Realizing Cancer Is Just a Bump in My Road
Yo, here I am. It’s been a couple days since I checked in. I’ve actually been enjoying the bonus days Penthouse gave me this round of chemo—feeling pretty dang good, and that’s been a real gift. Still dealing with some minor taste loss and the usual tongue stuff, but I can eat and even enjoy most of it again. Bread’s still got that Play-Doh vibe, but even that doesn’t bother me like it used to. Legs are still weak, feet still weird, but if I accept those limits, I can still have some really solid days. And I have. I’ve had a few of those lately. Like I mentioned last time, I’m still trying to get a grip on this whole stage four thing—what it meant to me back then, what it’s turning into now. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself thinking this could last a while but that can't possibly be a wrong road to explore. It does create a whole new way of thinking and spinning the wheel. Take my “Good Morning EVERYONE!” post I do every day. That started on a total whim. One morning, I got up thinking, This could all be over soon, and for some reason, I just posted it. Just happy to be up and moving, and bam—it was out there. People responded with their own good mornings, and it gave me something. It pulled me away from those end of the line thoughts, just for a bit. So I did it again. Then again. Now it’s a part of my routine I honestly love—waking up, checking in, responding to each of you. It’s this quiet little feel-good moment I didn’t expect to mean so much. And now that I’m starting to think maybe that split-second experience back in September wasn’t the start of a 180-day goodbye, but possibly a 7300-day run... well, yeah, that changes things. We could be doing this a long time, lol. I hope we do. But I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t come with its own kind of pressure. I constantly think about the day I might sleep till 10am or forget to post altogether. And I know how that feels on the other side—when someone doesn’t show up like they always do, and your brain races straight to the worst. I never want to do that to anyone. I never want someone to wonder if I’m okay just because I slept in or lost track of time. So yeah, this simple little “good morning” has me overthinking sleep schedules and purpose and pressure and what the hell I’d be doing right now if I’d never made that post. Would I still be sleeping in? Would I feel different about the day ahead? Am I dragging myself up to avoid missing it? Honestly... I don’t know. But I do know this: even something that small can shift the whole map. That’s how this works. You think you’ve got a handle on the road, and then—bam—another fork. Another question. Another stretch of “Am I doing this right?” The more time you’re given, the more you start second-guessing where you’ve been, and where you’re going. If I figure out a way to change things, will they actually be better? Or will I lose something that matters more than I thought? Hell, I don’t know. But these are the things that come from one tiny post that turned into a lifeline. So what’s this clown doing spending half his morning rambling about a damn good morning post? I don’t know. I started this whole thing a few times today and none of them stuck. This one didn’t feel like it would either, but I stuck with it. Maybe I bailed too early on the others. Maybe this one’s the one I was supposed to walk out. No clue where it’s going, but today I decided not to worry about that. It’s strange. You’d think the journey would get easier when you start feeling better. But truth is, it’s almost simpler when you feel like crap. Penthouse Dude pops in, hands you your attitude, you roll with it. Start feeling normal again, and the road gets wider. Messier. You start to think too much. You start to wonder. — A Simple Man P.S. Yeah, I know. This whole ramble was me avoiding the next thing. That wall I’ve been dancing around since day one. It’s still standing. But it won’t be for long. Just... not today. Soon.
