Two years ago, I wrote an open letter to cancer that you can read here.

Two years later, some things have changed… and some things have not.

Dear Cancer,

Two years ago I wrote to you. I told you how my life had prepared me to fight you. I told you that I didn’t take your presence personally. I told you that I needed you to go away.

When I wrote that, I was only about four months into my time with you. Everything was still fresh. Every small victory was something to celebrate. With every step my team took, we felt like we were pushing you away – pushing you out.

The first sign that you were still hanging around came after the October 2023 surgery that took my bladder, prostate and 93 lymph nodes.  You showed up in 13 of the lymph nodes.  You were still here.  That led to 2024 starting off with some preventative maintenance treatments for three months. 

Then, about a year ago, I had a positive Signatera test. Subsequent tests showed increases in concentration. You were getting stronger. For the first time, I could feel your effects. Your metastatic presence between my lower back and right hip was causing discomfort.  In September of 2024, I was back on the treatment that we had done at the beginning of the year. It didn’t phase you as you continued to get stronger. In November, you had your best numbers to date.  You set records for both blood tests we use to track your strength and my back discomfort was bad enough that I asked the doctor for pain medicine.

We decided to go back to a strong chemotherapy regimen in December. That one did a good job of knocking you on your ass for a while.  The numbers came way down and the pain in my back was gone.

As we entered 2025, there were a few hiccups that caused treatments to not be as regular as they should have. That seems to have helped your numbers tick up slightly. But I’m no pushover.  The scan they did last week shows that we’re keeping you in check. Remember, I told you two years ago this is not going to be easy for you.

So that’s where we’re at. It seems like we’ve settled in for the long game. This is not a fight that is going to go one way or the other any time soon.  There are people that are surprised to hear that I’m still dealing with you. They thought we reached the endgame when the surgery happened.  But, of course, that’s not the case. I’ve had doctors tell me that you may never go away while also saying that we can do things that allow me to keep going despite you.

There is an analogy that I use regarding our situation. When people ask where I’m at with you, I tell them that I’m not out of the woods and that I may never be. But that’s ok. I’m just adapting and making my home in the woods, and I’ll stay there as long as I need to.

In my letter two years ago, I also brought up gratitude.  That is absolutely still true. I have a tremendous amount of appreciation for the lessons you have forced me to learn, the connections you have helped me make and the fire you’ve lit under my ass. I don’t know where my life would be right now if you hadn’t made an appearance. It’s easy to assume it would be much better.

While I’m not sure the saying “everything happens for a reason” is one that I whole heartedly subscribe to, I do believe that everything that happens is a lesson to be learned. It is up to me to see the message for what it is and use it to my advantage. While I can never truly see you as a gift, I can appreciate what you have taught me and the amount of strength I’ve summoned because of you.

The bottom line is that I’m not done here. I have work to do and if you insist on staying, you’re doing it with me.  I’d suggest you get comfortable being uncomfortable because this host is not laying down and allowing you to take over. Not without the fight of your life anyway.

Regards,

Chris