Most people with a disability that affects movement deal with the concept of muscle atrophy on a daily basis. Atrophy is basically the wasting away of muscle tissue, robbing the limb of the strength it needs for even the more basic functioning.I've fought this lovely little phenomenon for most of my life, and for a long time, had it well under control. We had a basic BowFlex at home (bought 10+ yrs ago!), and leg presses were a favorite warm up for me. I could press the whole set, which was 310lbs, doing 50 reps without too much of a struggle. Yes, I was using both legs, but I was using them almost equally. The left leg is always the last second back-up if the knee gives, but the strength to move the weight was always coming from both sides. However, after the MRSA destroyed my leg, I have found myself unable to recover the strength and muscle mass. This, my friends, is a nearly constant source of frustration for me.
I've written before how I fail on a nearly daily basis to adhere to my "10 minutes of standing or walking out of any given hour" restriction. Therefore, as I am standing and walking, I am using those muscles, correct? So it would stand to reason that the muscle would not atrophy. The measurements I took last night contradicted that assumption in a really big way. Last weekend was a great example -- I walked all over the city of New Orleans, resting occasionally, using street cars for long treks, but make no mistake, I walked. Despite the fact that I use a cane, and therefore do not walk quite evenly, there is no good reason that my muscles shouldn't have responded to the workouts they got. But they didn't.
The key to measurement limits from my younger days and the orthopaedic surgeons that ruled them, was one inch on the quad and half an inch in the calf. Any more than that, and I would receive a heated lecture about how I have to partner with them to rebuild and recover my knee, and how that muscle strength was imperative especially for people like me, whose knee joint was unstable enough to give way at any given time, without warning. I could almost recite Dr. Richards' words to you by heart, including facial expressions and tonal inflections. Now, don't get me wrong...everything he said was accurate. I was always contrite, promising meekly to do better, and I would come back the next visit triumphant.
I'm not sure what made me do the measurements last night; I haven't done them in ages, simply because I just did not want to know. But something made me get my tape measure out, and stretch out my legs on the bed. I didn't even have to think about how far to go up or down, where to put the tape. It all flowed back naturally as if I'd done it yesterday. However, after I'd done the baseline set, and moved to the right leg, I was so stunned that I went back and redid them. This time, I was more careful. This time, I reasoned, I'd get a more accurate number and it wouldn't bring the tears to my eyes.
Nope.
The numbers didn't change. Not. At. All.
Dammit.
Between my quads, there is a full two inch deficit, and between the calves, there is an inch and a quarter. I could not wrap my head around how bad it was, especially when I do push my leg muscles. I do force them to work, more than they are supposed to be forced! What the hell would the numbers look like if I obeyed the 10 minute rule? I cannot even fathom, and really? I don't think I want to try.
So today, I fight the frustration and the resentment. Today, I fight the sense of failure and futility. Today, I fight just to remember what it was like when I could walk unassisted, carry things in two hands, and the myriad of other things I've lost.
But today's fight may not be won on this battlefield. This one might take more than I've got.