A whole bunch of time over the past few days has been spent looking back. Really digging into what got me here. There’s a lot of good in that rearview mirror—and a fair share of wreckage too. Not taking care of my health? Yeah, probably played a role in the condition I’m battling now. Shocking, I know. So real quick—don’t make that same mistake. Especially my younger friends: make your health a priority. I’m not just talking physical. Mental health is real. The battles are real. And we all fight them. Alright, moving on. I could waste days apologizing, writing out every mistake, every failure. But that’s not where I’m going today. One day, I’ll do my best to lay all that out, to express the regret I carry—and maybe make a little of it right. But for now? Bottom line: what else can you do? I’ve tried the old “Bewitched” nose wiggle—zero results. And for those wondering, yes, I’ve tried it post-testosterone. Still no magic. Mid-afternoon yesterday, I had one of those moments—like back in September. Blink of an eye. Everything shifts. Or maybe not a shift... maybe everything just clicks into place. That wonderful Penthouse Dude swoops through at 1000mph, drops something in your brain, and vanishes. No instructions. Just a jolt, a thought, and an arrow pointing forward. He did leave a little note, though. Just said: “I know, but you don’t.” And just like that—I knew. I don’t want the unknown to come knocking anytime soon. That flash flipped my whole perspective on its head. A few days ago, I really thought I’d be gone by now. Sounds ridiculous today, but I can’t deny it. Yet… here I sit. And I’ll probably be sitting here tomorrow. And the day after that. I don’t know when this road ends. But I’ve decided I don’t want it to—not yet. Maybe I never did. I just thought it would’ve happened already. So now, I gotta plan like I’ve got twenty more years in me. If I don’t get that far, so be it. But if I do? I’d better be ready. Here’s the truth that smacked me in the face yesterday: I’ve lived my entire life moment to moment. And I know I’m not the only one. I had plans, sure. Glimpses into the future. But I always defaulted to whatever seemed like the quickest fix in the moment—usually to find out it wasn’t a fix at all. Now, as I step into this stretch of road with time finally on my side, I’ve got to get my poop together. Start mapping things out. I’ve already begun. And this time? I’m doing it my way. No more worrying about what others think. JUST MAKE THE POOP HAPPEN. Yeah, I mean that in a good, well-thought-out, slightly grungy kind of way. If I follow my heart and keep my head on straight… I don’t think I can go wrong. Besides, I’ve had my fair share of disasters. But you know what? Those wrecks are now lessons. And they’re fueling the road ahead. It’s time to get back to living. And if you’re coming along for the ride—maybe even take the wheel now and then—hell, we’re gonna flat-out enjoy the rest of this journey. See the misery, push it aside, and live it out with a smile. — A Simple Man
Looks like I got a big ol’ gift for surviving three days of hell. Round five knocked me on my ass—easily the worst three days so far—but then, just like that, it passed. Well… mostly. My mouth and tongue are still acting a little weird, but I actually ate yesterday and got about 75% of the taste back. Not bad. My legs and feet are still doing their usual dance, but that’s old news—I’ve been dealing with that for a year or more. What I am really curious about is how I’ll feel once session six is behind me and this whole chemo chapter gets the stamp: “Graduated.” All in all, I’d say my chemo experience has been mild compared to the stories I’ve heard. But I’ll also admit—I probably made it look easier than it was by refusing to let it run my life. I kept pushing, stuck to my schedule, kept moving. I didn’t give chemo the keys to the house. I saw it for what it was: a necessary evil, and I tried to stay one step ahead of it. Maybe if I’d followed all the rules—drank more water, rested more—it might’ve gone even smoother. But I truly believe blasting everyone with my nonsense and staying connected was a huge part of why I got through it the way I did. I had a support team bigger than I ever expected, and we should all feel proud. Because yeah, this wasn’t just me—we did it. Only one more session to go. If it were up to me, I’d fuel up today and get this last one done. But no, we wait two more Mondays. The silver lining? Looks like I get two decent weekends in a row before that final plunge—at least for now. This morning on the porch, it hit me—what the hell am I gonna ramble about when chemo ends? It’s been weirdly easy to sit here and tell y’all how good or poopy I felt. To give the play-by-play on what Penthouse Dude and Basement Dweller were up to. And let’s give credit—we (not just me) kept that damn Basement Dweller in check. He popped his head up once or twice, but we shut that nonsense down quick. This building I live in—me—has held strong through it all. But in just a few weeks, I lose my chemo excuse. Then it’s time to take full control again. And I’ve still got some serious “poop” to get in order before I’m ready to run at this life full tilt. Here’s the crazy part: I think my clock might tick