Please Hold While We Recalculate Your Chemo

There’s a strange sort of enlightenment that happens when your calendar transforms into a Subway Sub Club card. Except instead of stamps, it’s filled with things like “Start arsenic?” “Pause hydroxyurea?” “Maybe lumbar puncture?” and my personal favorite: “Await fish test.”

Discipline and consistency aren’t new concepts for me. I’ve rolled into jiu-jitsu practice with a broken rib. I’ve meal-prepped like a monk. I even floss. But cancer treatment has introduced me to a whole new level of unpredictability.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

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You Can’t Hustle a Bone Marrow Biopsy

In a culture that celebrates optimization and hustle, cancer introduces a humbling truth: you can’t outwork this. You don’t grind your way through chemo. You surrender to it. And sometimes the best way to move forward is to sit still.

You learn to show up, even when the appointment gets bumped, the meds get switched, or the plan changes entirely. You learn patience when your body is rewriting its own chemistry.

Plans Are Guidelines, Not Gospel

There is a treatment plan. It’s written down, color-coded, and sounds definitive. But cancer doesn’t follow bullet points. It freelances.

One day, I’m taking hydroxyurea. The next day, it’s off the schedule. One day, my white blood cell count is spiking. Next, it’s leveling off. This isn’t failure or inconsistency—it’s responsive medicine. It’s the art of adjusting, of listening, of learning as you go. And I’ve come to both resent and respect it.

The Real Training Is Mental

In jiu-jitsu, tapping out means knowing when to let go. It means survival over pride. In cancer, it’s not so different. I’ve tapped out of control. I’ve tapped out of certainty. I’ve tapped out of the belief that discipline alone will get me through this.

But every tap has taught me something.

I’ve learned to ask for help. I’ve learned that my value isn’t based on how much discomfort I can tolerate or how productive I am. I’ve learned that healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s jazz. Some days I feel like Miles Davis. Other days, I’m the guy clapping off-beat in the background.

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Discipline is a solid foundation. But flexibility—that’s the framing. What good is a perfect routine if it can’t bend when life hits hard? What good is consistency if it collapses under chaos?

I still wake up every day with intention. I still track my meds, ask questions, and try to stay active. But I’m also learning to rest. To trust. To respond to what my body is actually telling me.

Cancer doesn’t care how hard I work. But healing might.

No Quarter ~ Tyler