Physical therapy and upcoming events

I met with my surgeon about two weeks ago and he had a look at my arm. He is happy with the results, but said that it is still pretty swollen. He said that it could take about 9 to 11 months for the swelling to completely go away. Weird because it doesn’t look all that swollen to me, a tiny bit just above my elbow - the lower part of my upper arm. However in the hospital my arm resembled something of the elephantiasis-nature, and most of that has clearly vanished. Now that it’s gone down I can see the difference in my two shoulders and arms, blatantly. The very top area of my arm is very thin, then fattens out towards the bottom – kind of like a pear. And since the shoulder has slouched a little, you can see the head of the prosthetic at the very top of my shoulder. They explained that over time, it should smooth out as my own muscle begins to develop and grow around the prosthetic. I am not all that concerned because A. I never wear tank tops B. I haven’t worn bathing suits in a good decade or so. And most importantly, C. I have my arm.

Originally I was not supposed to start physical therapy until December, but I can move my hand and lower part of my arm very well. And so this week I started physical therapy on the lower portion of my arm.

My dad and I were sitting in the waiting area, with a group of people with canes, slings, soft casts, etc. It’s kind of funny, each time a new person walked in and sat down, we’d all survey the person simultaneously to see what was wrong with them. I felt like I was sitting in a room with a bunch of innocent children that don’t know any better but to stare at deformities or anything out of the norm, myself included.

An older gray-haired man limped his way over to me. One leg was shorter than the other and so he had a thick platform underneath one of his shoes so that he could even out his stance. He said, “Hello”. I said, “Hi.” and kind of looked away. Then he says, “come with me!” then I realized that he was my physical therapist. I really thought he was a patient too, and found it a little unsettling that my physical therapist walked with a limp…

Again, the child in me comes out.

We sat down in his office and I explained my “situation” to him from beginning to end. I think these people are used to sprains, pulled backs, maybe a broken bone here or there. Because the entire time I spoke to him, I could tell that he was trying to mask his emotions and facial movements. His eyes would widen when I mentioned the words “cancer” and “chemotherapy” and the fact that I have had the majority of my arm removed and replaced. His eyes always snapped back quickly as if he wasn’t phased, but I have a pretty decent knack for reading people.

There was something about this man that really annoyed me on that first day. He kept using really big medical terms, one after another – in sentences. And not in a descriptive or educational way, but more like “so when your surgeon was doing the operation how did he go about removing the androclavicsophicous?” I made that up but you get the point. I must have had to stop him at least seven times and say, “I don’t know what you are asking me”. Also, my dad came with me but was for the most part, silent. Which was totally fine, but when I would speak to this man and ask him questions that I was concerned about, he’d immediately turn to my dad and provide the answer to him. It’s like, hellooo – my mouth moving, fathers is not. Look at me, I am an adult and I am the one paying for your services.

I will stop ripping this guy apart now. Anyway, we did some basic physical therapy on my first day. He was extremely gentle and almost seemed afraid to touch me. Rightfully so. I offered to bring him in a letter that my surgeon wrote to my insurance company, describing the surgery in detail so that he could get a better understanding. He seemed really relieved about that and so it made me feel better too.

He took some initial measurements of how far up and down I can bend my arm, how strong my grip is, etc. He seemed impressed with what I could do already, and kept saying “Wow!”…I was beginning to like this man again. This was all so that we can track my progress after each session and see the improvements.

The second day was a little rough. Since my arm has been in a sling since June and cocked in an angled position, the muscle has since atrophied and hardened and it is impossible for me to stretch my arm out straight right now. It is not that big of a deal because gravity will fix the issue over time once the sling is off, but the problem is that it is extremely painful. So what he does is supports my arm but very slowly lowers it centimeter by centimeter. Very tiny increments. But there came a point where my arm wasn’t having it anymore and just literally refused to stretch out any further. That is when the pain set in and it feels as though I have about 200 thick rubber bands in my arm that just refuse to budge.

I asked him if heat or simple massage therapy before treatments could help, and he said it can help – but he is hesitant to use it on me because those types of things cause your cells to speed up and divide quicker. RED LIGHT, not something someone with cancer would ever want to participate in, for obvious reasons.

As I talked more with him I came to like him a lot better and trust him very much, I’ll return tomorrow for my 3rd session.

And now, I have to spill the beans on some upcoming events that I’ve been holding off on bringing up. Turns out that I am in store for two separate lung surgeries. A lot of times, Sarcoma can spread to the lungs. From the very start of all of this, they noticed 2 or 3 small pea-sized dots in my lungs in reviewing the c-scans.

It could be nothing, or it could be something.

They explained that normal people can get this, that they could be pockets of pneumonia or phlegm. Or, it could be from the Sarcoma. The good news is that they haven’t gotten any larger, and don’t see any more than originally spotted. But at the same time, they haven’t gotten any smaller. Which sounds bad, but almost calms me because the chemo demolished the lemon-sized tumor in my arm. If it was “something”, wouldn’t the chemo have demolished those as well? I am not sure, but it’s my small spec of hope.

The surgeon said, “there is going to come a day when your chemo treatment has ended, and we send you off into the world. And we are not comfortable letting you go without removing those specs and seeing what they are.”

And I fully agree, whatever it is – get it the hell out of me. They see the dots in my right lung only, but also want to check out the left lung just to be sure nothing is hiding out. A friend of mine that I’ve made at Sloan just had this surgery last Friday. She is fine now but the recovery process sounded brutal. I am very scared, due to my fear of not being able to breathe and the thought of something slicing through my lungs.

Still, I am holding strong and will not let this change my spirits. Whatever it is, just get it out of my body.