A little R from R: physio prescribes rest from rehab, saying body needs break in this bid to rally from cancer/back surgeries

I feel almost athletic.
My physiotherapist, Paula Peres, says that the various aches and pains I've been feeling the past few days are my body yelling at me, saying that it needs a couple of days off. To that end, we did next to nothing in our regular Thursday session yesterday and I've tried to take it easy today. I did go to the pool this morning with my wife-appointed security guard and driver, Susie Culp, but I tried use it more as stretch-it-out session than anything else. And, up until this, I've been playing MLB11 on the PS3 today. (Cancer has done wonders for my video game skills, let me tell you.)
I can't lie it. I like the idea that she's telling me to dial it down. I'm like a catcher who doesn't play a day game after a night game. I'm like an outfielder who gets some time off before the playoffs. I'm like James Paxton, the Ladner left-hander and Seattle Mariners prospect who got shut down by the team (http://tinyurl.com/3c8vkoh) due to innings pitched limits. Who cares if it's the day after I did a big feature on him? (http://tinyurl.com/3cvx8zb) 

OK, I care. That sucked. That story got play across the country.

But no matter.

It's proof that I'm doing more and more. Paula and I walked to Moody Park last Tuesday free style (read: without help from the walker or Evander, my trusty cane) and toured around for a good 45 minutes, going up and down hills and across various terrains. I was free styling longer overall at slopitch a week ago Tuesday, when the Headliners captured their fifth VMRESSS title in eight years with a victory over the the Master Batter and Scorebook Throwers -- (for those who understand...Yes, I wrote that) -- but I was doing a lot more standing than walking. This thing on Tuesday was solid walking.

I had my first driving lesson Wednesday, and my teacher, Ricky Bobby, said immediately afterwards that he thought I could pass my test right now. For those devoted to CTTWH (Snarla, that's you), you'll recall I failed my driver's test at G.F. Strong, leading to these lessons.

I told R.B. (not his real name, in case you were wondering) that I felt much better after one session with him but still wanted at least two or three more jaunts with him riding shotgun before we started DRIVING FOR REAL. (Insert Da Da Da music here). He agreed that I was probably overly nervous at the test. That, and not overly intelligent, considering that I tried to do the test without practising after six months in a hospital bed.

Wednesday night, I took in the Vancouver Giants' intrasquad scrimmage, and stood for much of my time there.

That's a lot more going on than my body is used to. By Thursday morning, my hips and knees were aching and my shoulders and neck were sore. (That comes from the fact that shoulder checking is a skill that you generally use while driving a car only, although it does come in handy when you're in the kitchen with my Carol-Ann...more on that another time.) And I even took two fast-acting Hydro pain killers Wednesday night.

I like the fact that Paula trusts me enough that when I said on Thursday, "I'm sorry...I don't know how much I have to give for our session today) she opts to shut it down and take it easy. That's a good compliment to our working rapport.

Things are only going to get more complicated, since I'm covering the Mann Cup lacrosse finals starting next Wednesday in Langley. 

Walking even more on the wild side; cancer rehab moving along nicely

Sorry I haven't been around much lately. It's been busy.
I"m working more and more. Carol-Ann and I have a house guest, her older brother Chuck, who's in the midst of moving here from North Carolina with his wife and 19-month-old or so. And softball season wrapped up Tuesday.
More importantly, I'm walking more and more.
I forgot Evander, my cane, for Tuesday's softball game. My buddy, D-Tam, came to pick me up since Carol-Ann had to work late at work, and, in my hurry to get going, we left Evander on the railing by the back door. I'm "much too cool," these days to go completely on the walker, so we went freestyle for the entire three hours or so. Luckily, I was so focussed on the Headliners vying for our fifth VMRESS (Vancouver Municipal Recreational Something Something) title in eight years that I wasn't freaked out about how much I was without Evander.
I was pretty sore the next day. I can't lie. I was working all sorts of muscles I haven't worked in months. Still, I I survived. (We won 14-10. Even some goofy rules junkie on our opponents couldn't spoil the fun.)
Paula Peres, the physio that comes to the house every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, seems quite pleased with the progress. She even brought up - albeit ever so briefly -- that maybe it's time for her to scale back her visits. It was the initial conversation, but it is the start of something.
My energy level is slowly coming back. I'm staying up later at night, I have more jump during the day.
There's still plenty to work on, though. I still can't shave on my own. I can't move my head enough because of the rods in my neck. I'm still not driving. My lessons were supposed to start on Wednesday, but my instructor had a family illness. We try again on Wednesday. I also can't get down on the floor and play with nephews or the family cat.
Still, the pluses are outweighing the negatives.

