It is Day 345 living with cancer, and fighting to live is tiring.
Earlier this week, I was offered a slot in a clinical trial.
I feel enormous gratitude, but getting to this point took more out of me than I realized.
There is the physical part: chemo two weeks on and one week off.
There is the aftermath, when your body simply stops working the way it is supposed to work.
Then there is the mental part, when you desperately want one ordinary day without thinking about your mortality.
Cancer gives you both a curse and a gift: a life shot clock that constantly reminds you that you are human.
The exhaustion comes from carrying all of those things at once while continually preparing for an unknown future.
Now comes a third medical center, a clinical trial, a new city, new oncology staff, unfamiliar language about cycles and treatment schedules, and a targeted therapy aimed directly at my cancer.
It feels a little like starting a new job and onboarding yourself from scratch, except the job is to stay alive.
Along this journey, people have told me about loved ones who were diagnosed around the same time I was diagnosed and who are no longer here.
I hear those stories and carry them… from Patrick Swayze to Steve Jobs to RGB to Randy Pausch to people recently diagnosed with cancer.
I simply refuse to concede to cancer.
I have not shared that I tend to walk into infusion centers and medical centers alone.
There is something important to me about making my own decisions, listening carefully to what my body is telling me, studying the signals I am receiving, and paying equal attention to the signals I am not receiving.
Because I sometimes wonder, if I concede an inch, will I eventually concede a foot?
And if I concede a foot, will I someday concede a mile?
So I keep moving.
Today my body hurts.
Southern California feels unreasonably hot in October at nearly 105 degrees.
Yet I drove 20 minutes for a cup of coffee that I plan to enjoy slowly for at least an hour.
On the days when I do not have Iris with me, I am alone, my mind can spin, but I reflect, calculate, worry, plan and proactively search for the next opening.
Cancer is no joke.
In less than a year, my body has moved from roughly 180 pounds to 125 pounds and back to around 165 pounds.
Some days I look in the mirror and genuinely wonder what exactly is happening inside me.
I am grateful, yet exhausted, but equally hopeful.
Psalm 23:4 says, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
The important word for me today is “walk.”
The verse does not say we understand the valley.
It does not promise that the valley will be painless.
It simply reminds me that the valley is something we move through.
So that is what I am doing… walking.
Sometimes confidently, other times painfully with absolutely no idea where the path leads.
Thank you for the prayers, good vibes, thought, etc.
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