Ice Cube said it best -"Today was a Good Day."

March 24, 2026

Photo by Avakyan Artyom on Unsplash

I’m writing this on the train ride home from New York City, watching the world slide past the window. Once we cleared the city, the train settled into its steady rhythm, a soft chug and hum along the tracks that you feel just as much as you hear. It’s constant. Grounding. Almost reassuring in its predictability. Outside of my window, the sky is a clear and bright blue. The kind of blue you notice without trying. The kind that makes everything feel a little lighter, just like the few puffy clouds, that are floating far, far away.

Today was a good day.

Today was a scan and treatment day at Memorial Sloan Kettering. The routine is familiar now. The waiting. The quiet noise of the windowed rooms, that overlook the business of the city. The instinctive glances at my phone, knowing my scan and lab reports could come in at any moment.

One came earlier than anticipated.

The PET scan report read “largely unchanged.” My blood work echoed the same message, just in numbers instead of words. Slowly rising. Steady. No sharp jumps. No setbacks. Just quiet movement in the right direction.

That combination matters more than I ever thought it would.

Unchanged means nothing is getting worse. The labs reinforce it. My body is doing what it is supposed to do. Rebuilding. Responding. Finding its way forward. I feel good. Truly good.

There was more in the PET scan report. The spots on my spleen that were there before are now gone.

Just like that.

No buildup. No dramatic moment. Just a single line in the report saying they’re no longer there. The kind of line you could easily read past if you were not paying attention.

Reading that report, and then hearing my oncologist say it out loud, almost brought me to tears. Not the kind I’ve gotten used to. Not the heavy ones. These were different. Tears of joy, for once.

Something got better. I'll take it.

Although there is still a small nodule near my salivary gland we are watching. It has not changed. It still looks benign and unrelated to my cancer. It stays on the list, but not at the top. Just something we continue to keep an eye on. The Radiologist thinks it's a Warthin’s tumor or something similar.l

Some of what shows up on the scan is not disease at all. It is my body healing. Recovering. Doing exactly what it is supposed to do after everything it has been through. Even that leaves its imprint on these images.

This in its own quiet way, is reassuring.

It means something is working.

So we keep going.

The plan stays the same. Every 21 days, back here again. Labs. Treatment. Another dose of Pembro. It has become a rhythm now. Not one I would have chosen, but one that feels steady. Purposeful.

There is comfort in that.

I am not at the end of this. Not finished. But I am moving forward.

Nothing is getting worse.

Somethings are getting better.

Everything else is steady.

This is a good place to be.

Sitting here, with the sun coming through the window and that wide blue sky stretched out above everything, it feels a little easier to take it all in. To recognize progress for what it is, even when it is quiet.

I will take steady.

I will take quiet progress.

I will take good news, even when it comes in understated language.

Today was a good day.