I sat down at my computer this morning intending to write about my clinical trial.
The start date is set now. The appointments are scheduled. Things are finally moving forward. I figured I should probably start writing more regularly again as all of this ramps up.
Then Tugboat looked over at me from across the room like I was making a terrible decision.
He was right.
I’ve spent so much time over the last year thinking about what I might miss out on if things go the wrong way that I sometimes forget about all the things I still get to do right now. The little things. The ordinary things. The things that probably don’t sound important until you start realizing they’re actually everything.
So instead of writing, I put on my shoes, put in my earbuds, turned on an audiobook, and took Tugboat for a walk. It was his second walk of the morning, but that didn’t seem to matter to him.
We made our way down Fifth Street toward Nate’s Baked Goods, my favorite neighborhood coffee shop. Tugboat stopped every few feet to sniff or mark something he had already sniffed or marked a thousand times before, and I listened to The Vegetarian by Han Kang. So far, it’s really good. Also really bizarre. I have absolutely no idea where it’s going, but I enjoyed listening to it while Tugboat and I slowly wandered through the neighborhood.
When we got to the coffee shop, I switched from listening to one book to reading another because apparently I don’t know how to consume stories one at a time. I spent about an hour reading The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner while Tugboat collected treats and belly rubs from the yoga girls getting out of Black Swan’s 9 a.m. class.
I still can’t adequately explain what The Flamethrowers is about. As best I can tell, it’s about a girl dating an Italian guy whose family makes motorcycles and then they go to Italy. That’s probably doing the book a tremendous disservice. But I’m enjoying it, and I’m hoping to finish it tonight before bed.
After the coffee shop, I spent a couple of hours at the gym with friends doing squats, deadlifts, power cleans, and pushing and pulling a sled around in the Texas heat. I sweated out what felt like every ounce of water in my body and then sat in the sauna to make sure I got the rest. I have a love-hate relationship with every minute of it. But somewhere along the way, I’ve found myself becoming grateful for every rep. Every set. Every workout I still have the energy to do.
The rest of the day was spent doing ordinary things. I cooked tandoori chicken. Took a nap. Walked Tugboat to the dog park and Healthy Pet. Called my mom twice. Some days we don’t have much to talk about, but those conversations are always welcome.
I also stopped by Trader Joe’s and picked up some food for Ruben, the homeless guy who lives on the corner near me. He’s a really nice guy. A little crazy, maybe, but loved by God just as much as I am. Buying him crackers and black beans isn’t something I do because I think I’m a good person. It’s something I do because it feels like a privilege God has given me. I still don’t know how he opens the cans of beans. But somehow he manages. So I keep buying them. It’s only a few dollars worth of food. I never mind.
Later in the afternoon I watched a few Yes Theory videos about people finding incredible community in places the world says it shouldn’t exist. Those stories always make me dream a little. They remind me there are still places I want to see and people I want to meet.
When I finally came back to my computer this evening, I spent a long time staring at the blank screen. Not writing. Just thinking.
And it hit me that I’ve spent so much of the last year worrying about losing life that I’ve sometimes overlooked the life God keeps giving me every single day. Not the big moments. Not bucket-list experiences. Not accomplishments.
The small things.
Walking Tugboat to get coffee. Reading books on a patio. Working out with friends. Calling my mom. Buying Ruben food. Taking naps. Cooking dinner.
The mundane things.
The things that don’t seem important until you realize they’re the very things you’ll miss most someday.
The funny thing is that I know people probably came here hoping for an update about treatment.
So here it is.
This Friday I’ll be at MD Anderson for an EKG and an echocardiogram. Then the clinical trial starts the following Monday. The plan is to take a pill every day for twenty-one days and receive an infusion at the beginning of each cycle. Then there will be a seven-day break before starting again.
The trial lasts six months.
Somewhere along the way, and again at the end, they’ll do blood work to see whether the cancer is gone.
I don’t really know what to expect. But I do know that the doctors aren’t anticipating many side effects, and for that I’m grateful.
Beyond that, my plan is pretty simple.
I’m going to keep walking Tugboat to the coffee shop. Keep reading through the ridiculous stack of books waiting for me. Keep working out with my friends. Keep buying Ruben food. Keep calling my mom. Keep thanking God for every day I’m given.
Because the reality is that none of us are promised anything. Not next year. Not next month. Not tomorrow.
All any of us really have is today.
And today was good.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up and do my best to enjoy whatever ordinary blessings God puts in front of me then. Next week the trial starts. Maybe it will be difficult. Maybe it won’t. Either way, I’ll keep showing up to the life in front of me.
The coffee. The books. The dog walks. The gym. The friends. The family. The small things.
The things that are easy to overlook until you realize they were the things that made life beautiful all along.
I’ll probably be writing more regularly once the trial gets underway. Expect at least a little hyperbole. Otherwise these updates might get pretty boring.
For now, though, I’m hungry, ready for bed, and looking forward to finishing my book before the week ahead begins.
See you all soon.