LET’S LEAD WITH THE HEADLINE AGAIN, PEOPLE: I AM DONE WITH CHEMO. FOR GOOD.

Wednesday, August 19th, 2026. Last infusion. Ever.

For the last year and a half…nearly every three weeks, I drive to Dallas, have a huge needle put in my chest, take on a series of cancer-fighting meds, and drive back to Waco. On Wednesday, that needle came out for the last time.

Longtime readers know that UT Southwestern doesn’t do the bell. They’re mindful that not everybody gets to ring one, and I’ve always respected that, but I did get a certificate signed by every single one of my nurses.

I held it together through the hugs. I held it together through the goodbyes. I held it together across the lobby, out the doors, and into the parking garage. I made it roughly eleven steps from the car before I came apart completely. Sat down in the driver’s seat and cried like a man who’d been holding his breath for eighteen months and finally remembered he was allowed to exhale.

Now for the part where 2026 clears its throat and reminds me it isn’t finished with me yet.

A couple of months back at physical therapy, something in my abdomen felt wrong. Not painful-wrong. Structurally wrong. The kind of wrong where your body files a complaint it doesn’t have words for. An ultrasound found what I’d already suspected…I had torn a hole in my abdominal wall at my old ostomy site.

It has not gotten better. It has gotten bigger. It’s now sitting right around half an inch.

Half an inch is nothing on a tape measure and an absolute deal-breaker when it comes to muscle tissue.

On September 16, I’m going back under, robotically, to have my abdominal muscles sewn back together with a support mesh installed for reinforcement. Essentially, they’re patching the wall and then bolting a plate over the patch.

I’d be grateful for your prayers on that date.

Which brings me to the part that actually stings. I’ve had to stop training for the triathlon relay. The swim leg was going to be my victory lap and instead my abdominal wall threw a rod and is waiting on a mechanic. I am not done with that pool, though. The second I’m cleared to swim, I’m back in it, and Claire is already looking for Tri-Relays for early next year.

Also…and I promise I am not making this up for content…my dermatologist found skin cancer on the right side of my face. I had it removed via MOHS at UT Southwestern on July 9th. Clean margins, scar healing nicely, no further treatment needed.

At this point, the right side of my body should probably be placed on some kind of watch list, which my oncologist agrees with and about a month after I heal from the hernia surgery, we will baseline with a full body MRI. 

Okay. Enough of that. Let’s talk about actually living, because I did a whole lot of it this summer.

I had the kids for three weeks of summer break and we spent two of them in Alaska.

Moose Pass, Seward, and Talkeetna, three different AirBnBs, and we came at that state from every direction it has. Ground, sea, river, air, and glacier. If there was a way to move across Alaska, the three of us did it.

We also got into the 30% club. Multiple days. For the uninitiated, only about three in ten visitors ever actually see Denali (now being renamed back to Mt. McKinley)…the mountain makes its own weather and it hides behind it most of the time. We saw it over and over, like it was showing off for us.

Watching Norah and Beau stand on a glacier we landed a bush plane on and try to process what they were looking at is a memory I will be carrying to the end. Last summer I was a sentient pile of laundry. This summer I was on a glacier with my kids. It was one of the best trips of my life and I don’t say that loosely.

Then last week, Dad and I loaded up with four of our closest tractor buddies and ran a six-day road trip up the east coast…Maryland, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. Thirteen tractor and engine museums and private collections in six days.

I was in pain for essentially all of it but did not care even a little. Top ten trip of my life, easily. There is something about standing in a series of giant buildings across these states, looking at iron that’s been running since before your grandfather was born that recalibrates a man.

And the salsa garden was a complete triumph. Jalapeños, sweet peppers, tomatoes, 1015s…all of it came in. One hundred percent success rate on everything and the only ingredients I didn’t grow were the cilantro and garlic. 

So here’s where I stand.

Chemo is behind me forever. There’s a hole in my gut with a date on the calendar. My face has a new scar and my abdomen is about to get a few more. I saw a mountain most people never see, with my kids standing next to me. I put my hands on hundred-year-old iron alongside my father and my friends. And I grew enough peppers to supply a small restaurant.

The scoreboard reads pretty good from where I’m sitting.

September 16th. Prayers appreciated. I’ll report back from the other side.

Here are the highlight pics from Alaska:       https://photos.app.goo.gl/r2ST2Hskik2qoxwLA