After another series of tests, and taking my hip, various doctors have talked amongst themselves and decided that my treatment is not currently working. As such, the transplant I’ve been waiting for has been cancelled.

Where do we go from here? I’m not sure. There are some possibilities, and we’re looking at each of them, but as of 4:30am on Thursday, November 9th, there is no plan. I know some of my friends, family, and co-workers like to know what the plan is so that you can help, but that’s just not something we have right now.

Artist’s rendition of the current plan

At the very least, this is going to involve starting over from step one. It may involve flying to special hospitals in other cities, or experimental drugs, or shrinking myself down to a subatomic level, get injected into my bloodstream, and find each individual t-cell and stomp it’s ass.

(Wait… if I was subatomic… and how would I inject me into me? This one may need a second draft)

Having said all that, due to the history I have with these doctors, there’s a 10% chance one of them will call me tomorrow to tell me I have a transplant scheduled in ten minutes, only they need to turn all my toes backwards. I am becoming more and more convinced that my lead doctor is actually Rocket Raccoon.

That’s all the information I have for now. If you’re worried about me, please stop. I’m fine. If anyone could use your sympathy, it’s my wife – She’s had to deal with the brunt of all of this. There’s nothing “brave” or “strong” about having cancer, I just lay here. It’s the woman who makes sure I take every last medication, tracks every appointment, drives me to every appointment, checks on me throughout the night, pushes doctors for answers, and still finds the time and energy to take care of a house of four.

As for me, all I have to do is keep getting up every morning, no matter what, and that’s not stopping any time soon.