Today, I got through my fourth day of chemo. One more day of chemo to go.

It was a quiet day. My father-in-law visited for a while for the first time since I was admitted. It was great to see him. My wife got to visit with Jade while he was visiting with me. Throughout the day, many other segments of the family were here.

So far, I’m still feeling pretty well.

My sister, Sarah, who is my stem cell donor, wrote something that she’s given me permission to share here. It literally made me cry.

Love you, sis.

Honey, I Blew Up My Stem Cells

There are a lot of things I have done and would do for my brother, Josh. I’ve helped be his eyes since I was four years old; I’ve given him rides to places, guided him through Disneyland countless times, and I’d probably even let him have the last slice of pizza…probably.

But donating my stem cells? I never thought this would be a thing I would ever need to be asked to do, but here we are, and honestly it wasn’t even a question. I’d do anything for Josh.

When people (including myself) hear “stem cell donation” or “bone marrow transplant”, they often imagine something dramatic like surgically going into the bone. The reality is a bit different. They now can use your blood to collect stem cells. But there is a catch—there always is, isn’t there?

For several days before donation, I get injections of a medication that tells my bone marrow to go into overdrive and produce extra stem cells. It’s basically my body’s version of being told, “We need all hands on deck!”

The good news? It works.

The less good news? My bones have apparently decided to file a formal complaint.

Nobody really prepares you for the strange experience of your skeleton feeling like it just completed a marathon. The bone pain and body aches are real. Every ache comes with the reminder that my marrow is working overtime, churning out the cells that could make an incredible difference for Josh. It’s weirdly comforting to know that feeling lousy actually means everything is going according to plan.

I’ve joked that I’m becoming a human stem cell factory. My body is producing so many extra cells that I feel like I should have an “Under Construction” sign hanging around my neck.

“Honey, I Blew Up My Stem Cells. Literally.”

The truth hiding underneath the jokes is this:

I’ve never been happier to be uncomfortable.

Because every sore bone, every ache, every injection is for someone I love beyond words. It’s also only a fraction of what Josh has endured for the last two years, what he’s going through now, and what lies ahead on the other side of the transplant.

Josh has always been one of the people I admire most in this world. His many talents, strength, his determination, and the way he keeps moving forward through challenges inspires me every single day. If my body can give him a better chance at healing, then every pinch of the needle and every aching bone is a bargain I’d make a thousand times over.

Tomorrow is donation day where they will hook me up to a machine that will pump out my blood, extract the stem cells, and put my blood back in my body.

People keep asking if I’m nervous or scared.

The answer truly is: Not really.

I’m grateful.

Grateful that I was a perfect genetic match. Grateful that modern medicine makes something like this possible. Grateful that I have the opportunity to do something tangible for my brother when he needs it most.

Families show love in all kinds of ways—Sunday dinners, inside jokes, game nights, showing up when life gets hard. It turns out they also show love by temporarily turning themselves into overachieving stem cell-producing machines.

Who knew?

If I have to feel like my whole body spent the weekend doing CrossFit while having the flu so my brother gets a fighting chance, then pass me another heating pad and point me toward the next injection.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat—for Josh.

And hey, in the end we will share DNA.

We are one step closer to becoming He-Man and She-Ra when you think about it.