints for adjustments. I had no idea seven months after remission, I'd still be having to reign in my work schedule and my running commitments, but I also had no notion that I'd come so far. Sometimes it's working out the incongruencies in our minds that matter most, as we navigate unprecedented territory and coming to terms with the recognition, that it's ok - let time take its course and don't fight against it.