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Feb 19, 2026

  • 1 day ago
  • 3 min read

Hey there. It’s been a minute so I'm sharing an update on the health stuff. 


The quick summary is I’ve completed 5 of 6 chemo infusions before we head back down to MD Anderson to see how things look. 


I was scheduled for chemo on Tuesday of this week, but I ended up with some sorta funk that knocked me down over the weekend. At this point, no telling what it was with everything going around (apparently some bad peanut butter going around too??). Anyway, my system was in no condition for chemo so we postponed it to next week, and I’m focusing on some recovery this week.


So chemo #6 next week, and then down to MD Anderson the week of March 2nd for labs, CT scan and a visit with my oncologist there. We will look at how the tumors in my lung have responded to the chemo, plus just see what everything else in my torso is looking like. The results of the CT scan, labs, and current state of my body overall will drive the decision on what’s next. That could look like more chemo, surgery, radiation, or some combo…or some TBD alternative. 


I’ve mentioned this before, but there is something appealing about being in the routine of chemo…even though we adapt in that process too. After the first couple of infusions, you know what to expect in terms of side effects and have a better handle on how to manage those. Even with the hard parts of chemo, predictability in all this can feel like such a gift. 


And we can feel the unpredictability creeping in a bit. 


Beyond that MD Anderson visit, who knows what life will look like? In this whole adventure, those decision points have always felt the heaviest. And I think the many practice attempts with these decision points have been helpful. I’d like to think we are getting a little better, even though they still feel really hard too. 


Once again, it seems to come back to some version of letting go, surrendering to something bigger, finding some presence, and settling into that deep love and communal connection that’s always there. And that is the better foundation to move from. 

My daughter's Valentines Day hairdo!
My daughter's Valentines Day hairdo!

The letting go is NOT a giving up on my health by any means - I’ve got a crazy amount of joy in my life to live fully into. The letting go is releasing my tight grip on the illusion of control - with that desire for control driven by the fear of death. That’s a real practical and relevant statement for someone with stage 4 cancer. 


And I think it’s a practical and relevant statement for anybody. Last I checked, we all die. To quote the revered William Wallace in Braveheart - “Every man dies. Not every man really lives.” (Still such a good movie to doze in and out of.)


Letting go, surrendering to something bigger, finding some presence, and settling into that deep love and communal connection. And then moving from that…in all that you do. That’s my aspiration. I think that is living well, regardless of the circumstances. Some circumstances make that a ridiculously challenging thing to do. Some circumstances don’t even put it on the radar as something to consider. Some circumstances make it the only option.


We all die. That’s a certain outcome, but one not worth fixating upon. For me, that’s only produced more suffering for myself and anyone around me. When I can get back to the present moment and settle into that deep connection to everything and everyone, then the right things emerge. And I can feel in my body that I’m living


The process is the solution.


Experience is one heck of a teacher, and I’m getting another shot at this lesson in the current moment. As with all good learning, it’s messy. A messy process of attempts, mistakes, adjustments, peaks, and valleys. And I’m so grateful to be held by so many in this mess. Thanks for that. 



With much love,

Matt


“God protects us from nothing, but sustains us in everything.” - Gregory Boyle

 
 
 

5 Comments


Guest
18 hours ago

Thanks T. Good read as always


K Lo

Edited
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Sarah L
a day ago

I can't help but think about the responses my dad would give on his Dr. appt. check-ins after we found out he had Stage 4 Kidney cancer. I'd ask him the questions on the paper they gave you in the waiting room and fill out the forms for him. I'll never forget the way he always low-balled his "mental distress" scores. On the 3rd or 4th appointment, I said "Dad, are you sure you aren't feeling more stress?" And he said, "Yup. You got everything covered so I'm just here. But ___ hurts and ____ hurts and I can't work with all the treatments, so that part stinks."

I appreciate these writings more than you know, Matt. My dad was…


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Matt Thompson
Matt Thompson
a day ago
Replying to

Thanks for sharing, Sarah, and for the kind words too. Can't imagine doing this cancer thing solo - the value of a team feels so critical. And it sounds like you were one heck of a caregiver for your Dad....carrying so much of that weight with him. They ask me to fill out those similar distress surveys each time too. It's almost like you need a little more nuance in there...like a score for an awareness of the fears and stresses, and a separate score for how you feel situated in relation to them. Having a community and good friends (like YOU) brings that second score down every time. - Matt

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Allison Rowland
a day ago

I hear you remembering and living into what matters most--over and over--what a practice. Sending love to you and your family for where you are in this moment. With you my friend.

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Randy Humphrey
Randy Humphrey
a day ago

Words to live by! Nice hair Stell’s! Rand

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