Tina’s Rehab Center Is Now Open

Tina’s Rehab Center Is Now Open

🌼 Date: Monday, July 13, 2026

⚡ Energy: Humbled, honest, and slightly rebellious

❤️‍🩹 Status: Physical therapy homework has entered the chat

🥵 Outlook: Two-pound dumbbells still count

Today I had physical therapy.

And man oh man, do I have homework.

I was honest with her and told her I am only wearing my compression sleeve on average three to four days a week.

Not every day.

Not perfectly.

Not exactly gold-star patient behavior.

But honest.

We talked about how I can tell when I need to wear it based on how my arm feels.

Some days my left arm feels heavy.

Full.

Tight.

Like it is carrying extra weight that does not belong there.

The back of my arm will feel more firm and tense compared to my right arm, which is just jiggly.

Especially now that I have lost so much weight.

Apparently my right arm is living its best “loose skin and vibes” life, while my left arm is over there acting like it has responsibilities.

She asked if the lymphedema gets worse when I do activities and what kinds of activities I have been doing.

I told her I am usually on the computer during the day, and about once every couple of weeks I go on a cleaning spree and sweep, mop, and vacuum.

She looked at me like I had three heads.

Then she said, “All in one day?”

Umm.

Yes, ma’am.

I answered that one a little sheepishly while Casey sat there shaking his head and said, “Once she gets going, there’s no stopping her.”

Which is rude.

And accurate.

I explained that if I am going to mop, I have to do it the same day I sweep, because otherwise the floor gets too dirty and then I am just mopping up dirt and dog hair.

And most of our house is hardwood floors, so there really is not that much to vacuum.

This felt like a very reasonable explanation to me.

My physical therapist did not seem as impressed with my cleaning logic.

She said, “Alright, from now on, you will wear your compression sleeve during your cleaning spree, and we are going to measure your arm to see how inflamed and swollen you are.”

Fair.

Annoying, but fair.

So she measured my arm.

And to both of our surprise, the numbers were only slightly higher than last time.

Not terrible.

Not perfect.

But not a disaster.

I will take it.

Now the plan is for me to wear my compression sleeve four to five days in a row, and definitely whenever I am doing anything active.

That means cleaning sprees.

Walking.

Exercises.

Anything that makes my arm feel full or heavy.

Basically, my sleeve is no longer just a medical accessory.

It is now part of the uniform.

And good news, I finally got my custom ordered sleeve.

So now I have options.

Because if cancer recovery is going to make me wear compression gear, at least let me have choices.

Plain sleeve for boring medical compliance.

Custom sleeve for “yes, this is medically necessary, but make it fashion.”

We also talked about the possibility of me being able to return to work.

But with such a physical job, I need to get stronger first.

And that brings us to my new homework.

Strengthening exercises.

With weights.

And do not laugh.

But my body has become so weak that I will be starting with two-pound dumbbells.

Two.

Pounds.

The old me would have laughed at that.

The old me would have thought two pounds barely counted.

The old me could lift, carry, climb, hustle, drive, train, clean, organize, work long days, and push through almost anything.

But cancer humbled the hell out of me.

Every bit of energy my body has been able to find has gone into recovery.

Healing from surgery.

Surviving chemo.

Getting through radiation.

Managing neuropathy.

Dealing with lymphedema.

Adjusting to hormone blockers.

Trying to rebuild blood counts.

Trying to eat enough protein.

Trying to hydrate.

Trying to exist.

And while my body was busy keeping me alive, my muscles and stamina quietly packed a bag and left the building.

I have never experienced weakness like this before.

In all of my adult life, I have never been stuck on the floor and, even with Casey helping to pull me up, still not be able to get to a standing position.

Until cancer took my strength away.

That one still gets me.

Because that is not just physical.

That messes with your head.

It makes you realize how much cancer takes from you beyond hair, breasts, energy, and time.

It takes strength.

Independence.

Confidence.

The ability to trust your body to do basic things.

Things you never even thought about before.

Getting up off the floor.

Carrying laundry.

Cleaning the house.

Walking without getting wiped out.

Standing long enough to finish a task.

Using your arms without triggering swelling.

It is humbling.

Frustrating.

Scary.

And honestly, a little insulting.

But here we are.

So for now, two pounds it is.

I will do as many reps of each exercise as I can until my body says, “No thank you, we are done for the day.”

And when my body says done, I am trying to learn to listen.

Not argue.

Not push through until I crash.

Not turn every chore into an Olympic event.

Rude, I know.

I will do the weights every other day.

And in between, I will walk on the treadmill to start rebuilding my stamina.

Thanks to Facebook Marketplace, we were able to find both a walking pad and a set of hand weights for relatively cheap.

Which means the living room is officially becoming Tina’s Rehab Center.

No membership fee.

No fancy equipment.

No judgment.

Probably dogs underfoot.

Possibly me swearing at two-pound dumbbells.

Definitely Casey supervising from a safe distance when I start getting that “I can do more” look in my eye.

I can also add in the stretches I still need to do for my chest and shoulders, so technically I am building myself a full-body recovery routine.

I just need to find a yoga mat.

But not one of those thin little decorative mats.

No thank you.

My body has become way too bony for that nonsense.

I need an extra cushy one.

A cloud.

A floor mattress.

A “my bones are too close to the surface now” situation.

I am guessing I will need to use the weights and do the stretching again after my exchange surgery too.

Well, after the plastic surgeon clears me to do the exercises, of course.

Look at me being responsible.

Sort of.

The truth is, I want my strength back.

I want my stamina back.

I want to feel capable again.

I want to be able to get off the floor without a rescue mission.

I want to do normal things without calculating how much energy they will cost.

I want my body to feel like mine again.

And if that starts with two-pound dumbbells in my living room?

Fine.

That is where I will start.

Two pounds is still movement.

Two pounds is still rebuilding.

Two pounds is still showing up.

Two pounds is still telling cancer, “You took a lot, but you do not get to keep this too.”

So welcome to Tina’s Rehab Center.

Compression sleeve required.

Dogs optional, but unavoidable.

Swearing likely.

Progress loading.

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One Badass Day at a Time