Walking the walk, visiting the mountain: taking a break from rehab for a little Whistler vacation

To quote Jim Ross, and who better to steal a sentence from than a legendary WWE announcer, business is about to pick up.
Carol-Ann and I are spending the weekend in Whistler. It's our first vacation since this whole cancer/back surgery thing bulldogged its way into our lives back in October. (NOTE TO BAD GUYS: Be wary of any skulduggery at our home, since we have a full SWAT team in place.)
We slept in today and then meandered around the village. I'm  back at the room resting; Carol-Ann has a friend up here, so she's hanging with her, getting into no good, no doubt.
She's finally over her bout of laryngitis and starting to feel like herself again. This whole mess has beaten her up physically, and not surprisingly, her body shut down for a time.
It's been an interesting week. I'm starting to spend less and less time using the walker to get around. At the house, I'm going freestyle for hours on end. Out and about, I'm using Evander, my cane, more frequency.
I Evandered it around GF Strong on Thursday, during my visit to see Dr. Brad Hallam, our psychologist.   Dr. Hallam seemed to be pretty pleased with how I'm dealing with my guilt and frustration and how I botched my driver's exam. I have a great faith in him; it's always good for me to check in with him to see how I'm doing. To think that this hasn't messed with my emotions and my mind as much as my body is foolish.
I got a chance during the stop in with several of the physios and rehab assistants who I had worked with during my two-plus months there, and the response was inspiring.
Derek was a rehab assistant during my final of three stay at the Vancouver physical rehab clinic. I Evandered it into the spine gym and he immediately gave me, "Look at you...look at you!!!"
Derek's a straight forward dude, and maybe the straightest of the straight forward. He's not a cheap compliment guy. He's a "If you're 10 minutes early for a session with him then you're five minutes late," type.
You get the idea.
He had always been positive about my prospects and I reminded him of that, telling him that he was one of the people at GF who told me that I was going to be able to walk again.
His response? "It doesn't make it any less exciting to see it, does it?"
Pretty cool.
After that, I had a session with our at-home physio, Paula Peres, and we Evandered it six blocks. That's the farthest I've gone so far.
The down news, in all of this, is that my body is continuing to break down a little. Paula thinks I've got a strained right hamstring, and has me icing it a few times a day. My back is also a little achy. It's logical, since I'm doing more and more every day after being largely sedentary for six months.

What's the story? Morning glory. Cancer/back surgery rehab now includes early pool times.

I haven't had any consistent jump the last few days. In a bid to mix things up, my wife-appointed daytime security guard, Susie, and I agreed to change our three-day-a-week swim time from noon to 7:15 a.m.
It's a plan. I didn't say it was a smart plan.
We'll see how I'm doing by the end of the day. It should be interesting. Over the past week or so, I've had bouts of zero energy. I've talked plenty with our physio, Paula Peres, and she says that it's completely reasonable, considering how much time I spent in the hospital. In fact, she maintains that she's surprised that I haven't had more of those breakdowns.
I get it. Doesn't mean I can't fight it.
Our GP, Dr. Jennifer Rogerson, says it's logical, too. My body has been through an awful thing, between the Solitary Plasmacytoma, the radiation, the eight surgeries.
She also ties a chunk of it to sleep apnea.
There may not be two words I hate more it the English language than "sleep apnea." Seriously. I've got one of those goofy machines that makes me look and feel like Darth Vader's lushy nephew. It's a terrible contraption to get used to and I'm still nowhere close to being comfortable with it.
Dr. Rogerson maintains that it will change my life and make me a happier person overall. There's a guy who sees another doctor in her office who tells everyone he comes across in the waiting room what the machine has done for his life.
Hello? I'm pretty freakin' happy much of the time. I get much happier, and I'll be hard to put up with.
I think a lot of this is that I'm wearing out mentally. I'm getting better physically all the time. Paula wants me to cut down on the walker use in favour of the cane (aka Evander). And for a few hours on both Saturday and Sunday around the house I went freestyle...no cane, no walker, just me.
I'm still frustrated. The better I get, the more I want to get better. I think things will improve once I get driving again -- I'm talking to companies about lessons today.
And maybe the early-morning pool sessions will be a plus.

