Saturday, April 26, 2008

Running!

I ran Friday evening. I felt pretty good during the day and got home in daylight. It was raining but warm -- in the 70s -- and I wasn't going far and anyway the rain stopped while I was putting my shoes on.

I ran around the block twice. That is almost exactly 0.8 miles. Eight tenths of a mile. Four tenths for each time around. I was exhausted. On the last straightaway, the last one tenth, I kept going only because I could literally see the end in sight.

Eight tenths of a mile is almost ludicrous for someone who used to run 4 miles regularly, and 8 to 10 on a long weekend run, not for training but just for fun. I'm a little surprised. I've been walking one to four miles a day most days for the last 18 months, and I have been working on the elliptical machine for the last month, 30 minutes at a time without feeling exhausted. But running is different. I suppose the fact that I run with a 4-pound weight in each hand (as I have done regularly for the last 30+ years) might have something to do with the level of exertion.

However exhausted, I finished in good form, nothing hurt and I didn't get sick. The effect on my digestive system has been noticeable but not disastrous -- consistent with having done too much and tired myself on Friday.

It's a start.

Leaves

I have a little prayer rug. It is just a scrap of carpeting in the corner of my study. I put it there when I found that kneeling on the hardwood floor hurt my knees. Our whole house has hardwood floors, except the bathrooms and kitchen which are stone or tile, and the basement which is concrete. So for the benefit of my knees a piece of carpet is essential.

When I was most sick last year I developed a todo list for myself. I didn't want to forget things, and I wanted to accomplish something in a day. Some of the items are daily, and some of those took hold as new habits or routines. I'm sorry to say that some of the daily items never have taken hold and still sit on the list reminding me that I have failed yet again in something I fully intended to do.

First on the list is prayer. I have prayed all my life, but never with the fervency, immediacy and intimacy that I found in the last year. I get up in the morning, stumble up to my prayer rug, open the curtain and look at the tree outside my window for a few minutes, and then give thanks that I'm alive. That I can walk up the stairs. That I have one more day. I offer thanks for the body I'm blessed with, for the healing that has occurred, for hearing and seeing and walking and thinking and feeling. I pray that I can see and smell and hear beauty this day. I pray that I can see the godly, and the ugly, in people. For it is there, both the good and the bad, and it is all part of this life, and I would open my eyes. I give thanks for my wife, who has been by my side constantly, who seems herself to be healthy, and who seems, beyond all reason or sense, to love me. I pray for the wellbeing of my children, Britta and Peter and Chase, each in their work and life. And I pray in intimate detail that I would not speak to another nor would make sense to another, for my bowels to work this day in ways that are intended, and some that never were, where compensation is required.

I have learned that God has more to do with my body than I ever imagined. I always thought of God first with the mind, then sometimes the heart, but never the body. Yet the body may be first, not last, in the catalog of God's concerns and blessings.

Outside my window the tree that I watch every morning has made new little branches which swelled at the end and now have put out tiny green leaves.

It is Spring and the world rejoices in life.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Tired?

Blogging is something of a new activity for me. Linda and I posted frequently over the past year on CaringBridge (http://caringbridge.org/visit/chriskimball) as I went through a couple of major surgeries, chemotherapy, and some other unpleasantness. Those posts had a lot to do with my physical condition, and it always startled me that anybody cared, let alone enough for over 18,000 visits.

When I softly shut down CaringBridge and opened a blog, I had a semi-firm commitment to myself not to blog (apparently a verb for almost a decade now) about my physical condition, after the transitional opening post. But here I am again, thinking about physical condition.

I'd like to participate in a triathlon. Notice the carefully chosen word "participate." Not "compete" or "race" or even "finish." It will mean getting back on a bicycle, which was once a regular activity but needs a restart. It will mean running again, which was a very regular activity until late 2006, when the symptoms that ultimately led to a cancer diagnosis and treatment started making it difficult to run. But most of all it will mean swimming, which I haven't done regularly since I was 10 to 12 years old learning to swim in the old, cold, heavily chlorinated basement pool at the downtown YMCA in Madison. I have been swimming enough times in the intervening 40 years to know that I can still swim and -- at least in my 2006 physical condition -- could finish a half mile with effort but not undue trauma.

