Last summer, doctors told me I have neuroendocrine cancer of the pancreas. Only 7 in 100,000 people receive this diagnosis. I’ve probably had it for a decade.
I’ve had three surgeries, four rounds of radiation, and a monthly shot in my buttcheek with what my wife calls “Looney Tunes-sized needle.”
I am doing OK. You might’ve even seen me around in the last year and didn’t even notice. Many of my tumors are dead and dying. I am not in any imminent danger. Neuroendocrine cancer spreads slowly. My year of treatment has reset my life’s clock.
Still, there is very little chance I will be cured. This is my life now—a chronic condition I manage and everything’s fine until it isn’t. My life is an endless runner.
But things are good. I’ve had incredible support from Jan, from my parents, from her parents, and from all my family and friends, especially @katydonoghuehw and @kgeichinger . And I live for Simon, my perfect son. All is well.
You can read about my life now at the link in bio.
Detective sitting on the windowsill that appears to have been used to previously as part of doors or shutters.
Oh, yeah, last summer’s humidity exposed a stencil of the alphabet on the sill, which we’re going to touch up and preserve.
