Something to Say

“And like all good men who swim too well, it takes all that I have just to cry for help”–George Michael, To Be Forgiven

It’s hard to talk–or write for that matter–about my condition. In the beginning, I thought to keep its existence confined to a relatively small group of friends and family. In fact, I’ve maintained that up until recently, when the circle of those who are aware of what I’m going through has been slowly expanding.

There were many reasons for this; at first, it was that I needed time to process the diagnosis (and the implications of it) myself. I also didn’t want to worry more people than I absolutely had to. But then my feelings became more complicated as, within weeks of my diagnosis, a dear friend passed away from cancer quite suddenly, and he was nearly ten years younger than I was. That brought an excruciating new light to my situation. Within just a few months, another friend had also passed, and I hadn’t even known he’d been sick. It was all a lot to absorb.

The condition I have is called Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS). It’s a form of bone marrow cancer. In the simplest terms, my bone marrow is failing to produce enough blood, making me extremely anemic. In all likelihood, I had this condition for many years before it was finally caught when the symptoms of the anemia became pronounced enough to notice. Even then, they may have gone ignored longer; as the anemia had worsened, my body had worked very hard to adapt, and even when I had reached a critical state, I wasn’t feeling so bad that I realized anything was serious wrong.

What probably saved my life was that I was at an appointment with my doctor to get the final approval for hearing aids. (More on that another time.) I mentioned, almost in passing, that I hadn’t had as much energy as usual the last few months and that my heart rate had been up a bit. She said I did look a little pale and that I should come back the next week for a blood test. The test showed that my hemaglobin was critically low, and they sent me immediately to the emergency room. I spent the rest of that day receiving the first of dozens of blood transfusions I would continue to get over the coming years.

Small steps. For now, I’ll leave this here.

Finding the Road

“Forever is comprised of nows."—Emily Dickinson

As I sit down here to write this initial post–a summary of which will appear on the About page–the obvious question returns to mind. It’s the question I’ve been asking myself for months as I contemplated starting this project—why another blog?

I already have a blog, and it, like this one, is connected to my BlueSky and Mastodon presences. But that blog is deeply rooted in my fiction writing. I do occasionally post observations about the world, tributes to music and musicians I love, book reviews, and what-have-you on there, but it serves a purpose as an outlet for my fiction and a source of news for my readers, and I have no desire to disrupt that.

What I want from Good Journey is a place apart; somewhere that I can write about more personal topics that the world can choose to read or ignore as is the inclination of each individual reader. Though they may come up from time to time here, if you are only interested in my fantasy stories, this is not the blog for you. Go here instead.

If, instead, you want to hear some personal stories, about my path to Unitarian Universalism, my thoughts on current events, or the trevails of my recent struggles with cancer, then this is where you’ll find those.

My intent, here at the outset, is to try to update this blog regularly, but as anyone with a serious illness likely knows, daily reserves of physical, mental, and emotional energy can vary tremendously. I also can’t deny that I’m still coming to terms with what and how much I want to share about my condition. I found reading Chris Breen’s chronicles of his journey fighting cancer to be immensely comforting; if I can give anyone out there even a tiny slice of that same comfort, then that’s something I want to do.

The past two years have led me down some unexpected paths; being diagnosed with cancer, watching my country crumble into a fascist state, and finding the first faith I have ever felt at home in, were not visions in my crystal ball—but here we are. But it’s also been an opportunity for me to look back at various points of my life that were markers at the side of the road along the way. Perhaps some of those markers will be of interest to you; perhaps others will help you find your own. All I know is that these are my stories and I want to get them down—for myself and whomever else can find value or comfort in them.

These have been difficult times for me and even darker ones for the world. I need a place to take stock of that darkness, but also to find and remember the joy, the light, and the love of this journey.