My radiation consult was last Friday. Like most meetings, it could have been an email. I learned all of the expected side effects and the protocols I would have to follow after each infusion. We still don’t have anything on the calendar; preliminary scans must be done and as usual my insurance company is dragging their feet on approvals.

I find myself increasingly inclined to drop out of the Phase 1 trial and stop taking the study drug. I’m trying to hold on until the doctor orders it in preparation for radiation treatment, but the gastrointestinal distress that accompanies each dose is becoming harder to endure each day. I’m having daily migraines, which seem likely due to anemia. In spite of myself, I grow wearier and more irritable. I don’t want to become the cliche of a cancer patient who decides to take out their frustrations on people around them, but I’ve had my moments and deeply regret them.

In the past couple of weeks, it’s been revealed that two famous people — President Joe Biden and cartoonist Scott Adams — also have Stage 4 prostate cancer. With that news has come more information than I would like about the average prognosis for the disease. I prefer not to know the odds because it helps me to stay positive, but now I do know them and my mind won’t stop considering them. Cancer is stressful enough without knowing these little tidbits.

It helps to focus outward — to remember my daily prayers for others and to remember my great fortune in light of their struggles and responsibilities — for my friends still fighting alcoholism and addiction, for those who can’t reckon with the finality of my diagnosis or another’s, or those charged with the heavy responsibility of guiding our church. I complain about my treatments, but God has surrounded me on all sides with loving Christian prayer warriors. He continues to show me that the decision to purchase this house in our recent move was correct. Our new hometown is host to a number of businesses where Christian faith is displayed openly. I’ve seen Christian inspirational posters on many walls. My new dental hygienist prayed for me after my cleaning. Even the local gun store plays Christian music.

Through it all, my own faith is buoyed by my church family, who check in on my progress without expectation. I am able to focus on Christ and maintain my serenity almost entirely because of the love shown within my church — not just for me, but for each other. I can’t imagine trying to do this without them.

Last night at jiujitsu, I had my back taken by a younger, stronger, fitter man who’s been chasing me like I’m his white whale since he started. His skills have come a long way — he’s now a blue belt — and my deteriorating health contributes to his increasing success against me. I fended off his repeated attempts at a rear naked choke and escaped the back control only to blunder back into it because I couldn’t move fast enough. His legs were perfectly positioned to maintain his hooks, and I finally had to tap out to the pressure it was putting on my back. He apologized repeatedly after learning that it was hurting my back, but I kept telling him not to — he was doing everything right, and on a different day we could have had an entertaining struggle. I felt sorry for him, because I know he wants to earn a “legitimate” tap from me, not simply one that leverages my infirmity in his favor. Truth be told, he was closer on his choke attempts than he probably realized.

Incidentally, I’ve learned of a jiujitsu competition called “Tap Cancer Out”, and it’s given me new purpose on the mat. I had thought I was done competing, but now I want to do this even if only to pad someone else’s record. It’ll take some time before I’m able to participate (their next local date and my vacation plans unfortunately intersect), but hopefully I’ll be ready when the time does arrive.

On the way home from class, my stomach started gurgling. The trial drugs were at it again, and the nausea hit its peak by the time I was in the shower. As I struggled not to vomit, the darkness descended again and for a moment I lost all hope. I begged God to take me quickly when it was my time. I fought the nausea for the next couple of hours until it was time to go to bed, and today is a new day. I need to try to remember to ask for strength in those moments. It seems so easy to remember when I’ve had a good night’s sleep and my mind is clear, but I have to work on keeping my focus in the hard times: Only God can carry me through this. Only God can carry me home.