I had to look at the calendar to realize my next hormone injection falls on Friday the 13th. Only fitting, I suppose, considering how nightmarish cancer has been. Honestly, though, the treatment has treated me worse than the disease itself.

The days leading up to this one have reminded me that any day can feel like Friday the 13th.

Sunday, November 8, 2026, 10 AM

I woke up thinking about the shot this Friday as I enter my second year of hormone therapy. What I felt was indifference. I haven’t felt this way in some time. Even chats with Jan Malymeik, my compadre at the senior center, and longtime friend Diane Blake, along with a two-day visit from Maya, didn’t do much to shake it.

I’m tired. Tired of it all. I want to run, but I can’t. So one day turns into the next, and the next into another, like a bad episode of The Twilight Zone.

Freddy Krueger

I know Friday the 13th belongs to Jason Voorhees, but apparently Freddy Krueger has decided to get in on the action, too.

Not that I’ve actually been dreaming about Freddy. It’s the dreams of her that keep returning.

Maybe it’s because I write about them with honesty tucked away inside my stories. Perhaps part of me doesn’t want to let go of the connection because it’s all I had at the time.

Do you believe in the invisible string theory? The idea that a thread connects two people, even when their lives have taken them in different directions?

Some mornings, I wonder about that. Other mornings, I wonder if I’m the only one still holding the string.

Maya and Boston

My trip back east last month brought me so much joy. When I say I want to run, I know where I want to go. Right into Maya’s arms.

But long-distance relationships are hard. Even with her parents here in Michigan, finding time together is a struggle. My calendar fills with doctors’ appointments, and we both have lives to work around.

The time we do get is always special. I think back to wandering through Salem, seeing Wicked in Boston, and the quiet moments when we didn’t have to go anywhere at all.

I want more of those ordinary days together. The ones without a departure hanging over them.

Salem

Salem, of all places, brought that happiness into focus. We took the train from Boston, about half an hour away, and for the first time in what felt like forever—perhaps since my cancer diagnosis in 2023—I experienced a genuine stretch of happiness.

Sure, I’ve enjoyed other things along the way. Mackinac City comes to mind with wonderful memories and plenty of reasons to smile. But this was different.

I was 600 miles away from my doctors, my appointments, my treatments and all those constant reminders that cancer had become part of my life. And for a little while, I wasn’t waking up thinking about what was wrong with me. I was waking up with a smile, looking forward to what the day might bring.

That’s a feeling I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed. Even when a damn vampire attacked me in Salem, there was love present. After all, Maya was right there, ready to defend her man with a wooden stake. Apparently, dating a Boston girl comes with certain protections.

But perhaps one of the nicest moments came afterward. When Diane saw some of the photographs of Maya and me from that week, she sent Maya a message that meant more to me than she probably realized.

“My friend looks so very happy, and I am so, so very glad. He deserves every bit; he’s been through a lot. You guys look amazing together. Keep taking care of each other! ❤️”

Diane has seen me through heart problems, surgeries, cancer, and some pretty difficult chapters of my life. When someone who’s witnessed all that tells you how happy you look, those words carry a little more weight.

Monday, November 9, 2026, 9 AM

A Little Medical Shit

Yesterday brought another reminder that my medical problems don’t necessarily take Sundays off. I had my first bloody nose since switching from Coumadin to Eliquis during the COVID years.

It didn’t last long, but it concerned me.

Both medications are blood thinners I’ve taken because of my heart disease, and when you’re taking something designed to prevent your blood from clotting, even a little unexpected bleeding gets your attention.

I’d bring up the nosebleed on Friday, provided it doesn’t happen again. There may be some bloodwork involved, depending on what my doctors think.

Then again, perhaps it was just an isolated occurrence. A dry nose, a little irritation, or one of those things that happens without any particular reason.

After more than 20 years of dealing with heart disease and three years of cancer, I’ve learned that not everything unusual necessarily means something is wrong. But I’ve also learned not to take too much for granted.

And with Friday the 13th approaching, I’d rather not give Freddy any more material to work with.

Amazon Delivery

Apparently, Maya is up to something.

Amazon delivered a Hello Kitty Christmas ornament yesterday, courtesy of her. The little gift note began with “Hi Pookie” and included three words that immediately caught my attention:

“More on the way.”

Huh?

More what? Christmas ornaments? Surprises? Has She been conspiring with Santa Claus behind my back?

