I wasn’t sure at first how I was going to write this article. All I knew was that I wanted to write about my experience and possibly help someone out there who may be going through something similar. So here it goes…

I was diagnosed with lupus in the fall of 2007. Since then, I’ve had complications due to the magnitude of this disease including congestive heart failure, lung hemorrhaging, kidney failure, tract infection, staph infection, MRSA, and pneumonia. As far as lupus goes, I’ve had the worst of it. So if there is someone out there who is crazy enough to get back into weightlifting after being diagnosed, I’ll be the first to tell you that it can be done.

I won’t go into my prior history or past glories. Everyone is a champion in his own mind. Am I right? I want to strictly talk about the day I was diagnosed with lupus through the present because as of right now, this is my new life whether I want it or not.

I was laying on my back in an intensive care unit having trouble breathing when I first found out about lupus. I spent eight days in that hospital having heavy doses of corticoid steroids administered to me through an IV. I was released from the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. That Friday I went back to the gym. At the time, I didn’t know what to expect, but it felt like the natural thing to do. I have a problem, so I go to the gym.

So I went to the gym and every day thereafter. Three weeks later, I began a form of chemotherapy treatment, which lasted for two years. This was my first encounter with chemotherapy, and sadly I must say, it didn’t work. I spent the next six months diligently following doctors’ orders while keeping an optimistic mindset. My routine, which included corticoid steroids, chemotherapy, plenty of rest, and lifting, seemed to be working. By the spring, I felt ready to go back to school…or so I thought.

I enrolled at Rider University after transferring from my previous college. I was looking forward to a fresh start and a bright future. I was in control of what was going on in my life, so I started summer classes. Toward the end of that summer, I started feeling sick again. I managed to finish out the last three weeks of class with a 103° F fever. After feeling weak and rapidly losing weight, I again found myself in an emergency room. This time I spent twelve days in the hospital.

Even though I was really sick, my time in the hospital quickly became productive. I replaced the doctor I was seeing with a new doctor. It was at this time that I also sought out different forms of treatment. I do not recommend this to any lupus/ powerlifter patients out there. Most of the time, the doctor is right. Later on in my story, I will explain why I did what I did.

I started getting fed up with my treatment plan, particularly the corticoid steroids and the current chemotherapy. My new doctor started me on a different type of chemotherapy. This one was a bi-weekly infusion with a limited amount of corticoid steroids. At first, it seemed to work, but by the second infusion, it didn’t. Not only did the second infusion not work, but it resulted in the third worst night of my life. The other two would come a few months later.

The third worst night of my life began after a six-hour infusion that day. When I arrived back home, I got chills followed by a 103° F fever. Then around midnight, I got constant full body muscle spasms/charley horses. This lasted for six hours until I passed out. That was the longest six hours because I felt each second of it without knowing whether it was going to end or not.

That fall, my illness continued to get progressively worse. It was at this point that my kidneys began to fail. I was back in the hospital by the first week of November of that year. This would be my longest stay in the hospital lasting until the day before Christmas. This was the tough one, folks.

Just before my admittance into the hospital, I received my third type of chemotherapy. From my understanding, this was a last resort due to its potency and its potential for adverse side effects. A few week later while in the hospital and unrelated to the new chemotherapy, my kidneys failed. I was placed on dialysis. At this point, I was restricted to a wheelchair. On Thanksgiving morning, I began throwing up blood. This blood was coming from my lungs, which had hemorrhaged. This was partly due to the kidney failure and completely due to the lupus. Later that afternoon, I was unable to breathe on my own. I still have the marks on my face from struggling with the oxygen mask that day. Finally, a tube was placed down my throat and all went black.

When I first came to, I thought I was in hell. The actual place called hell. Up on the medical monitor in a dark ICU room were red, squiggly lines running down the screen that I interpreted to be demons. My first thoughts weren’t far off though because the following three weeks would be the hardest of my life, a trial by fire.

The following three weeks began with me strapped down on a gurney by my hands and feet in an ICU room. I had been transported to the hospital of the University of Pennsylvania while intubated because my previous hospital wasn’t capable of treating me there. In short, I was too sick for them, and because of my youth, they wanted to give me every opportunity to live. I was then moved to the kidney, lung, and liver failure ward. This is a ward you never want to end up in. One of the nurses told me that the person next door was a 23 year old like myself who had been in an automobile accident and was paralyzed from the neck down without any chance of recovery. Even now, I find myself crying when I think about that.

