Rocking My Soul: Sailing Through Cancer with Love and a Crew

March 15, 2025

Medical Update

I have a chemotherapy session on Wednesday and blood work on Tuesday. I’ve also scheduled a date for my stent removal, and we’ll be doing a PET scan in mid-April.

My hemoglobin is low, and I may need a transfusion in the future. I’m doing my best by eating right, staying as strong as I can, but some things are out of my control. If my levels keep dropping, we have a plan.

That’s the 411 on my medical status.

My Thoughts This Morning

Cancer is a storm you don’t see coming. One moment, life is steady, the rhythm familiar, the course clear. Then the winds shift, the sky darkens, and the waves rise. Suddenly, you’re caught in something relentless. But if you’re lucky, you’re not alone in the boat.

This morning, I was feeling a bit of pain, but I guess that’s what happens when a tumor the size of a motor oil can shrinks to a baseball in just a few months. My body’s adjusting, and yeah, it hurts, but that just means the fight is working.

I laid in bed for a while with my Beats on, just letting the music play. I was in a weird mood, so I let the music AI gods take over. I told them to mix my favorites with something inspired by the old K-Tel record collections.

For those who don’t remember, K-Tel was famous for its compilation albums in the ’70s and ’80s. Their commercials were fast, flashy, and packed with “20 original hits! 20 original stars!” A rapid-fire mix of rock, disco, and power ballads all crammed onto one 8-track, cassette, or album.

So, with that in mind, I let the algorithm work its magic, hoping for a little nostalgia and maybe something unexpected to set the tone for the day. It did not disappoint. Sandwiched between Dave Matthews Band’s Bartender and Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl was one of my all-time favorites:

Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic

For me, Into the Mystic isn’t just a song—it’s a lifeline. It has always reminded me that even in the unknown, even when the fog rolls in so thick I can’t see what’s ahead, I can still feel the pull of something steady. And one lyric has always hit me the hardest:

“I wanna rock your gypsy soul.”

That line has always struck something deep in me. Maybe it’s the idea of a restless spirit, one that won’t be tied down, that still believes in the magic of the journey and a life well lived.

Or maybe it’s the way it feels like a promise of love, of adventure, of standing beside someone no matter where the tide carries you.

And now, as I fight this battle, those words mean more than ever

My Anchor in the Storm

I've said it many times and I can't say it enough. My wife is amazing. I'm going to gush about her for a few paragraphs.

If I am the ship, Maria is the lighthouse. She is the steady light guiding me through the roughest waters, reminding me that no matter how strong the storm, I am never lost.

When the chemo drains me, when the days feel too heavy, when the fear tries to creep in, she’s there. Holding my hand. Steadying my soul. Rocking me when I can’t hold myself up. She has always been my rock, but now, more than ever, I understand the depth of what that means.

She doesn’t just stand beside me, she walks with me through it all. She faces the fear with me. She fights for me, even when I’m too tired to fight for myself. And she reminds me that even in the hardest moments, there is love, and love is enough.

My Crew: The Friends Who Sail With Me

A battle like this shows you who your real crew is, and I have been blessed with friends and family who have stayed, who check in, who refuse to let me drift too far from shore. (This includes all you Macho Men!)

After I was diagnosed, my friend Rick R. sent me a heartfelt message about an NPR Morning Edition story he’d heard on cancer ghosting. He told me he wasn’t going to be one of those friends, the ones who fade away when things get hard, and he’s kept that promise. Like many of you, he checks in often, making sure I never feel alone. (I’ve written a blog post about cancer ghosting from my perspective, but I’m not quite ready to finish it. Maybe someday. I'm not sure it is fair of me to write about it.)

My friends and family, like Rick, don’t just ask, “How are you?” - they ask, “How are you, really?” They call me out on my bullshit answers. Holding me accountable to give them the truth.

They continue to send messages, call, and show up when I need them most. Some days, we dive into deep conversations about life, fear, and hope. Other days, it’s just a joke, a meme, a reminder that even in the hardest times, I am still me.

Cancer can be isolating, but I’ve learned that I am never truly alone. There are people who care, who refuse to let me fade into the background of this fight. They keep me laughing, they keep me grounded, and most of all, they remind me that no matter how rough the seas, I have people willing to sail through it with me.

And when I’m cured, I swear we’re going to celebrate big! With a huge tankard of beer in hand, feasting on incredible food, and blasting the kind of music that makes you feel alive. The songs that carried me through this fight, the ones that remind us who we are, and the ones that make us throw our arms around each other and sing at the top of our lungs, off-key and unapologetic.

Because these people? They’re more than friends. They’re my crew, my family, my lifeline.

Thank all y’all for being you.

Sailing Into the Mystic: Back to the Song

There’s a moment in Into the Mystic where the song lifts, where Van Morrison’s voice swells and the music carries you. It feels like surrender, not in the sense of giving up, but in trusting the journey, wherever it leads. That’s where I am now.

I don’t know exactly what’s ahead. I know there will be more hard days, more battles to fight, more moments that test me. But I also know I am not fighting alone. I have Maria, my family, my crew. I have love that is stronger than fear.

So I keep going. I keep rocking my gypsy soul. And when the foghorn blows and the mist clears, I’ll be standing on the shore - stronger, victorious, knowing that I faced the storm and won.

Final Thoughts

Your words, your love, your encouragement, they mean more to me than you’ll ever know. Every message, every check-in, every moment of laughter and lightness in the midst of this battle keeps me moving forward.

And when I come out on the other side of this, healed and whole, I can’t wait to celebrate with all of you. With good music. Good food. And expect one hell of a toast to y’all.