a hell of a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I gotta figure out what to do with that time. Truth is, I may go quiet for a bit while I shift gears. I know, I know—I’ve been saying I’m gonna shift for a while now. But it’s tough. You brace for the end… then realize it might not be coming anytime soon. And suddenly you’ve gotta figure out how to live again. A lot of my hesitation is fear. Fear to just put it all out there, to do something bold and maybe a little nuts. I still get caught up wondering what people will think. And after coming this far? That’s ridiculous. Because let’s be real—not one of you saw this version of me coming. Hell, I didn’t. Some of you knew there was something in me, sure—but not this much. And now? I’m loving where I’m at. I want to build this vision. I want to leave this wild ride on my terms and walk into whatever comes next with purpose. I’ve got some wrongs to right. Maybe I fix them all, maybe I don’t. But I’m damn sure gonna try. One of my favorite lines says, “Quicksand’s got no sense of humor.” And like clockwork, Penthouse Dude had that tune cued up this morning. I’ve spent enough years trapped in that quicksand. I’m done with it. Bottom line—I need to get past this last sliver of insecurity. Stop sweating it. Just do the thing. That’s what you all told me from the start, right? Finish this my way. Sometimes, you just gotta say “duck it” and go for it. Super grateful for the good days this round gave me. Gotta use ’em wisely. Here’s to a quick recovery after session six, and one hell of a graduation. Let’s go make some poop happen. Enjoy every day folks! – A Simple Man
I woke up this past Sunday figuring I was about to head into Day 4 of misery with this whole chemo poop. The three days before had been, without question, the worst stretch of the entire process. I was rolling into Day 7 of Round 5, and let me tell you—I was not enjoying the ride. This round hit me hard. But I didn’t quit. I just did what I could while I meandered around the house. Managed to knock a few things off the list, but more importantly, I got a whole lot done mentally. I took some time to really work on prioritizing the important stuff. Slowed things down. Tried to change a few things I’d been doing that weren’t sitting right with me. And wouldn’t you know it—Sunday didn’t turn into Day 4 of pure misery after all. With the exception of Round 1, I actually pulled out of the hole of Round 5 faster than I ever have. I played the game, finished second, and had a pretty darn good day all around. The biggest issue is still the whole mouth and taste bullpoop—but let’s be honest, that’s probably got more to do with how I’ve taken care of it (or not) over the last forty years. Health and wellness, folks... deal with it early—not when it’s too late and you're deep into the chemo poop. One more of these wonderful fuel injections to go, and supposedly I’ll get a break from them—for now, at least. I’m definitely looking forward to the upcoming scan comparisons in a few weeks. My mindset right now is to find out if this honorary chemo degree I’ve been working on is gonna mean something moving forward. Now, let’s talk blood tests. Every Monday, like clockwork, I’ve been going in to get poked and drained. Truth is, I haven’t thought too much about them this whole time. Sure, I’ve got access to all the results through the medical portal—but I don’t check them. Never saw the point. I wouldn’t understand half of it, I wouldn’t research it, and I’m not the guy to pepper the doc with questions. In my simple world, I figure if something’s wrong, the docs will say something. That’s their lane. But a couple weeks ago, something different happened. After I filled up a test tube, they asked me to wait in the duck, duck, goose room. First time that had happened. I sat there about ten minutes, then someone came out, called my name, and said I could go. I left, but the whole “hang around a bit” thing stuck with me. Then it happened again yesterday. They asked me if I wanted to wait on the results. I said nope. But I did ask why they’ve been asking me to stick around lately. Turns out, some of my grumpy, “I don’t want to play duck, duck, goose” crowd were pitching fits about having to come back to the gym later in the day when something showed up in their results. I get the grumpiness. I never want to be that guy at the gym either—but seriously, throwing a fit because your doctor is looking out for you? Come on, folks. If they want to double-check something, just let them. Me? I told them nah, I’d head out. If something’s wrong, I trust they’ll call. And if that means a trip back to the gym, so be it. Honestly, I welcome the excuse. Gets me off my butt, gives me something to do besides sit in this chair all day. And let me say this loud and clear—the folks at the gym are nothing short of amazing. What they deal with every day, always with smiles and upbeat attitudes... it blows me away. Over seven months and I haven’t seen a single negative moment out of any of them. They’ve earned my respect ten times over. These are the people I’ve trusted to get me through this, and so far, they haven’t let me down. Sure, they’ve made me feel like poop during parts of this—but they warned me. They