Living with MCL

I’ve heard it said, things happen in 3′s. I sure hope that’s the case, and it doesn’t turn into 4′s or ………..

Ever since returning from Vegas things have just not been going as I would hope. First it was the abnormally low platelet count, which fortunately seems to have resolved itself [for now], and then our cat Chloe decides to disappear, and despite repeated searches of the neighborhood has not turned up yet. I just hope if someone finds her they will call (Morris misses her), or at the very least give her a good home.

Even worse, this morning I crashed on my bike. It wasn’t a bad crash (we weren’t going that fast), and fortunately it wasn’t my fault (they’re always worse when you’re to blame). The person in front of me fell, and I ran over their wheel, scraping up my shin and knee, and screwing up the rear wheel. I didn’t even tear any of my riding clothes, but now that I’m home, my knee has started stiffening up some, I’m starting to feel some new pains in my thumb and hip.

And I’m not going to count the fact I haven’t been sleeping well at all the past two weeks, because that would make it a fourth thing, and I don’t want it to go beyond three.

I’m just hoping I’ll be able to ride tomorrow. I’ve been riding really good the past month or so, and I’d hate to lose any of that fitness. I can’t think of too many things that could upset me more, but I’m sure there are plenty I haven’t thought of either.

Oh well, we’re having dinner with some friends to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary tonight. Hopefully that will cheer me up a little, and if there’s one thing I could use a lot of, it’s cheering up.

Last night I discovered I pissed off a friend with one of my recent posts. I won’t mention which post, but if you frequent this blog, it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out.

Be it known, that certainly wasn’t my intention. It’s just sometimes I’m compelled to express my feelings of frustration. It’s a big reason I continue with this blog. Let’s face it, I’m a pretty liberal guy, and when confronted with something that goes against my core beliefs, I vent. I could scream and yell (which I do on occasion), but this blog seems to be a more appropriate venue to do that, not only because it’s less confrontational, but I can usually get some support from at least a few people here.

But if it’s any consolation to my friend (who incidentally I don’t hold any animosity against because he doesn’t believe how I do) this morning was not a good one.

It started off by getting up late. So I was already in a rush when I decided to grease my left bicycle pedal (that’s the one I believe is causing the clicking I’ve been experiencing as of late again), and in the process accidentally got some grease on my nice clean riding shorts. This caused an ugly, obtrusive stain, which I only discovered after spending about 5 minutes looking for the little [tiny] screw I lost, which covers the grease hole in the pedal, and to no avail I might add. So after giving up looking for the little screw, I still had to change my shorts, which put me even further behind schedule than I already was for the start of the club ride.

I did manage to catch the group, but not without some extra effort.

Then to top it off, I got dropped by group 1 in the hammer zone. Normally that wouldn’t be such a big deal, but there was only one group today, a third of which were group 2 riders. There were some mitigating factors which I could use as an excuse, but it doesn’t make the feeling any less demoralizing. I should have been able to keep up.

So is that what some might call bad karma?

That sure doesn’t sound like such a long time, does it? Heck, the typical home mortgage is 180 to 360 months. Even some car loans are in the range of 84 to 120 months.

But when you’re talking about cancer survival it’s an entirely different story. It is a long time. And I should know, because that’s how long it’s been since that fateful blood test that led to my diagnosis of mantle cell lymphoma (MCL).

That’s 100 months of living with a terminal illness, 100 months of blood tests (121 total) watching my numbers gradually degrade, and 100 months of stress, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

But when I read the results of trials, which consider remissions of 6, 12 or 24 month as being good results, along with the numerous problems and complications experienced by others, I can’t help but also think of 100 months as being a milestone. Especially considering I haven’t had any treatment, and still feel like I’m in pretty damn good shape. I even rode my bike 70 miles this morning, and managed not to get dropped [until the very end], despite a pretty rapid pace. Of course I am pretty tired right about now.

I know I’ve obsessed over this before, but I can’t stop wondering how I’ve managed to be so fortunate. Like I’ve said many times before, if I didn’t know I was sick, I wouldn’t know I was sick. And I doubt many others would think so either.

Well, I think I’ve managed to recover somewhat this morning, but that’s exactly how I felt at the end of yesterdays bike ride.

While it was only a 55 mile bike ride, there was 2775 feet of climbing (which is a lot more than normal), but the real problem was me being the weakest rider in the group, forcing me to step it up a notch so as not to embarrass myself too badly.

The ride didn’t start out that way, but after the first climb, about half of the original 20 or so riders who started the ride, many of whom I consider to be of comparable ability to myself, decided to cut the ride short, leaving me alone with the much stronger riders. I guess I could have cut the ride short as well, but then what fun would that have been.

As it was, aided by a few short cuts, and the fact the group didn’t push the pace as hard as they could have, I think I made a decent showing, not finding myself too far behind at any point. But that extra effort did take its toll.

I spent the last 15 miles of the ride on the verge of bonking (despite having an energy bar at the top of the last hill), essentially running on fumes, hanging on for dear life at the back of the pack, so as not to lose the draft, and leave myself alone to fight the usual head winds encountered on the way home, making the ride even more difficult.

I just hope all that effort wasn’t for naught! After all isn’t it true what the say,

what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger