My Unreliable, Occasionally Brilliant, Totally Necessary Battle Plan”

Weaponized Words

Cancer.
Lymphoma.
Diffuse. Large. B. Cell.

To me, it sounds less like a diagnosis and more like a bad Scrabble hand—or the world’s worst Wi-Fi password. The doctors say it like it’s just another Tuesday. I hear it and wonder if I need a translator, a medical degree, or maybe just a stiff drink.

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Knowledge: Comfort or Chaos?

Do I need more knowledge? Less? Enough to build a binder with color-coded tabs?

Here’s the problem: information cuts both ways. Too little, and I feel like I’m strapped in the backseat of my own life. Too much, and I’m wide awake at 2 a.m., Googling things that I cannot unsee.

So I aim for the middle ground. Learn enough to ask smart questions. Enough to push back when I need to. Enough to carry a flashlight in the dark without blinding myself with every grim statistic.

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Structured Uncertainty

Every day hits reset like a game I didn’t sign up to play.
One round: emotions bouncing from high to low like a malfunctioning carnival ride.
Next round: nausea (front-row seat), then suddenly—no nausea (intermission!).
Add in a generous sprinkle of worry, repeat as needed.

So how do I structure uncertainty? I can’t tame it—it’s like trying to leash a tornado. But I can give it boundaries. And I’ve learned that structure doesn’t fix everything, but it keeps me from completely unraveling. Less “perfect schedule” and more “duct tape and bubblegum holding the day together.”

Here’s what I try to do:

• Morning: a few stretches (bonus points if I don’t fall over).
• Hydration: gallons of water cheered on by a cartoon llama. (Yes, it’s silly. But it’s working.)
• Movement: multiple swalks outside with Sassy, the wonder dog!
• Social Rule: only one possible encounter with strangers a day. I don’t have the energy for small talk and cancer.
• Evening: rant, write, laugh, cry. Hit publish.

Does it erase the nausea, the brain fog, or the exhaustion? Nope. But it gives my days shape. And shape means I’m trudging instead of free-falling. Trudging may not sound glamorous, but it’s still forward.

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Fighting the Battle

So how do I fight cancer? Not with perfect pronunciation of “diffuse large B-cell lymphoma.” Not with toxic positivity or “good vibes only.”

I fight by being stubborn. By giving uncertainty limits. By letting others hold me up when I can’t. By laughing when everything sucks. By crying when I need to. By stretching myself just enough to remind myself I’m still here, still moving, still me.

In a battle where the finish line moves every day – This is how I win.