FL and Treatment

 

Fasting on a Cruise Ship: A Study in Contradictions (and Cocktails)

Or: What I Learned About Health Discipline When Surrounded by Unlimited Crab Cakes

There's a special kind of irony in planning a water-only fast while boarding a cruise ship—a floating temple to unlimited buffets, midnight desserts, and drinks with tiny umbrellas. But that's exactly what I did as my wife and I set sail on our Mediterranean cruise in early November.

I won't pretend this was a typical vacation. Between my follicular lymphoma diagnosis earlier this year and my deep dive into metabolic health research, I'd become someone who tracks weight fluctuations, plans fasting windows, and genuinely cares about bowel movements. (Yes, I'm that guy now. My wife, a PACU nurse with 20 years of ER experience, finds this both amusing and occasionally concerning.)

But here's the thing: life doesn't pause for cancer diagnoses or metabolic experiments. We had this cruise planned. My wife loves to travel. And I needed to figure out how to navigate the space between living fully and living intentionally.

Spoiler alert: it got messy.

Sunday Through Tuesday: The Indulgence Years

The first few days on the ship, I gave myself permission to be a normal cruise passenger. Large salads for lunch, yes, but followed by Indian buffet samplers and chicken cordon bleu with shrimp appetizers. A standard pour of red wine at dinner. Two small cannoli because, well, we were at sea.

Monday brought an easy 5-mile excursion, followed by something I didn't plan for: the beginnings of a cold. Slightly drippy sinuses, a mild sore throat. Not debilitating, but enough to make me question my exercise plans. I compromised—did the excursion bike ride, hit the sauna, then spent a few hours at the martini bar talking with Bob and Jane from Nevada. Had three cocktails (including a Black Russian) and wine at dinner.

My wife raised an eyebrow at the drinking-with-a-cold situation, but in her professional opinion, I wasn't dying. Just being moderately foolish.

Tuesday, I woke at 4 AM for my usual routine: coffee, then track and stairs. Two laps from finishing, it started raining, so I retreated to our cabin for bicycle crunches and pushups. The cold persisted—same symptoms as the day before—but I genuinely didn't feel debilitated.

Lunch was another salad with two small desserts (are you sensing a pattern?). Dinner featured crab cakes and lobster tail, accompanied by two glasses of wine. The clock set back an hour, putting us on New York time.

Here's what I was learning: I could maintain some discipline (daily exercise, starting days with salad) while also indulging in the things that make travel pleasurable. But I was also paying attention to how different foods made me feel. The heavier meals, the alcohol, the desserts—they weren't making me feel energized or sharp. They were just... there.

Wednesday: Packing It In (Literally)

By Wednesday, I was ready to shift gears. Woke around 2 AM, dozed until 5:30, had coffee. The cold was still present but not worsening. Finished my track and stairs routine, skipped the in-room exercises, and started packing instead.

I made a decision: after one more dinner and breakfast before disembarkation, I'd begin a water-only fast. Not as punishment for the cruise indulgences, but as a return to the metabolic state where I've been feeling my best.

The absurdity wasn't lost on me—planning a fast while still on a cruise ship is like announcing a digital detox while scrolling Instagram.

Thursday: The Flying Fast

Disembarkation morning started with a final feast: long slices of melon and pineapple, hard-boiled egg, croissant, smoked salmon, bacon, potatoes, coffee. Then I closed the restaurant chapter and opened the fasting one.

Flying from Fort Lauderdale to Tucson with stops in Nashville and Denver while water-fasting turned out to be surprisingly easy. No temptation from airport food courts. No wrestling with whether to eat the airplane pretzels. (There were no pretzels to wrestle with, but you get the point.)

The cold symptoms remained stable. No bowel movements all day, which my tracking-obsessed brain duly noted.

We arrived home Thursday evening. Fast: Day 1 complete.

Friday and Saturday: Back to Reality, Lighter

Friday morning, I weighed 181 pounds after Day 2 of fasting. Woke at 4:30, had a normal bowel movement (see, I told you I track everything), walked 4 miles, then did an hour on the Peloton.

