In the Chair: Navigating the Unexpected and Expected

February 17, 2025

Today was supposed to be straightforward—just another step in my N+AVD treatment plan, the start of my infusions, my first day in the chemo chair. But, as life so often reminds us, nothing is ever that simple.

I arrived at the infusion center, mentally prepared for what lay ahead, only to be blindsided. Insurance hadn't authorized one of my medications—nivolumab, the immunotherapy component of my treatment. A vital part of my fight against this disease was suddenly out of reach because of an administrative mistake.

This wasn’t just frustrating. It was gut-wrenching. We had deliberately chosen this oncology group because we believed they would be meticulous, proactive, and avoid the very missteps I had already encountered with my first oncology team. Yet, here I was again, feeling like a piece of paper shuffled between desks rather than a person fighting for his health.

Throughout the day, I kept wondering if I should even post about this. I don't know why I struggled with the thought. Maybe part of me didn't want to seem ungrateful for the care I was receiving. Maybe I worried about sounding like I was complaining when so many others are fighting even tougher battles. Or maybe, deep down, I didn’t want to acknowledge just how exhausted I felt—not just physically but emotionally, from having to advocate so hard for something that should be simple, routine, right.

At the same time, I knew that sharing this mattered. Cancer isn’t just the disease. It’s the system you have to fight through to get the treatment. It’s the people who drop the ball and the ones who pick up the pieces. It’s the mental and emotional toll of never being able to fully trust that everything will go as planned.

And then there’s Maria.

Maria isn’t just my wife; she’s my fiercest advocate. Everyone needs a Maria in their corner when dealing with major health challenges. She’s the one who understands both the science behind my treatment and the human side of how patients should be treated. Watching today’s negligence unfold made her blood boil—this was something routine, something they do every single day. Someone got lazy. And this time, we were the ones left cleaning up the mess.

When we were told that the person responsible was new, Maria immediately asked the right question: If she was new, who was overseeing her work? That single question cut through the excuses, forcing them to reckon with their failure. But at the end of the day, despite all the back and forth, despite Maria’s relentless fight, we still had no resolution. We should not have to spend my energy dealing with this on top of everything else. I should be able to focus on healing, not fixing their mistakes.

Physically, I actually feel good from today’s chemo. Emotionally, though, I’m drained. The weight of today lingers, not just in my own fight but in the broader struggles I see unfolding around me. As I sat with my thoughts at the end of the day, a very Buddhist idea surfaced in my mind: Together as one.

In both Buddhist and Christian traditions, together as one carries profound meaning, though expressed in different ways. In Buddhism, the concept of interconnectedness is central—nothing exists in isolation, all beings are part of a vast, interwoven reality. Compassion, mindfulness, and selflessness are not just ideals but necessary truths for living in harmony with the world. In Christianity, the idea manifests in community, in the belief that the Body of Christ is made up of many parts, each essential, each called to love and serve one another. The teachings of Christ emphasize bearing each other’s burdens, the strength found in unity, and the grace that comes from lifting others up.

I am a Christian, but the teachings of Buddhism, as passed on from my mother, Titasiri, influence me deeply and, in many ways, bring me closer to Christ. My mother carried the quiet strength of Buddhism—the deep, steady awareness that life is impermanent, suffering is inevitable, but we can choose how we move through it—while at the same time, she held onto the unwavering faith of Christianity—the belief in a risen Christ, in redemption, in the power of love to heal and transform. This is a complex and deeply personal discussion, one that I promise to return to in the future. But for now, I need to introduce this idea so I can fully explain the next part.

When I struggle with the frustrations of my treatment, with the failures of the system, with the exhaustion of simply existing in a broken world, I see both perspectives at play. The bit of Buddhism in me reminds me to accept, to breathe, to find peace within the chaos—I can thrive in this environment. The Christian in me reminds me to fight the injustice, to believe, to trust that grace is still at work. And in that tension—between stillness and action, surrender and resistance—I find myself drawing closer to Christ, understanding Him not just through doctrine but through the lived experience of patience, compassion, and perseverance.

I have moved passed the mistake and will acknowledge it if brought up, but there is no reason to continue to force the issue. Instead we need to focus on the next step and what the plan should be going forward. It should not involve a great inconvenience to the patient because of "paperwork", that can all be fixed with kind words, gratitude, and patience, from all parties involved. I pinky swear that I will personally lead by example tomorrow.

Wrapping this post up, because I should be getting some rest...

I have been a fiscal conservative, a backer of the GOP, since I was a young man who campaigned for Jack Kemp for president in 1988. I still believe in fiscal responsibility, but my politics have changed. I am more socially minded, and I cannot ignore the cause of the inequities in our society. Power and money corrupt. We are a government of the people, for the people—we should be governed by the idea each citizen has an equal voice. One where the dollar does not give your vote, your voice, or your choice any more influence than the person next to you.

We need each other. In sickness, in struggle, in life, we cannot walk alone. We were not meant to. Whether in the chemo chair, in a broken healthcare system, or in a world increasingly divided by wealth and power, we stand stronger when we stand together. The inequities, the frustrations, the exhaustion—they are real. But so is the resilience found in unity, in advocacy, in standing shoulder to shoulder. No one should have to fight alone. Not in healthcare. Not in society. Not in life.

Tomorrow, I will be back in the chair. Not alone. Never alone. Because we walk together—to the end of the line. You are with me and I am incredible grateful and humbled.

Soon, I will rise from that chemo chair and move forward—not just for myself, but for all of us. I am changing through this experience that God has put before me. I am starting to see where I need to be, and who is there with me.

I believe no one should ever walk alone. No one should be left behind because of who THEY are (I see you, I hear you, I love you, continue to be you and don't hide), where they come from, or how much they have in their pockets. I will fight for real change—lasting change—but that doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens when we show up for one another, when we refuse to be divided, when we demand better.

So, stay with me. Walk with me. Let’s build an America where no one is left behind, where opportunity isn’t bought, and where dignity and justice belong to all of us—not just the privileged few. This is our fight, and together, we will win it. Until the end of the line...

---

Do me a quick favor and go do some love to my friend @dcartist on IG and Twitch! I love her work and humor. Please continue to lift each other up!