Snowfall, Scans, and Singing Anyway

December 16, 2025

Over the last few days, Maria and I have settled into a steady, comfortable routine. Most evenings, once the workday winds down, we go for a walk. Nothing ambitious, just movement, fresh air, and the quiet understanding that comes from walking side by side. It has become an anchor in the day, something predictable in a stretch of life that hasn’t offered much predictability lately.

The timing has been perfect, too. New York had its first real snowfall, the kind that doesn’t immediately turn into gray slush or regret. That first snow has a way of transforming the city. The trees look like they’ve been dipped in glue and rolled in light, every branch outlined, shining under streets lamps like it’s trying a little too hard to be magical. It makes me a bit sad that most of it has now melted. But there will be more!

Maria left this morning, Tuesday, to head home for the week. That moment carried more weight than I expected. Still, I’m strong enough to be here on my own now, un-chaperoned for a few days, and that matters. It feels like a small but meaningful marker of progress. Also, I have officially reached the stage where I can be trusted not to do anything too reckless, which feels like an accomplishment in itself.

I’m keeping this week intentionally simple. A short list of appointments, plenty of space between them, and no unnecessary demands. As I write this, I’m sitting here waiting for a PET/CT scan, trying to look calm and failing in subtle but impressive ways. Saying I’m anxious barely scratches the surface. These scans have a way of reaching back into my history, pulling up memories of uncertainty and moments when plans had to be paused or rerouted. In the past, scans like this have delayed the start of other treatments, pulling me back just when I thought I was moving forward. In hindsight, those delays were the right call, but hindsight, as always, is far less helpful when you’re staring at a wall and pretending not to overthink.

There’s a particular kind of tension that comes with waiting. Your body is still, but your mind is running full simulations like it’s being paid by the scenario. I try to remind myself that waiting is not the verdict, that this moment is just a pause and not a conclusion, though my brain would very much like to skip ahead to the ending.

Despite all of that, Monday was a good day. A genuinely good one. I woke up feeling lighter than I have in a while, got out of bed, and immediately started singing “What’s Going On.” Apparently someone, let's call them Maria, was on an online meeting and did not appreciate my soulful contribution to their professional environment. I remain unapologetic.

Later, I got in a solid basic routine workout. Nothing heroic, but enough to remind my body that it still knows what it’s doing. I’m slowly bringing cardio back online and waking up a few other muscle groups, aware that in a few short weeks I’ll likely be in a hospital bed for about seven days. This feels like borrowed time in the best possible way. A chance to move, to sweat, to feel capable before everything narrows again.

For now, that’s enough. walks through snow-lit streets, scans, one solid workout, one song performed with confidence far exceeding talent, still one day at a time.