I have no idea.

But here’s the thing about me. At my age, I’ve reached the point where a handwritten note and a postage stamp can mean more to me than anything Amazon could possibly deliver.

It’s not about how much somebody spends. It’s knowing they’re thinking about you. That somewhere in the middle of their busy day, they took a moment to do something that might make you smile.

And Maya certainly accomplished that.

Christmas Tree

Y’all know about my infamous Christmas tree, loaded with ornaments from friends and little treasures I’ve collected along the way to help cheer me up while fighting cancer.

It’s been standing for a while now, but yesterday I finally decided to start decorating it and every ornament has its own story.

For more on these ornaments be sure to check out my Instagram feed for its post and caption.

Tuesday, November 10, 2026, 8 AM

Shiny and my Grandparents

I had a dream last night that somehow found me in Los Angeles. Don’t ask me how I got there. Dreams don’t always bother explaining such things.

When I arrived, the only person I recognized was my longtime friend Shiny Hippie, who gave me what felt like the best hug I’d ever received.

Perhaps it’s because I still believe folks from the Midwest are the realest people around. Shiny grew up in Ohio, and there’s something about those Midwestern roots that has always felt familiar to me.

Then she was gone.

Not like some of the others I’ve known over the years. Shiny and I never had some dramatic falling-out. We just kind of went our own ways, as friends sometimes do.

This morning, I thought, fuck I’m going to text her to see how she’s doing because friendship is as simple as remembering somebody and letting them know. And she wrote back. It was wonderful hearing from an old friend again.

Shiny and I may go months without talking, but one thing I’ve learned over the years is that she always shows up. Maybe that’s why that hug felt so good.

It reminded me of what my grandparents taught me about friendship and human decency, not through lectures or books, but through their actions.

Their door was open to strangers and family alike. Everybody was welcome until they gave them a reason to think otherwise. And even then, there was room for forgiveness.

I’ve tried to carry those values throughout my life.

Why the hell do we need books explaining something so simple?

Friendships

Maya knows about the friendships I’ve had, including those that ended in ways I never expected or wanted. She knows some of those people still have a place in my heart.

But she also knows something else.

She’s the woman I want beside me today and in whatever tomorrows I’m fortunate enough to have.

I don’t get jealous when she spends time with male friends. Why should I? Friendship isn’t something that suddenly becomes inappropriate because two people happen to be of different sexes.

Insecurity can be dangerous. Losing someone doesn’t give us the right to hold the next person tighter out of fear they’ll disappear, too.

Over the years, I’ve had friends who stood beside me through heart disease, cancer, and some pretty shattered hopes. Others have grown quiet or gone their separate ways.

I don’t hold that against them. Life happens. People change. Circumstances change and sometimes friendships end without the explanations we’d like.

But why should an ending erase everything that came before it? The laughter was real. So were the encouragement, the concern, and the love.

There was a time when I spent far too much energy wondering why certain people left and whether those connections had meant as much to them as they had to me.

Sometimes I still wonder. After all, I’m only human.

But I no longer need every question answered to appreciate what somebody once brought into my life.

As for Shiny, I don’t know why she appeared in that dream or why that hug felt so extraordinary. But when I woke up, I wasn’t thinking about her disappearing.

I knew she was still here. And this time, all I had to do was say hello.

My Last Fuck

Speaking of Shiny, a few years ago she gave me one of the most unusual Christmas ornaments I’ve ever received.

It’s a tiny glass bottle, complete with a cork and red ribbon, containing one little word.

I’ve always thought of it as my last fuck, safely preserved in a jar. And considering everything life has thrown at me, you’d think I’d have uncorked that little bastard a long time ago.

But I haven’t. Because I haven’t stopped caring about the people I’ve loved, nor have I forgotten the friendships that mattered. And I sure as hell haven’t stopped hoping for better days, even when my body makes those days difficult.

So, I intend to keep that little bottle corked forever.

Because I haven’t given up on giving a fuck.

Wednesday, November 11, 2026, 8 AM

Another Sleepless Night

I didn’t sleep worth a damn last

Apparently, the usual trips to the bathroom I’ve grown accustomed to during hormonal therapy weren’t enough. The aches and pains decided to join the party last night, too.

That’s one of the things about cancer treatment that doesn’t always make it into the conversations at the doctor’s office. It’s not necessarily one big thing that wears you down. Sometimes it’s all the little things, night after night, that eventually catch up with you.

