A Friend Gets Diagnosed

The Blind Cruelty of Cancer

I am trying a quick fix to help break my phone addiction: video games. Yes, it is trading one screen for another. However, playing Xbox golf undoubtedly helps my mind relax more than doomscrolling and checking “likes” and “shares” on my social media posts. Judge me if you wish.

I was sitting on the couch two nights ago, tearing up Bay Hill in a way I could never do in real life, when I saw my phone (placed a healthy distance away on the arm of the couch) buzzing. I looked at the screen, and it said, “John Senning calling.”

Now, hearing from John is nothing out of the ordinary. We text each other more than most married couples. Morning, noon, night. work stuff, life stuff, inspirational stuff, feedback on our separate radio shows, pet stuff, everything. A phone call, though? That’s rare. I don’t know that we’ve called each other more than ten times over the ten years or so we’ve known each other.

Obviously, I answered. He asked, “Have you seen social media in the past few minutes?” I was quite pleased to tell him that, oddly, I had not. I figured it was something radio-related, someone talking smack about someone else, or someone having a meltdown about something.

I wish I were right.

What John told me was shocking and sad: our mutual friend and co-worker, Chase, was diagnosed with colon cancer at just 28 years old.

Immediately, I thought of what I could do for this young man. I don’t need to go into the blind cruelty of cancer. I’ve spent a ton of time writing about that here. “Healthy” people get it. Awesomely positive people get it. Now, a kid who just got engaged, won his second “MVP” award at work, just went to a Lightning game with me a few weeks ago when Sarah had to work…yeah, he got it.

I asked John if he thought it would be cool for me to reach out to Chase and his fiancée. He did. So, I did.

Long story short, too late, I spent over an hour with them in the hospital yesterday before our radio show at the Lightning game. I hope I was able to provide some comfort, inspiration, and insight. Those first 72 hours after a diagnosis are heavy as hell. You’re taking in life-saving information while trying to get your head around the fact that there’s something in your body trying to kill you. Like I told young Chase, it is a mindfuck.

This is where I will leave you, free subscribers, who got a lot more than usual. Our paths must diverge here, though, as only the paid subscribers reap the benefits of full disclosure and insight into my current life and situation. Not sorry.