were crystal clear about what to expect. They were right. I owe them big time. Then wham—Mom pops up. “How’d your blood test go today?” Well, poop. Gotta admit—I didn’t know. I figured everything was fine because they didn’t call. But her asking got me thinking. I woke up wondering how my blood test really went yesterday. Thirty-five or so tests later, I actually pulled it up. Saw a few highs and lows—not by much—and decided to do something I’ve never done: I researched each one that was a little off to see what it meant. Jump to the end of that rabbit hole: Mom, and everyone else—my bloodwork looks pretty darn good. Promising, even. Bottom line—I just need to get to the next phase. See where I’m at. And keep trusting the folks running the show right now. If there’s a problem, I know they’ll catch it. I’ve got a lot to do today. Came out of the hole early this round, and I’m feeling pretty good this morning. So I’m wrapping up this little tidbit for now. Looking forward to being all I can be—today, tomorrow, and however long my buddy Penthouse Dude wants me stirring the pot on this big ol’ round ball we all play on. Have a GREAT day, everyone. — A Simple Man
Stopped at the Intersection (Again)
A Sunday Morning Ramble from the Mud Room Yesterday was another pretty poopy day in the life of chemo. I got through it — overdid it a bit, but I pretty much made my mind up early that I would, and I followed through on that threat. That’s a win in my book. The worst part continues to be the mouth and tongue issues. I can manage the walking difficulties and aching feet by laying down and taking it easy, but the taste, the burning tongue, and the total lack of enjoyment with anything I eat or drink — that drives me crazy. I still eat and drink, because you have to, but I’ve had all the Play-Doh I care to have. I figure I’ve got about five more weeks of this Play-Doh diet, and then maybe we can move on. I assume everyone ate a little Play-Doh as a kid and knows what I mean. I’ve been describing it this way for months, and not a single soul has asked, “What do you mean like Play-Doh?” That makes me laugh. Somewhere between Saturday and Sunday, I started to feel the urge to pull everything I’ve been working on together. I’ve made real progress in some areas and bombed completely in others. What I still struggle with is that I can picture the end result so clearly, but I just can’t seem to understand the steps to get there. I’m all over the place — and getting advice is tough because I’m so scattered. Comes down to one thing: my lack of organization. I’m working on it, but damn… it’s been almost four months since this “vision” took hold of me, and patience is wearing thin. Of course, chemo plays a big part in that — maybe the whole part. I started to accept that last week and shifted my approach: do what I can until chemo ends, and focus on prepping for what comes after. If all goes according to plan, I should be at that point around May 5th — and in the big picture, that’s not far off. This morning, I spent some time on the Front Porch, just letting my mind wander. I ended up stuck at this mental intersection on 33 Highway — not the first time I’ve been stopped there. It's a simple intersection, but tricky for a simple man like me. I know what’s ahead: a short, straight road that leads directly to the vision. But it’s surrounded by all these other winding paths that u-turn right back to where I am now. So the question is: do I take the obvious route — the one I’ve always taken — or do I try something new? That “simple path” has always been my way, but it’s also probably the reason things have gone off track before. I know people question whether I’m real and sincere now — hell, I question it myself. My history’s rough, and I’ve got no fast fix for that. I want a fast fix, but it doesn’t exist. Maybe someday, I’ll feel like I’ve done everything I can to make it right. Now here’s the funny part — something I’ve only shared with my therapist. (She’s been helping me for free, and I can't begin to express how much that’s meant.) Our relationship is unlike any I’ve had — a bond I didn’t know could exist. I hope everyone gets to experience something like it. Anyway, when all this began, I truly believed I’d already be past the fist bumps and high fives by now. I thought I’d be wrapping this thing up. I went straight into “fix it fast” mode and floored the gas. Seven months later, I’m in the mud room, trying to type as fast as my brain’s spinning — spoiler alert: that ain’t happening. My original plan was flawed. I realized that when I admitted to my therapist recently that I didn’t expect to still be here. For two weeks now, I’ve been sitting at this new intersection, trying to figure it out. And I think I have: the right path isn’t the easy, straight one. It’s all the ones that loop me right back here. Each path has something I need to see, feel, or learn — even if I don’t know what yet. It looks like I’m going to be here longer than I thought. And it looks like I need to be. So I’m going to prepare for it, fight for it, and keep spinning the wheel. I’ll follow whichever numbered path it lands on, one at a time. No rushing. No skipping ahead. And if you made it this far into my Sunday ramble, thank you. That means the world to me. 🛣️ Share Your Journey Want to be part of this ride? I've built a way for you to share your own story — anonymously, if you want. Just you and me. No pressure. No spotlight. Just a place to let it out if you're ready. 👉 Ramblers Welcome — A Simple Man trying to just figure it all out…