And the frustrating part? The world doesn’t stop turning just because I didn’t get a decent night’s sleep.

The Business of Cancer

After another miserable night’s sleep, I couldn’t help thinking about a survey I participated in the other day concerning Xtandi.

I expected an opportunity to explain what living with the medication has been like. The fatigue, the hot flashes, the aches and pains, and the nights when a decent stretch of sleep seems like something from another lifetime.

Boy, was I wrong.

Instead, the conversation seemed focused on promoting the drug and the possibility of a generic version.

Don’t misunderstand me. Something needs to be done about the cost of these medications.

A month’s supply of these life-saving bastards runs around $15,000.

Yes, you read that correctly. Fifteen thousand dollars for a month’s worth of pills. And you can bet your ass I managed to sneak that little detail into my conversation with the surveyor. Thank God for insurance.

I understand that developing medications costs money. I also understand that pharmaceutical companies are businesses. But there’s another side to all those discussions about brands, generics, and competition.

The people taking the damn pills.

I can appreciate what Xtandi is doing to help control my cancer. And if a generic version eventually makes the medication more affordable, I’m all for it.

But I wish the conversation had made more room for the people swallowing the damn pills and living with their side effects.

Because lately, those side effects have had me questioning something far more personal than a pharmaceutical survey.

Second Thoughts

For about a month now, I’ve had second thoughts about the direction I took with my cancer treatment.

When I met with my radiation oncologist, he suggested stopping the hormonal therapy and Xtandi, with brachytherapy as a possible option if it became necessary.

My medical oncologist had a different recommendation. Continue the medications for two years.

I chose to continue.

My PSA is practically undetectable. That’s wonderful news, and I’m grateful the treatment appears to be working. But there’s another side to those encouraging numbers.

I’m fucking tired.

Not just tired from a bad night’s sleep. Tired of waking up in a body that sometimes doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

And let’s talk about something that doesn’t always get discussed openly enough.

Sex.

Hell, I’ve practically forgotten what an erection is.

I have a woman in my life whom I love very much that still gives me butterflies when I’m with her. I feel peace and safety in her arms and look forward to every moment we spend together.

But I miss being able to express that love physically the way I once could. I enjoy pleasing her and always have. But sometimes I want to be more than the one doing the pleasing.

I want my lover to be my lover and feel like her lover, too.

I want spontaneity, intimacy, desire, and physical pleasures that come with being in love.

That’s not a complaint about her. She’s loved me knowing about my cancer and heart disease, and she’s never made me feel that I have to prove anything to her.

This is about what I miss in myself.

Being Apart

When Maya and I are apart, I miss more than the physical side of our relationship.

Long-distance relationships aren’t easy under the best circumstances. Add cancer treatment, fatigue, and a calendar filled with medical appointments, and finding time together can become downright frustrating.

Some days I feel as though I’m watching the hands of a clock go around, waiting for another day to end. One day looks like the one before it, until suddenly the days have become weeks and the weeks have become months.

And I find myself wondering how much of my life I’m spending simply waiting.

Waiting for the next appointment and another injection. Plus, waiting for the medication to stop making me feel so damn miserable until I can be with her again.

I know I’m fortunate. My scans have been encouraging, my PSA is low, and I have a treatment that appears to be doing what it’s supposed to do. But there’s a difference between keeping cancer under control and enjoying the life you’re fighting to preserve.

And that’s what has me questioning things.

Would I have been better off following my radiation oncologist’s suggestion? Could I have avoided some of these miserable side effects? Or would stopping treatment have put me at greater risk of another recurrence?

I don’t know.

That’s the problem with decisions like these. You can listen to the specialists, weigh the recommendations, and make what you believe is the best choice without knowing how things might have turned out differently.

But let me make one thing perfectly clear.

I’m not stopping my treatment.

My medical oncologist recommended two years, and I intend to continue while discussing these concerns with him. I’m not about to throw away the progress we’ve made simply because I’m frustrated.

But continuing doesn’t mean I can’t question the decision. And being grateful for the results doesn’t mean I have to enjoy what the medication is doing to me.

I’m halfway there.

Another year sounds manageable when someone says it in a doctor’s office. It sounds a hell of a lot longer when you’re the one living through each day.

