A friend who follows this blog asked me why I never mention my battle with cancer. Somehow, it seems irrelevant. But just to set the record straight, here’s the story:
In 2013, I coughed up blood. My primary care physician said it was nothing to worry about. He diagnosed me with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). Early in 2015, I brought up blood again. Since my doctor had told me not to worry about it, I didn’t go see him until time for my regular checkup in May. He sent me for a chest x-ray. I had a large tumor.
I underwent maximum chemotherapy and radiation for almost half a year, and then, in November 2015, a surgeon removed the upper lobe from my right lung. Initial recovery took about a year, and I still was not completely fit. I had a bad cough, and I lacked energy. But the tumor was gone. Repeated tests since then show no lingering signs of cancer.
I tried a number of times to resume weight lifting after my recovery from cancer but could never summon the sheer strength required. Then, earlier this year, I was finally able to do it. I started with very low weights, gradually increasing the load and number of repeats. Now I’m to the point that I’m doing twelve different lifts, three sets each, with respectable loads. I do the routine every other day. It takes about two hours. I’m looking better, and I feel great.
My surgeon and oncologist in 2015 were frankly thrilled at my ability to withstand the treatments and the surgery. I was, in every other respect, a pinnacle of health. I was a runner until my right knee gave out in 2013, and I’ve always been a devoted weight lifter. That meant that I had to watch my diet to be sure I stayed trim enough to run and work out. The end result was that I survived both the cancer and the treatment (chemotherapy and radiation) with flying colors. And I’ve never returned to the physician who failed to diagnose the cancer in 2013.
More tomorrow.
Tom Glenn, Writer 