It's funny how I think about blogging, I get a few ideas, and I even start writing. Once I have a plan, I immediately rebel against myself and focus on resisting. I've spent my entire life, as far back as I can remember, rebelling against everyone. Parents, teachers, siblings and especially myself. My default mental state is defiance. The only exception is my friends.
As a small child, I gravitated toward alphas. I would gladly hook my trailer to a new friend with all the ideas for action and support those ideas with my whole heart. It didn't matter if the thing was against the rules, unsafe or even illegal. I was all in.
Now, I was no dummy. I frequently influenced my peers to break the rules in the smartest possible way, to do dangerous things as safely as possible, and most importantly, leave no evidence.
This is all to say that despite my best efforts blogging, I will not follow any kind of schedule or format or specific idea. Anytime I attempt a plan, I immediately sabotage it. So, no plans. I'm just going to write. I might have a topic to address, I might write a journal entry, I might just complain. Things will likely get dark. However, it's my nature to crack jokes, so I expect to maintain some amount of levity.
At this moment (Tuesday, March 3rd 2026, 12:07pm MST) I'm getting my first chemotherapy infusion of 2026. I've been getting CT scans every 2 months since December 2024 and the last detectable cancer was in May 2025... until January. About 6 weeks ago I had a suspicious scan that led to an MRI showing two spots on my liver again.
So here we are, another spring season, another run of chemotherapy. It's a different cocktail with different side effects, but that's good because I still have neuropathy, headaches and constipation from the last round. The new mix will not have the cold sensitivity or neuropathy, and since I'm off the study drug, no more skin problems.
The bad news... like real bad news, is that I will once again have "the bag" for 48 hours after my infusion, and that's the one that (allegedly) wrecks my fingers. I finished 10 infusions of FOLFOX out of a possible 12. I couldn't handle the pain in my fingers or having the emotional maturity of a child. If I had stuck it out for those last two infusions, would I still be sitting in clinic, about to journey through hell in an effort to get to heaven? Again? We don't talk about such things. We don't think about such things.
Those sorts of thoughts will drive a person mad, because there's no answer. You will only find regret at the end of that thought experiment. Instead, you must walk the path you're on, not the one you didn't choose. My path leads to another 3 to 6 months of chemotherapy. I think I'm going to get pretty good at this. There isn't really another option.
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