Saturday morning: 178 pounds. Three-mile walk, another Peloton hour, then I broke the fast.

I started with a small bowl of yogurt mixed with blended dates, almonds, cashews, and rolled oats. Lunch was a big salad—romaine, tomato, cucumber, avocado, onion, cheese. Dinner was two cups of basic paella. Snacks included cashews, roasted chickpeas, roasted asparagus, green beans, and sweet potatoes.

No bowel movement despite all that fiber. By 7:30 PM, I was exhausted—probably jet lag hitting hard—but still walked 4 miles anyway because apparently I can't help myself.

Sunday: Finding the Rhythm

Sunday looked similar: 178.2 pounds, 3-mile walk, Peloton hour. Food included my oat-nut-yogurt blend, a banana, and scrambled eggs with asparagus, mushrooms, onion, garlic, olives, and cheese.

I decided to fast again until Monday lunch. Not because I was trying to lose more weight, but because I had bloodwork and treatment scheduled Monday morning, and fasting felt like the right preparation.

Monday: Treatment Day (Or: The Plot Twist)

Here's where the story shifts from "guy who's really into fasting" to "guy navigating cancer treatment while trying to maintain routines."

Woke around 4 AM, had coffee and a banana at 5. Bloodwork at 7, treatment started around 8:30. I'd packed cheese, cashews, and roasted chickpeas, determined to stay well-hydrated throughout.

Around 11 AM, I developed a sore throat. Not the cruise cold symptoms—something new. The nurse said she'd never heard of that reaction before. It slowly worsened but remained manageable.

Both infusion rounds finished around 2 PM. Remarkably, the sore throat had nearly disappeared by then. Got home around 4 PM and felt well enough to ride the Peloton for an hour, followed by my bicycle crunches and pushup routine.

My wife and I talked about why I didn't feel drawn and weary—the typical post-treatment exhaustion. Maybe it was the pre-medications they'd given me that morning. Maybe those would wear off by the next day. Maybe tomorrow's additional infusion would hit harder.

To be clear: I didn't feel 100%. But it wasn't enough to stop normal activity.

Dinner was Marry Me White Bean & Spinach Skillet, which sounds romantic but is really just a practical, plant-heavy meal.

Tuesday Morning: The Day After

Woke around 3 AM weighing 180.4 pounds. Felt normal with no symptoms. Had a normal bowel movement (yes, still tracking). Consumed yogurt with my oat-nut mix, rode the Peloton for an hour, then had a 610-gram salad with sardines.

The treatment hadn't knocked me flat. Yet.

What I Learned (Beyond How to Eat Crab Cakes at Sea)

This whole experience taught me several things I'm still processing:

1. Health routines can flex without breaking. I indulged on the cruise, maintained some discipline, got sick anyway (humbling), then resumed my protocols. The world didn't end.

2. Tracking everything is both helpful and absurd. Knowing my weight fluctuations and bowel patterns gives me data. But it also makes me the kind of person who writes about bowel movements in a blog post.

3. Support matters immensely. Having a wife who's both medically trained and supportive of my experiments—even when she thinks I'm being a bit extra—makes this navigable.

4. The body is remarkably adaptable. Fasting while flying, exercising the day after infusion treatment, maintaining routines despite illness—the human body can handle more than we give it credit for.

5. Living intentionally doesn't mean living rigidly. I had the cocktails, the lobster tail, the cannoli. I also had the fasts, the daily exercise, the plant-heavy meals. Both can be true.

I'm not recommending this approach to anyone. I'm just sharing what happened when someone with a cancer diagnosis, an obsessive interest in metabolic health, and a love of Mediterranean cruises tried to figure out how to live fully while also living carefully.

It's messy. It's contradictory. It involves way too much discussion of digestive function.

But it's mine. And for now, that's enough.

Important Note: This post was heavily edited by Claude AI from extensive notes taken over time. It describes one individual's personal experience and should not be considered medical advice. Anyone facing a cancer diagnosis should work closely with their oncology team to develop an appropriate treatment plan.