Choosing the Road Ahead

This past Tuesday, May 5, I sat down with my oncologist for my latest round of scans — the routine CAT scan of my lungs and abdomen that I now do every three months. These check-ins have become part of the rhythm of my life, right alongside the maintenance chemo I receive every three weeks: two hours at City of Hope through my port, followed by two weeks of chemo pills, seven a day. It's a cycle I've learned to live with, even if it's not always easy.

This time, the news was steady — the tumors in my lungs are still stable. No growth, no new surprises. In the world I'm living in, "stable" is a word worth celebrating. It means I get to stay on the maintenance schedule. It means the treatment is doing its job. It means I get more road ahead of me.

But I also had a question for my oncologist, one that mattered to me in a different way. I've been planning a Route 66 motorcycle trip — something I've looked forward to, something that feels like a reminder of who I am outside of hospitals and scan rooms. The chemo pills, though, come with side effects that don't mix well with long rides. The neuropathy in my hands and feet has been getting worse: numbness, tingling, that strange disconnect between what you feel and what you know is there. On a motorcycle, that's not something you can ignore.

So I asked if I could skip the chemo pills for this round — just this once — to make the trip safer and a little less weighed down by side effects.

It's a small thing in the grand scheme, but it felt like a breath of air I didn't realize I'd been holding. A reminder that even in the middle of treatment, life doesn't have to stop. If you dance with the devil, you might as well lead — and this was me choosing to lead, choosing to take back a little control where I could. Sometimes you get to choose the road, not just the regimen.

So that's where I am now: grateful for stable scans, grateful for a doctor who sees the whole person, and grateful for the chance to chase a stretch of open highway while I can still feel the freedom of it.

One mile at a time.