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Don’t be afraid to seek help

The low-grade panging of anxiety feels like a buzzing in my brain, as if there's a mosquito taking up residence inside my cranium. The little bastard won't quit. He just keeps slamming against my skull, trying to escape. It's persistent. It's debilitating.
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What Does Chemotherapy Feel Like? Pt. 2

Many of the folks in the cancer community have told me that the third time is when you find out how chemotherapy will really go. The reason being that the drugs build up over time. Anyone who takes long-term prescriptions will be able to relate. You take your drugs daily and build a maintenance level—an amount of the drug persists in your system—in order to receive the benefits.
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An Unfiltered View

Over the last three and a half months, I've reflected regularly on the impact that storytelling has had on my experience with cancer. Today I want to touch on some of the more difficult topics.
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What Does Chemotherapy Feel Like? Pt. 1

Receiving chemotherapy for the first time is exhausting. The buildup to the day, with the associated tests, appointments, and procedures, leaves treatment day as the final boss in a weeklong gauntlet of physical and mental torment.
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A Liminal Space

It's been tough to provide an update because, in truth, nothing much has changed. I'm supposed to start treatment this week.
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Three Week Post-op Update

It's already been three weeks since my bowel resection. Imagine that! Time apparently flies when you're paralyzed with existential dread. I'm kidding. Kind of.
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A Two-week Retrospective

Well, it's been two weeks to the day since I had my bowel resection surgery. Recovery seems to be going well. The main thing that I've really come to embrace as of late is just how big of a pile of bullshit cancer is.
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Reality Takes Hold

I'm sitting at home after having spent the last few days in the hospital following my bowel resection surgery. I think sleeping in my own bed last night was the best sleep I've ever had. While I was in the hospital, mostly disconnected from the outside world and high on hydromorphone, the reality of my situation really set in: this is just the beginning⁠—or, at least, it could be.
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Imposter Syndrome Sucks

It feels like a weighted blanket, rooted in some unnamable space between body and mind, applying a firm pressure as it whispers that you don’t belong. Those whispers grows louder—immune to logic and rationalization—the interloper insisting evermore loudly that you’re a fraud. That you’re in the wrong place. That you should feel bad. That you are, in fact, the interloper in your own life.