The Road to Normality
I’m not riding outside yet (the photo’s from the fall), but I have some updates to share!
Last Tuesday, my surgeon gave the nod to put aside the prior mobility restrictions and return to "normal" activity. I spent the last week ramping into “normal Chris” things. I'm grateful to be back at some of the things I love… Adding activity to my routine keeps evolving my treatment: the things I can do every day to feel my best and stay the healthiest.
Hours before my first discharge in December, a gentleman from the hospital PT staff instructed me not to bend over at the waist, not to lift more than 5-10 pounds, but to exercise as much as possible.
I jumped at the exercise comment. Visions of long indoor bike rides and copious core work raced through my head. As my indoor training camp fantasy settled down, I figured I should ask what he meant by "exercise as much as possible."
I joked: “I don't know how you exercise, but for me, it usually involves doing those first two items you mentioned."
He clarified: "Oh. Walking is exercise. Go for a walk when you can."
These are typical discharge instructions for a craniotomy, designed to keep me safe. I was scared about how different they were from my old normal.
Before my seizure, a normal week involved a dozen hours on the bike, several hours in the gym, lifting, jumping and building core strength, and two or three sessions at the rock gym. I was used to going to bed tired as a tortoise every night. After a week in a hospital bed, my prescribed maximum effort was walking. I wanted to sweat, push myself and fall asleep when my head hit the pillow. I couldn’t risk the damage, so I accepted walking as my new normal.
Walk before you ride, or run, or whatever, you get the point!
Logging laps with with my dear friend, Erin.
At that point, I was already walking grooves into the hospital floors— up and down the halls whenever the IV in my arm wasn’t plugged in. I couldn't go far, but I could go down the hall. So I did. And then I did it again. I did it to be free, to get out of bed, to breathe a little more, and to walk with my visitors. I felt my best walking and talking. I was grateful for walking.
When I got home, I started walking outside three times a day. First thing in the morning, sometime in the middle of the day, and around sunset. My parents insisted on me not walking alone for a while, so we went on MANY walks together or I went with my visitors. I’m grateful for those walks in Doylestown with my people.
When I started walking by myself a couple of weeks later, the neighbors noticed. One neighbor stopped her car, rolled down a window and sarcastically wondered out-loud:
“I didn’t realize you were walking yourself now!”
“Yes, I take myself for walks now! I’m an independent dog!”
We let the house pet jokes roll. it helps keep things light here.
Google StreetView really captured my summertime look, and the Mini’s good side quite well.
Walking is still my only mode of independent transportation while I’m not driving and riding. In America, cars and driving are analogous to freedom, just ask Bruce Springsteen. Losing this freedom hurts. Many times each day I’d like to go somewhere or do something out of walking distance and find myself dependent on my parents or someone else for a ride. I really miss driving my Mini too.
Lacking this freedom, I have a new appreciation for mobility, and a new appreciation for my parents and friends that I can rely on. I’m dependent on my community for simple things. As I ramp into normality I’ll find how my community can depend on me too.
Better In, Better Out
Spin studio for one!
Walking and light stretching were my only activities for just shy of two months. A few weeks ago I asked if I could ride my bike inside on the trainer. I promised to keep myself in first gear and be mindful of heart rate and blood pressure. The wonderful PA on the surgery team gave me the green light for light spins. So I spun.
Round Valley Reservoir to our right at peak colors 2019
Getting back on the bike felt right and I feel pretty great when I’m riding. Could that be a self-fulfilling prophecy? Maybe. But I think there’s more to it. Exercise boosts circulation. Circulation is the root of all recovery. Aerobic exercise helps reduce inflammation and it also helps on a psychological level. I can’t prove this, but I feel fewer side effects from one of my medications if I spin out after the side effects start to kick in. Even if what I’m feeling is a placebo, I’m OK with that.
Training and exercise are helping me recover, and I’m sure that going into this ordeal in the best shape of my life helped too. My coach pushed me to train harder than ever last summer to finish the Pro race in my hometown— The Bucks County Classic. With my chin high from a decent result at that race in September, I was charged up for the 2020 season. I logged big fall miles with my teammates and did my longest ride ever over Thanksgiving.
I went into the OR strong and maybe that prevented some complications, allowed them to operate longer or got me out of the hospital sooner. I’m grateful for my drive to train and get stronger -- getting on the bike has elevated me out of some dark days recently and has probably prevented some dark days too. I’m grateful for that bike in the basement.
Flash Forward: This Week
The instruction to ramp into normal activity is liberating-- the psychological handcuffs are off. I don’t have to wonder, “Is that more than 10 pounds?” I can bend over to tie my shoes without wondering if it's bad for recovery. I can step away from the anxiety of walking the line between not doing enough and doing too much. My job is to listen to my body, challenge it, and respect it. One hike, four indoor rides, seven yoga classes, and several walks later my first week of ramping into normal activity is complete.
I’m writing most of this on a Tuesday, so this update wouldn’t be complete without some Gratituesday content:
I’m grateful for:
the YMCA, where I can practice yoga and have a community. I’m grateful for sweating, inverting and challenging my balance under the guidance of the wonderful teachers there.
the opportunity to recalibrate my body from scratch and rebuild a more well-rounded self.
the people that call me, show up unannounced, pick me up, and take me on adventures.
I’m grateful for the hard stuff and the dark stuff. I’m learning to push through it to experience the good stuff.
I have full mobility and cognition after 11 hours of brain surgery. I’m grateful for - and amazed by - this one.
Much Love,
CB
