How are you feeling?

Written on 12-28-25

I'm ridiculously lucky to have a community around me, checking in on me and our family. They ask “how are you feeling?”, and I’m stumped. It’s a pretty simple question. Or maybe I should say it’s a short question. Because trying to answer it feels decidedly less simple. 

I feel tired in that flu version of being tired. All versions of tired come with a drop in motivation, but flu-like-tired seems to annihilate all motivation in its path. Strangely, this level of routine fatigue can make it both hard to think about or feel anything, AND it can also bring some remarkable perspectives and insights, possibly the most important ones of my entire life to this point. So I guess I feel enlightened too? 

I feel borderline crazy. The mouth sores are frustrating right now. Nothing like mouth sores to mess with eating and sleeping. Actually the most maddening thing is hiccups every 10-15 seconds for 12+ hours thanks to that side effect from the steroid in the protocol. 

I feel like everything is at odds with something else. I need to eat to fuel my body’s recovery from the chemo, and I’ve got mouth sores that have ruled out chewing in 75% of my mouth. Cancer patients lose weight, and I didn’t have much to spare this go-round to begin with. So I need to eat. But I also feel that lurking nausea in the background. Could I puke? Probably, if I entered the vomit-inspiring region of my face near the toilet bowl. The nausea is in lurking mode because of the anti-nausea drugs, which work fairly well most of the time. But it’s still there, coupled with the cotton mouth side effect from the anti-nausea drugs. (At least they give those now proactively versus the chemo I did back in the late 90’s / early 2000s where I puked a lot.)

I feel sad. Sad that I feel like shit. Again. Sad that I just watched my kid’s performance at the school thing and not sure I will see all the future performances. Sad that I had to cancel more plans because my white blood cells were way low. Sad that I can hardly make plans. Sad about death -  the possibility of my own death from cancer and its impact on my family and friends, the death of fellow cancer patients, the death of my Mom who got her cancer diagnosis the same week as I got my colon cancer diagnosis and couldn’t make it to this moment. And Mom was made for these moments too. 

I feel stressed, in particular about trying to map out the financial welfare for my wife and kids should that possible death become less hypothetical, which it has lately with new metastases to the lung. Stressed about the bills for my care, both approved and not approved by my health insurance. Stressed about trying to know everything I can about stage 4 metastatic colon cancer, various metastases, biomarkers, circulating tumor DNA, oncologists, colorectal specialists, thoracic surgeons, radiation oncology, interventional radiology, trials, etc. (Does this come with some sort of honorary degree?) Stressed about decisions - decisions that could affect my chances of survival, decisions about how I want to spend my time. Stressed about squeezing in all that I should do in a day to feed my body, mind, spirit, and soul…while also doing the normal adulting and parenting…and keeping stress to a minimum. 

And...I feel deeply loved. My family, friends, church, and work colleagues (who are my friends) couldn’t be any more generous with their love and support of us. How the heck does anyone do this without that support? Sadly, I’m pretty sure you can’t. I feel loved by the nurses that humanize this experience with a smile, a joke, or a chat while administering the toxic cocktail. 

I feel connected. To my wife. To my kids. To my extended family. To friends near and far. To my ancestors. To neighbors. To the young person working the drive-through. To the woman at the register helping with my groceries. To the authors and their words that point to new perspectives and better questions. To the other people sitting, meditating, praying in silence with me. To my fellow cancer patients in the hospitals / infusion rooms / online forums who are down for some real talk. (Or not. Either way, it’s an honor to travel alongside you.) To the experience of the divine. To God. To the ground I walk on. To the wind that stirs when I sit in the park next to my wife. To the hawk that takes its perch close to me (hi Mom). To each experience with my people, however mundane. To myself. To the present moment. To a bigger purpose. 

I feel more alive than I ever have. I feel like I know life better because I know death better. 

They ask “how are you feeling?”

I’m doing alright.