Introduction & Early Stages

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October 2001

Tuesday, October 02, 2001

Either I'm pregnant or I am just out of control. Sunday night, 9 PM (well after I had eaten dinner), I couldn't sit still. Not knowing what was wrong with me, I decided to watch a little TV. That didn't do the trick. So I took a shower. That didn't help either. Finally, I decided to run out to the Chinese restaurant around the corner for some steamed dumplings. Boy were they good.

The craving calmed, the stomach (again) filled, I settled back down thinking what had just happened. Did I actually get dressed at 9 PM to go out and get dumplings? Was I completely out of my mind or does this happen often? And I wonder why I'm not happy with my form or figure. Slowly I'm turning into one of "them". I must not let that happen. "When my back feels better one day I'm going to do double the sit-ups to make up for those dumplings" I tell myself. When my back feels better…

The weekend definitely turned out to be a lot of fun. I even popped an extra Azulfidine (or two), shined my shoes and went to a little (and by little I mean not too many people threw up at the end) party. It was good to get out and it was good to have fun. I think I need to do that a little more often because I almost forgot what it's like to be in a room filled with sweaty, incoherent and just plain wild 18-21 year-old boys and girls. I even caught the occasional 30-year-old man watching the girls dance like a tiger stalks his prey. What those guys were doing there beats the hell out of me.

Going to bed at 2-3 AM is a small price to pay for the evening of fun. But 7-8 hours later when I wake up, I definitely feel it. But hey, what can I do? Wake up, get a bagel and let the medicine do its thing. That's what I keep repeating.

And of course a fun weekend (that began Thursday afternoon) must come to an end on Tuesday with a 10-page paper due in 30 minutes. I definitely have my work cut out for me.

Tuesday, October 09, 2001

Yesterday was my 4-week checkup with the doctor. The experience was less than enjoyable. After getting my blood work the day of (as opposed to 3 days before so he could have the results, the way it's supposed to be done), I told him that for the last few weeks, every time I sweat, I get this pain all over my body. The pain is as if a needle was pricking me in my back and my shoulders. It hurts like a MOFO. He looked at me and said "hm". The "hm" is never a good sign. Turns out that he's heard this before, though it has never been documented. His best guess was that my body was sweating out the medicine. SWEATING OUT MEDICINE. "Holy crap" I thought to myself. This was a first. A pain-in-the-ass first. The ride back to school last night was a depressing one.

So this morning I woke up to a cool 24-degree New England sunrise. I bundled up in a sweater, a scarf, the whole nine years (the best part of fall is breaking the sweaters out of hibernation). After I was all done up like an infant in Central Park on a snow-day, I realized I was going to be hot. Then I started sweating thinking about the fact that I might sweat. So the anticipation of sweating made me sweat, and as usual, it started to hurt. Typical Seinfeld 'George Costanza' moment I had. Sweating because I was going to sweat. It made me mad and laugh at the same time.

What I decided to do was instead of sweating out my medicine, I would cut back. This morning I actually decided to take less medicine. I know that in a day or two I will feel it. I will go from "moderate" to "bad" pain. Walking to the dining hall will hurt, instead of just walking up the stairs. Sitting in class will hurt, instead of just hauling my bag with me. But it has to be healthier than taking such crap medicine that I'm in pain sweating it through my pores. This was one option I was presented with yesterday. It beat the alternatives.

Mom and Dad, all I want for my birthday is my health back.

Friday, October 12, 2001

It's been a few days now without Azulfidine and boy does life suck. Smallest things from sitting up straight to getting up to open the door hurt and ache. I made an appointment for the physical therapist up here by school, but apparently he's a busy guy and the first time he could squeeze me in is next Tuesday. So it will have to wait until then. In the meantime I went swimming this afternoon and boy did it feel great.

Hopping in the pool -- Speedo, goggles and all -- I had nearly forgotten how good it feels to float. To sink. To fly through the water where high resistance and low impact really makes the difference. It wasn't a fun-swim time. It was serious-swim time. Back and forth, back and forth in the pool I went. Lap after lap I refined my stroke, concentrated on my breathing, and just tried to relax while I exercised. For once my heart-rate broke 100 and I wasn't in terrible pain. And that felt great. But not as great as last night.

What a birthday surprise I was treated to yesterday. Earlier in the week, while studying for a finance exam, I mentioned in passing to my friend Melissa how I have sent hundreds of roses to every girl in my life that has meant something to me (girlfriend, mom, sister, etc). But it had occurred to me that nobody has ever sent me roses. Even though I'm a guy and guys don't usually get flowers sent to them, I don't know, I figured I wanted to be in on the action I was always so much a part of. And sure enough, last night at about 8 o'clock Melissa delivered a dozen roses because she figured 20 years was long enough to never get sent flowers. How incredibly thoughtful, and what a great surprise. It's the smallest things that hurt my body lately, but boy there are other small things that really make me happy.

Monday, October 22, 2001

It's been two weeks now since I stopped taking my Azulfidine. It hurt most the first couple days -- when I was sore and really achy. Now that I am completely off of it, I have grown accustomed to the pain of sitting. The pain of standing. The pain of walking and the pain of sleeping. It is just as much a part of me as someone's accent. As much a part of me as someone's hair. Or dare I say someone's disability. The challenge has been how to cope. But being in terrible pain every time I sweat was something I wasn't willing to do. My doctor, my mom and I all agreed that this was the best thing to do. It was a team decision -- and you can definitely say I "took one for the team".

But I will not let it get the best of me. Ever day I either swim or go to physical therapy (I alternate between the two). Today is a physical therapy day. The atmosphere is definitely not the same as it was in high school. There I used to talk to all of the mothers and get set up with all of their daughters. But now things are different. I'm just another face in the crowd of injured athletes or old timers with arthritis. As much as I hate to admit it, I am lumped into the crowd of WWII veterans and ladies who can no longer garden. Just what I need this afternoon: war stories and planting tips.

Tomorrow I will swim because after the first few times, I grew to like it. No longer is it a drag. In fact, it's fun and therapeutic at the same time. I go through all these silly looking drills that get looks from swimmers and lifeguards. But I don't care, because it feels good. And after 45 minutes I feel better than when I got into the pool. So looking like an idiot is a small price to pay. (Plus I've got that idiot-look down pretty cold.)

Thursday, October 25, 2001

It is a law of nature that if I have to travel somewhere, I will have an exam scheduled for the day I have to leave. That was the case this morning with my management midterm and my trip to Birmingham. At the crack of dawn I awoke, packed, and finished up studying (I'm one of those people who study up until the last minute). The exam went well and here I am, 34,000 feet in the air, finally relaxing.

If it's possible to relax on a plane anymore.

After the full search that fell just short of a prostate exam, and after the military police, state trooper and FBI agent decided to check out my bag, I got clearance to go to the gate. I couldn't believe they were that strict. I mean I know I come across as being really threatening and all, especially since I didn't shave today -- but that was a little serious. And a little scary. But cops in terminal C of Logan airport are cops that aren't on the street giving me speeding tickets, so why complain?

Safely and securely on the plane, with lots of large men around me towards the front of the cabin (which let's face it -- is reassuring), it's time to get ready for the first A-Games in Birmingham Alabama. It's going to be fun. I hear we have a good mix of age groups -- the oldest person is 91. Wow. I'm looking forward to the group of people, the swim instruction and the excitement. Alabama plays a great host.

Even if we are a bunch of Yankees.