Well, it's Saturday—Me Day! Or so I thought… Turns out, Chemo Session 5 may rule the day. Total BS, if you ask me. Chemo’s currently ahead on the scoreboard and swinging hard. This round? Yeah, it’s kicking my ass pretty good. The good news? Eventually, it’ll stop winning. That shift usually comes on fast—at least it has in the first four rounds. So, we’ll just suck it up until the tide turns. I consider myself lucky it took until number five for chemo to really show its ugly side. And hey, I got a few punches in too—my hair's even grown back. Take that, you mothe—well, I’ll let your mind finish that one. Mom, I didn’t say it—they just thinking it! Anyway, enough with the chemo rage. One more after this and we’re done. These “extra credit” rounds ain’t fun, but I figure if it’s beating me up this bad, it’s probably doing something good inside this old body of mine. That’s the mindset, and we’re sticking with it. Alright, no more complaining. Today, one way or another, is gonna be a good day. I’m up. I’m typing. And that helps take my mind to a better place. Not sure what I’ll ramble about down 33 Highway yet—it’s not usually a Saturday thing. But I got it... I’ll go sit on the porch, enjoy my why-the-hell-are-you-still-doing-that habit, and see what the boys are up to. Back whenever I feel like it... Well, that didn’t go as planned. I sat down, and Twig jumped on his wheel, turned, and looked me dead in the eye. Okay, sure—he’s in my head, so technically my brain had to make that happen, but just roll with it. He chuckled and said, “Penthouse Dude wants a word with you, sir.” Oh, crap. First time I’ve ever been warned the man was coming. Usually, he just drops in unannounced, leaves me thinking, and disappears. But not today. No dramatic entrance either—he's not that kind of guy in my world. He looked at me, full-on rolling with laughter, and pointed to the freight elevator. That was it. And I knew exactly what it meant. That was all I needed. Today is Saturday. Today is ME Day. And Basement Dweller and Chemo Session 5? Kiss. My. ASS.A Simple Man
Yep, we’re kicking off Day 3 of the next-to-last spiral. I’ve completed four rounds so far, and—because I can’t help myself—I’ve been experimenting with each one, trying to find that “magic” way through them. Spoiler: there’s no magic way. Yesterday, I decided not to sweat it. If I got something done—great. If I got nothing done—also great. Ended up somewhere in the middle: got a little bit done. Not much, but it counts. I just went with the flow. Legs and feet were hurting, so I stayed off them. Felt like lying down, so I did. Wanted to eat? I ate. Felt like telling the world to kiss my ass? Thought about it… several times. But I let it go. Chemo sucks. There’s no one-size-fits-all experience, but it sucks all the same. I know people care, and I appreciate that more than I can say. But don’t worry about me now—worry when I start feeling “normal” again. That’s when y’all should really be scared. I’m looking forward to that time coming, maybe early May, when this chemical soup starts leaving my system. Hopefully, it’s done what it’s supposed to do. Funny thing—I’ve never seen my original scans. Didn’t even realize I could at first. Call us simple… maybe too simple. At this point, I’ve decided to just wait and see the before and after together. That’ll be cool—if it’s working, I’ll get to see some progress in real time. And if it’s not? Well, maybe the doc can swap the images, cover the dates, and trick me into feeling good. That’s a win-win, right? Jokes aside, I do feel like I’m making progress. Each “up” cycle in these treatments feels a little better than the one before. That’s gotta mean something. So this time around, I’m not forcing anything. I’m just doing what I can, when I can. One more month won’t make or break me. Just gotta keep looking forward. This morning, Chemo Brain (or Fog, or whatever we’re calling it) is back. Not as heavy as yesterday, but still lingering. Today’s goal? Keep working on www.cancermike.com. Trying to bring the vision into better focus. Might take a few days to get it cleaned up, and it might look a little funky while I’m switching things around. It’s been tough to fully transition to blogging during chemo, but as this chapter wraps up, I want that to be my main spot. It might not be as easy to follow along, but it’s where I want to be. It’s selfish, in a way—I do this for me—but it’s also what keeps me going. Keeps my attitude in check. Honestly, I don’t think I’d be standing where I am today without doing this for myself. And you know what? Selfishness isn’t always a bad thing. Not in this case. It’s opened my eyes to how good people really are, and reminded me we all have a path—short or long, smooth or full of potholes. But doing it alone? That would be worse than this chemo nonsense. So listen—if you need someone to walk alongside you, just say the word. I’ll be there. And I promise, I’ll make you think outside the box. – A Simple Man