I've since learned that everything I was taught about swimming form was wrong. If I'm going to start swimming again, I really should find a coach to learn a good form without repeating old bad habits and building up a muscle memory of old bad form. Perhaps I will do so. Knowing me, it's more likely that I'll read a book or an article and try to do it myself. We'll see.

But the real problem is not finding a coach or getting started again. The spring weather is sufficiently encouraging without anything more. The real problem is this body I'm now carrying around, with some parts missing and some parts rather unhappy. Even with all the right medication and the right foods (cutting out almost all fat, supplementing with vitamins and enzymes), I still have a serious problem every time I get tired or stressed. After fatigue or stress, the next "day" -- typically a period of about 12 hours starting in about 12 hours -- is awful.

I've lived my entire life counting on the fact that I could work and keep working at essentially full speed for 20 hours a day for extended periods. I didn't do that very often, but it was my ace in the hole. Late on a paper? I'll just push for a day or two and it will get done. Big deal to close? I'll work around the clock until it is done. I might have a bit of let-down afterward, but I could get it done. And physically I could train hard. My knees, ankles, elbows and back might complain -- there's nothing magical about my joints -- but up to the limit imposed by my joints I could work and work and work, and get stronger or more agile or faster within days.

I can't do it any longer. I know this would have come with age, eventually and gradually. However, for me it has come all of a sudden with the surgery and shortening of my digestive system. Push hard, stay up late, work until I'm tired, run an extra mile, worry about something out of my control, and I will pay dearly in near-term physical discomfort ("discomfort" is such a nice word for experiences that make me seriously question whether I want to live another hour).

I feel like an old man before my time.

Sunday, April 6, 2008

It has been two months since surgery. Linda and I took a walk around the neighborhood this afternoon. It was a beautiful day and a pleasant walk. I don't know the objective temperature. I do know that Linda was warm and I was cold, even bundled up with coat, hat and gloves.

I'm doing pretty well some days, and tolerable or better most days. There is still an occasional awful day, just to keep life interesting.

We saw a gastroenterologist for the first time last Wednesday. There were three significant observations.

First is that my situation is now mostly in the GI (gastrointestinal) category. We've dealt with everything else, and what I'm left with are GI issues, some of which will continue the rest of my life. I suspect that Dr. Ehrenpreis and I will become good friends.

Second is that we should expect a year for everything to settle down to whatever “new normal” is going to be. I think the progress is much faster than that, but expecting another ten months is probably good for me . . . patience . . . breathe deeply . . . one day at a time . . . and so on.

Third is that one of the things removed in the first surgery is part or all of the section of the intestines that processes fat. This has several consequences. One is that it will always be difficult to gain weight, because fat is calorically about three times as dense as carbohydrates and protein. (I consider this generally a good thing, although I could use another five pounds right now.) Second is that fat will pass through me. (I consider this generally a bad thing.) Third is that I will need to supplement the fat soluble vitamins A, E, D and K, because I won’t get an adequate amount by diet alone, and I will need a vitamin B12 shot every month. (I consider this disappointing but manageable.)

With this news, and the prospect of months and years of upkeep and maintenance and nothing much changing, we will do a soft shutdown of CaringBridge. If I end up in an emergency room, we’ll post. If the PMP comes back, we’ll post. But I suspect the risks are higher that I’ll have a climbing accident (yes, I’m climbing again) or motorcycle accident (it’s been too cold to have much fun on the bike, but I’ve been out once so far this year), than that something related to cancer and surgery will cause a serious problem.

I do have a blog which has been completely inactive until now. A copy of this message has been posted as the opening entry. Chances are the blog will be very very slow, but even at that, more lively than CaringBridge. See chriskimball.blogspot.com.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to every person who posted, and every person who read and thought about me. Your good wishes and prayers and jokes and Haikus and general thoughtfulness have meant the world to me.

Chris Kimball
6 April 2008
Evanston, Illinois
ckimball@pobox.com