I’ve already spent a good portion of my life dealing with heart disease, and now cancer has taken its share, and I don’t expect life to be perfect and wonderful every day.

But I want to live not just exist between appointments and medication refills.

I want more mornings waking up beside Maya. More laughter, kisses and time doing absolutely nothing together. And yes, I’d like to enjoy making love again without feeling that my own body has abandoned that part of me.

I just want to enjoy more of the life I’m working so damn hard to keep.

Thursday, November 12, 2026, 8 AM

Saving Shit

I woke up wondering if she ever thinks about the things I’ve saved over the years. A song, a movie scene, a few words that had no meaning to us at the time. We all save shit. Sometimes we don’t even know why until years later, when we come across it again.

But there are things I’ve saved knowing exactly why.

Take the ending of The Bodyguard, with Whitney Houston singing “I Will Always Love You.”

I’ve never watched the whole damn movie. Didn’t have to.

Those few seconds were enough. I’ve watched that clip more times than I can remember, and yes, it brings tears to my eyes.

But that’s not why I saved it.

I saved it because of its truth.

Just because two people are no longer part of each other’s lives doesn’t mean the love they once shared wasn’t real. Sometimes people go their separate ways, and the love doesn’t turn into hate. It simply becomes something they carry with them.

Some things are worth remembering, even when that chapter of your life is over.

A Few Words from Jan

That wasn’t the only thing I went back to this morning.

I also reread an old text from my dear friend Jan. She sent it when I first announced my decision to stay the course with my hormonal therapy.

“Your latest blog as you decided your next phase was well written and heartfelt. I felt that I was right with you as you struggled with the decision — your writing is THAT GOOD. It is definitely your superpower.”

She continued:

“I believe if I was in your shoes, I would have made the same choice. Conservative, but staying the course has stemmed the tide and resulted in choices, if nothing else.”

And then came the words that stayed with me.

“Don’t second guess yourself, my friend.”

I appreciated what Jan said about my writing. Hell, what writer wouldn’t?

But it was her understanding of the decision that meant the most. She recognized that continuing treatment wasn’t an easy choice, even if the numbers suggested it was working.

I suppose that’s one reason I save things, including old text messages. Sometimes you need to go back and read a few words that made sense when you first received them and still make sense today.

Friday, November 13, 2026, 7:30 AM

Appointment Day

Friday the 13th decided to get an early start, like two in the morning. I found myself lying in bed, wide awake, wishing I could get some damn sleep.

What reminded me of the head, shoulders, knees and toes song every child learns, all hurt. Even some not mentioned in the song. If there’s a joint somewhere in my body that wasn’t complaining, I couldn’t find it.

And I was exhausted.

My last bone scan showed degenerative changes, the kind of wear and tear that comes with getting older. Add cancer treatment and its side effects to the equation, and it’s difficult to know where one problem ends and another begins.

What I do know is that I was tired, hurting and getting increasingly pissed off because I couldn’t sleep.

I wasn’t lying there worrying about dying. I wasn’t thinking about what my next test might show. My mind was wandering through life in general, but the biggest problem was much simpler.

I just wanted to get comfortable and go to sleep.

Another thing living with cancer that doesn’t always make it into the conversation. Everybody wants to know how the treatments are going, what the latest numbers look like and what the doctors have to say.

Those things matter, of course.

But it’s the ordinary things that get taken away. A good night’s sleep. An afternoon when you don’t feel exhausted. Getting out of bed without wondering which part of your body is going to hurt first.

From Boston with Love

After I turned off that annoying alarm, I noticed I had a message from Maya. It read in part:

Good morning, Pookie! ❤️😘

I know you’re tired of all this, sweetheart. And I know some days are harder than others. You don’t have to pretend otherwise with me.

Now put on that Hello Kitty shirt and matching cap I got you, and go show those doctors what a handsome pain in the ass you can be! 😂💕

Remember, whether I’m beside you or hundreds of miles away, I’m always in your corner.

I love you, Pookie. More than you know.

Your Pumpkin. 🎃❤️

No Black Cats Today

I hear Friday the 13th is associated with black cats.

Well, not today.

Remember that mystery gift Maya told me was coming? Well, it arrived, and now I can finally tell you what was inside.

My kitty is pink and white, has a thing for race cars and arrived in a package from Boston.

That’s right. I’m heading to my hormone injection wearing a Hello Kitty F1 Academy shirt and matching cap.

