It Might Get Messy

When I was in school, bomb calorimetry was all the rage in ecological research. Since it’s an esoteric art and no longer fashionable, some of you may not remember what a bomb calorimeter looks like or how it was used. In both theory and practice, bomb calorimetry is about as simple a process as you can undertake and still get useful technical results. The idea is that if you burn something completely—breaking all its energy-containing chemical bonds—and measure the produced heat, you have measured the energy content of the something you burned. 

Back when systems ecology was an actual field of scientific endeavor (that is, before bioengineering and molecular genetics sucked up all the research funds on earth), the energy content of things was useful information. It allowed one to build a picture of the food web(s) in which the something-you-burned is embedded. Knowing the energy content in something’s chemical structure tells you how much energy it can contribute to something else that eats it. It also allows you (along with some other relatively simply gathered information) to estimate how much energy the something needs to maintain itself as a functional (that is, living) organism (assuming it was one before you stuffed it into the calorimeter and fired it up). 

In the old days, we liked to think that a bomb calorimeter was called that because the process was similar to that of a bomb going off. But really the instrument was named because it looks almost exactly like one of those spheres with fuses from Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam cartoons. More or less like the flip chart picture Binyamin Netanyahu used to describe Iranian nuclear technology to the U.N. General Assembly a few weeks ago. Here’s a picture of one slurped off the web.

Granted, most modern instruments are shaped like cylinders, not spheres, but you get the idea. 

And why do I bring this up in the context of a cancer-recovery diary? Because one of the primary debilitating effects of radiation therapy is an increase in overall metabolic rate that makes it almost impossible to maintain weight. In my case, of course, this generic impact was enhanced by the tumors being in my throat, and probably by the twice-per-day administration of the doses of radiation. But the metabolic bump is a general and well-known artifact of radiotherapeutics.

Of course, the converse occurs. Once the radiation exposures are halted and the tumors are suppressed, the metabolism starts to recover. Slowly. My treatments ended in June of last year—2011. So a year and a few months ago. In the interim, keeping my weight up—in fact, raising my weight—has been among the recovery objectives the doctors and therapists charged me with. Given my funky throat (where the tumors formed, grew to very large size, and then died and sloughed away when treated), this was a particular problem. Which I solved by developing an addiction to a ridiculous species of “milk shake” made with full-fat milk and huge quantities of both Carnation Instant Breakfast powder (nominally fully nutritional) and Nestles Quick chocolate milk power (sweet and tasty). 4 or 5 liters of such drinks a day kept my weight up pretty well. When I lost access to shake components (mostly when traveling), my weight dropped. 

I reached a low of around 180 pounds at the peak of my treatment discomfort. This was nearly 100 pounds less than my maximum, which was 276 (right before I got disgusted with myself and worked out a rational routine of diet and exercise that dropped me to 240. This actually fixed my Type 2 diabetes—blood sugar returned to normal. Didn’t reduce my blood pressure, though). My GP wanted me to get to 220. I just laughed, and told him that the last time I weighed 220 was in high school and that I would never be able to reach that low again.

Then came what I like to think of as “the cancer interval” in my life. Which is passing. One sign of that passage is my weight—spot-on 220 pounds now. Given that I remain weak and need exercise, this is a good weight for me. It’s a great place to start hardening up and cardiovascularizing. 

The only problem? Those damn shakes. I’m so used to slurping 6 huge ones a day, I’m having trouble breaking myself down to a more rational diet. Workin’ on it. Back to huge iced coffees, with no sugar, and iced teas similar. I must admit, I like the shake in the morning for breakfast, and one in the evening with my meds. Which would be fine if a solid food lunch—a Subway 6 inch tuna with mayo and oil vinegar is just about perfect, I can get the whole thing down in about an hour with a couple of cans of diet A&W root beer—was all I ate for the rest of the day. But recently, I’ve started getting hungry in the afternoon by dinner time, and again at bedtime. Just like in the bad old days. But 276? I don’t think so. Even someone as weak-willed and undisciplined as I am has to be able to avoid THAT milestone!

Hey, I’m working my way back to fully functional writing. There’s a version of the Thanksgiving invitation (with pix) over at http://docviper.livejournal.com/ , and a new edition of my professional weblog at http://www.aehsfoundation.org . Check ‘em out. Talk to you next week!