I had a special good morning today… thank you, Melissa. That meant something. It’s funny how people can appear out of nowhere with just a small gesture that completely shifts your day—especially when you least expect it. It reminds me that there are a lot of truly good folks in this world who might be spinning their wheels just like I am. And you know what? That’s a good thing. As expected, we crashed around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Taste and tongue are all out of whack, legs are planning a nap for the next several days, fatigue swooped in, and my brain turned to mush. I’m convinced the mushy brain and fatigue are best friends. Chemo Brain is a real thing—discovered that last session, and it wasted no time showing up early this round. I’ve done a little research on it (surprising, I know), but this one had me curious. There's plenty out there if you want to dig into what Chemo Brain is all about. I’ve been struggling with concentration, staying focused, multitasking—and yeah, the mood swings are no joke. Apologies in advance to those around me this week. I might tell you how much I appreciate you and then end the sentence with kiss my ass. Another cancer patient once told me her road rage was off the charts during chemo. She wasn’t wrong. I’ve noticed I really have to concentrate when I’m out driving. And just so we're clear—I am paying attention and making smart decisions… MOM. She worries constantly, and I’m grateful for that. The alternative would really suck. I’d never admit to her that it’s only because she cares—but… well, guess I just did. Anyway, I’ll battle through the next week or so, share how “wonderful” it’s going, and then march into that final treatment—and final crash, hopefully. Based on what others have gone through, I’d say my journey has been pretty mild. Then again, maybe it’s my mindset. I really believe that attitude has made a big difference. I’m still figuring things out, still new to this side of life, but overall—my perspective has changed in a powerful way. And wham—been sitting here for seven or eight minutes just staring at the screen. Chemo Brain at its best. Laugh with me, y’all—it is funny. I’m headed to the porch now. Those who know... know. I’ll be back in about five minutes. Well, that five minutes turned into thirty. The fog is thick this morning, and I could hit pause, come back later, and you'd never know the difference. But I’m not doing that. I’m just gonna let the fog do its thing. When it lifts, we’ll get things rolling. It will lift. In the meantime, if you’re on a journey and feel like sharing it, please do. I’ll be thinking of all of us today. We’ll get through this. There might be bumps and detours, but we just keep exploring. Twig wants some rest. Penthouse Dude’s got a million journeys to walk alongside. And for now… I’m gonna enjoy the rest stop. Holler when the fog lifts. Have a great day. – A Simple Man
Say Hello to Someone Else on 33 Highway!
Good Morning, For those who’ve been here a while, you know what today is—Crash Day. We’re on round five of six, with just one more to go. This time, the crash has come a little earlier than usual. As always, I’m looking forward to having this one in the rearview and completing the final round. For the newer folks following along: Chemo hits me on Mondays, and by Wednesday I take a hard dive. That crash typically lasts anywhere from 5 to 12 days before I start pulling myself back up again. Then it’s rinse and repeat. Today is number five—just one more to go. Almost there. Hopefully, the chemo is doing its job and knocking some of this stuff out so we can move forward the best we can. Now, I need a favor today. Yes, I’m crashing. And yes, I’ll get through it—it won’t be fun or exciting, but I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. But something has been weighing on me lately. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had several friends begin new journeys of their own. Journeys that won’t be easy. Some are life-changing. Some may seem small in comparison to others, but a journey is a journey. And when it’s yours, it’s real. Out of respect, I won’t name names or share details, but I can tell you this: a surprising number of people I care about could use a big hug right now. So, I’m asking—if you’ve been showing up for me, take a minute today to check in on someone else. Reach out. Say hello. Let them know you’re there. You never know what a simple message or thought can do for someone who’s struggling. Even if your own path is smooth today, tomorrow might look different. We all hit bumps. We all need support sometimes. Let me start by recognizing a group of people I can name—my team, my people, my fellow travelers: Sandi, Scott, Brittany, Ashley, and Cory. You’re walking this road with me, balancing your own lives and still showing up. I see it. I feel it. And I am beyond grateful. This journey is mine, but I know it impacts you too. Thank you for sticking with me. Today, I’ll be thinking about all the journeys happening around me, and I hope you’ll do the same. Big or small, a journey is a journey. Let’s walk with each other the best we can. — A Simple Man
April 1 Update - No April Fools Here!