Now, let’s go get this damn injection over with.

Hello Kitty

Considering how much shit cancer treatment has put me through, I suppose having another hormone injection scheduled for Friday the 13th was appropriate.

But there weren’t going to be any black cats crossing my path today.

Maya had sent them to me and somewhere between opening the package and looking at today’s appointment on my calendar, I decided I was going to wear them.

To oncology.

Why the hell not?

I’ve spent enough time in medical facilities to know that everybody walking through those doors has a story.

Some are frightened or exhausted, but all are hoping for good news. Others are preparing themselves for news they’d rather not hear.

I’ve been several of those people myself.

So I figured if somebody looked at me wearing that ridiculous Hello Kitty outfit and smiled, even for a moment, it would be worth it.

Why not spread a little of that around?

Meet Katherine

Nobody in the waiting room said anything about my outfit.

Maybe they were laughing under their breath. Maybe they had more important things on their minds. That’s understandable.

I wasn’t there to win a fashion contest. I was there for another injection, and if I could have a little fun along the way, so much the better.

Then I met Katherine.

Katherine was the nurse who administered my hormone injection. She was friendly, personable, and, as it turned out, rather fond of my Hello Kitty racing attire.

She actually loved it.

We talked, laughed, and even posed for a photograph together, with Katherine holding the syringe.

She agreed to let me share the picture, and before we finished, she asked where she could find me online.

I gave her my Instagram handle and website.

Imagine that.

I walked into oncology hoping to make somebody smile and came away with a photograph, a laugh, and possibly another reader.

And somewhere in Boston, there’s a woman who probably has no idea how much amusement her little shopping decision brought to an oncology department in Michigan..

A Little More Medical Shit

Of course, there was some actual medical business to take care of.

Before my injection, I brought up something that’s been bothering me lately.

Intermittent diarrhea.

Not exactly the kind of subject that makes for pleasant conversation, but when you’re dealing with cancer treatments and swallowing as many pills as I do, you learn to put embarrassment aside.

Katherine recommended taking 2 mg of Imodium when it occurs.

Given my cardiac history and the number of medications I’m taking, I’m particularly careful about adding anything new. That’s why I wanted to discuss it with the people overseeing my treatment.

Another reminder that treatment isn’t simply about PSA numbers, testosterone levels, scans, and injections. It’s also about everything that happens between appointments.

And about trying to live something resembling a normal life while your body deals with the disease. And the shit that comes with it is quite literal.

The People Behind the Medicine

I’ve spent enough time in oncology departments to notice something about the people who work there. They’re some of the friendliest people I’ve encountered.

Maybe compassion comes with the job. Or maybe the job attracts people who already have plenty of it. Whatever the reason, I appreciate them.

I’ve written before about the relationships I’ve developed with my doctors. Those relationships matter, especially when you’re dealing with medical conditions that aren’t going away anytime soon.

I don’t expect them or the nurses to become my friends. But I appreciate the ones who remember there’s a human being attached to those medical records.

Good medical care isn’t just about prescriptions, procedures, and laboratory results. It’s also about trust, communication, and being treated like a person.

And if we can share a laugh along the way, even better.

Today, Katherine reminded me there’s still room for laughter in an oncology department.

Even on Friday the 13th when you’re wearing Hello Kitty.

I’m Still Standing

There’s an Elton John song that seems particularly appropriate today.

I’ve been knocked around over the years. Heart disease. Surgeries. Cancer. Radiation. Hormone treatments. More medications than I ever imagined taking.

Some days I’m exhausted and frustrated. Other days my mind wanders back to people and memories I’d rather leave alone.

But today I put on a ridiculous Hello Kitty racing outfit, turned my cap backward, and headed to oncology hoping to make somebody smile.

And I did. I smiled, too.

Maybe that’s what getting through all this looks like. Finding little moments of happiness in circumstances you never asked for.

A woman in Boston who knows how to make me smile. A nurse named Katherine who shares a laugh and poses for a photograph. And another day when I get to come home and write about it.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings or how long these treatments will continue. But I can choose how I approach the days ahead.

Maya chose to send me the outfit. I chose to wear it.

Cancer is no joke. But that doesn’t mean we have to surrender every reason to smile.

I’m still here living, laughing, loving and writing.

And the latter I do because when I went looking for someone who understood what I was going through, I couldn’t find him or her.

So I decided to become the person I had been looking for.

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