At first, all was a blur. I don’t really remember the first week other than the fact that I couldn’t get out of bed. I was on dialysis every day that week. Let me just say that dialysis is a billion times worse than the chemotherapy I was receiving. Initially, I couldn’t receive the chemotherapy that I had had before my admittance into the hospital the month before. This was because of the MRSA/staph infection that began to manifest next to my heart. Sometime during my intubation, I contracted MRSA/staph through my intubation tube. Not only did I have an imbedded catheter sticking out of the right side of my chest, but I also had a PICC line sticking out the other side. Along with these two devices was a foley placed on my “you know what.” This would later cause a tract infection the following week.

The following week I began to recover most of my cognition. This was certainly a step forward. However, my awareness led me to feel the full brunt of my pain. The tract infection caused me to experience fevers of 103° F degrees. These fevers took place after a full day of dialysis that typically left me with severe chills. The upside to this dreadful week was that I was able to stand unassisted next to my bed. The following week, I began to walk again. I’m quite proud of this accomplishment because I was the only patient in my entire ward allowed to walk without any assistance.  I walked until my fevers resurfaced during the daytime. This was my daily workout for those weeks.

The final week, or better yet ten days, seemed to drag on forever. I finally was cleared to receive my chemotherapy and reached my goal of going home for Christmas. The second hardest day of my life came during this week. At this point of my stay, I was worn completely out. I really wasn’t sure if my body could handle chemotherapy again. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter though, and as scheduled, I finally received it two weeks later. I remember the doctor coming in the day before and telling me what was going to happen. This was a hard day because I knew what I had to do and I really, really, really didn’t want the burden of it. But I had no choice.

I left the hospital on Christmas Eve, which was on a Wednesday. That Friday, my friend came to pick me up for my first day of outpatient dialysis. I was too weak to drive myself. I told him to first stop at the gym. So that’s what we did. We went to the gym. The gym I went to has this small rehabilitation room off to the side with weight machines. I spent an hour in that room. It was the best hour of my life. Later that day, I finished up my routine at the dialysis center and got ready for the next day’s worth of training. That next day I went back to that same room for another hour. For three weeks, I continued to get stronger until I was able to move into the general weight room and do the machines there.

On the third week of my training, I began to have a hard time breathing again. No matter how hard I struggled to breath, each breath became harder and harder until I was back in the hospital. The next eight days were another test of will and strength. My blood pressure had been exceedingly high during this time, reaching as high as 225/145. The water around my heart was now at a dangerous level. I was experiencing congestive heart failure and would have to have surgery in order to remove the water-filled sac around my heart. This was the final worst day of my life, the night before I went into surgery.

I was transported to another hospital in the middle of the night, weak and beaten. I remember struggling to overcome the fear of that day. I’ve been in intense situations before, but the intensity of that night is something I’ll never forget. I knew I was going into battle and I tried to prepare myself for the uncertainty. After the surgery, I spent two days on my back with a garden hose pumping fluid out of my chest. That Saturday morning, I had the tube pulled out with a three count from the doctor. I was home the next day.

That Monday, you guessed it—I went to the gym. This was my refuge, my shelter, my home. It’s what kept me going. The next six months were spent being on dialysis three days a week for four hours a day. Strength training helped with the treatments because I got stronger. I became more independent despite my current situation. There was a chance that I wouldn’t recover the use of my kidneys. I was fully prepared for this and was awaiting this challenge.

Well, I’m happy to tell you that this story has a happy ending. My kidneys recovered after the chemotherapy infusions began to work their magic. I thank the Lord every day for this turn of fortune. I’m still currently going for chemotherapy infusions, but they’ve become less frequent. The battle between lupus and me never ended, as there is no cure for this terrible affliction.

Currently, I’m winning the war, and with the proper medical regiment and the love of Christ guiding me by the hand, I’ve managed to live a normal life. I’m now back in school and looking forward to competing at the USAPL New Jersey open in August. There is nothing else I could ever ask for. Training has been going great, and I’m looking for a 510/365/535 raw total at a body weight of 220 lbs. These are far from my best numbers, but this will certainly be my best meet.