A Simple Man's Journey We had our wonderful Chemo Session 5 yesterday, and we’re heading back in this morning for the follow-up shot. I had a small concern about the amount of antibiotic I received before the chemo itself — it seemed like a little less than usual. I brought it up, and they assured me everything was given as prescribed for this round. Could’ve been a slight adjustment from the Doc. Who knows. Either way, I’m choosing to trust the amazing crew at The Gym and keep moving forward. If things go according to pattern, I anticipate taking my usual "nosedive” tomorrow. If we’re continuing on the cumulative track, I’m guessing I’ll be in that dip for 12 to 15 days, resurfacing somewhere around April 15 — just in time to graduate Chemo on the 21st. All in all, I think I’m handling this process pretty well compared to some stories I’ve heard. Maybe it’s my attitude, my love of the journey down 33 Highway, or just my high pain tolerance making it seem easier than it is. Either way, I truly believe mindset plays a huge role — and the fact that mine is real, not forced, is a massive help. On the health front, I’ve had some swelling in my left leg and ankle. It’s not new — I’ve dealt with it before all this, on and off — so I don’t think chemo is the culprit. I had an ultrasound yesterday to check for clots (the concern), but I’m leaning more toward dehydration being the issue. I’ll admit, I’m terrible about drinking water — such a simple task, but one I constantly fail at. I’m not overly concerned, especially since the ultrasound tech said the doctors would have results in a couple of days. If it had been something serious, I’d imagine there’d be a flag raised on the spot. (And no, unfortunately, they didn’t give me any cute ultrasound pictures to share with my millions of fans around the world… I asked. Apparently, they don’t hand those out for leg scans. Totally unfair, if you ask me.) So medically, that’s where we are. Penthouse Dude (you know who he is) will carry me through the rest of Round 5 and into 6. Then we’ll see what progress we’ve made. On Another Note... As Baseball 2025 kicks off (and it seems like the Braves didn’t get the memo that the season has started), I find myself thinking a lot about that iconic line: "Build it and they will come.” Between my health and a long history of questionable financial decisions, I’m standing in a place where I’m finally ready to take ownership — and fix it. I’m not being hard on myself — just honest. And that honesty is freeing. Because if I created the mess, then I’m the one who can clean it up. Thanks to this downtime, and thanks to Penthouse Dude, I’ve had a chance to reflect — to uncover some great insights, spot where I went wrong, and start to lay out a path forward. Not everyone understands where I’m going with this because, honestly, I tend to skip a few steps when I’m explaining it. I’m a few thoughts ahead of where I actually am. And that’s where the baseball metaphor comes in. You can’t build a field overnight, especially not in a cornfield. You can’t force people to help you build it either. But you can leave the gates open, plant the seed, and let folks wander in. If they love what they see — if it hits them just right — maybe they’ll stay. Maybe they’ll help keep the grass green. If not, you keep watering it, keep caring for it, and maybe they’ll return another day when they’re ready. Right now, I’ve just leveled the dirt. And here’s the truth — everyone who’s been following along has helped me do that. You've grabbed a shovel, helped me spread the dirt, and made this field ready for what comes next. I can’t thank you enough for that. Now, it’s time for me to plant the seed. That part, I have to do myself. But when it’s time to water it — I’ll need help. My plumbing’s a little out of order at the moment! The gates will stay open, there’s always a spare seat in the broadcast booth, and I’m always open to input if it looks like I’m spreading the seed too thin. Off to plant the seed, with an open gate and a full heart. — A Simple Man