On the comeback trail yet again from cancer and back surgery

The better I get physically, the harder this gets emotionally.
I guess it's not that odd. My expectations three months ago were minimal. Don't need a police escort to get to the bathroom and back? Yipee for me. These days, if I'm not dropping 25 seconds off my 100 metre time every day, I'm bummed.
Yesterday was tough. I had no zip at all. None. I slept most of the day, and I hadn't done that for awhile.
Everybody has bad days. I had a plethora of them before this rigamarole started. I just can't get them out of my own head when they occur now.
I did have a solid physio session with Paula on Tuesday. It may have been the best I've been in a workout with her. As well, I banged out a couple of stories for the paper, so I did head into yesterday
Paula comes again today, and I'm primed -- at least right now -- for the workout. I
We'll see.

Rehab comes off road; failed driver's test means poor wife has to keep wheel all the time

I'll keep this short, since I'm pretty disappointed in myself.
I bombed the driver's test. Had trouble with signage, nearly blew up the car on the parallel park, made a "dangerous move," on a lane change.
After not driving for six months, I didn't feel ready going in and I should have listened to that.
Not happy.
I've been advised, through the good folks at GF Strong, to take some refresher lessons and try again.
Damn.
This keeps pressure on Carol-Ann, who is handling all the driving duties for us right now.

Physio helping me getting my mind, as well as my body, back in shape

"You could have died. Instead, you're going to baseball games. Think about it."
And, with that, my physiotherapist, Paula Peres, made an attempt to get my head screwed on right.
I'm still getting better physically, working my way back from the Solitary Plasmacytoma tumour and  eight surgeries on my back that stole six months of my life. It's still not happening fast enough for me, at times, and I'm driving myself a little mad when I get into that frame of mind.
Part of it, I think, it's that you lose touch with reality. You spend six months in hospital and physical rehab, you run up against a lot of people who have had horrible things happen to them. On some level, it's become the norm for me. Doesn't everybody wind up a good chunk of a year on an operating table? Seriously?
Paula's done as well with me mentally as she's done physically, and I feel like she's done remarkable physically. She gets a good sense when I stop appreciating the small goals - I went to a Vancouver Canadians game for a few innings last Wednesday, utilizing a cane, and that's a pretty good step for me, all things considered - and isn't afraid to tell me exactly what she thinks.
I guess the biggest thing frustrating me is that I'm putting too much pressure on Carol-Ann carry the load. She's the most amazing wife ever -- as we've talked about here, she slept for 60-something days straight on a chair at at VGH. She recently went through a bout of laryngitis, an obvious off-shoot of all the stress she was under for so long, and I couldn't fully pick up the slack. I'm still not driving, and my energy level plummets in the afternoon, making it hard for me to make dinner five or six times a week like I used to.
My pain is OK. I'm stiff as a board in the morning still. It's a real struggle. I eventually get it stretched out, most often when I get to the pool. My shoulders are starting to bother me a bit, which could be from spending more and more time on the cane, as a opposed to the walker.
I'm also starting to work on my sleep apnea - that's a story for another time.
I do go for my driver's licence on Wednesday. If I can pull that off, that could solve a lot of problems.
We've come along way, but there's still much further to go.