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Grayfeathersblog

~ Diabetes, Cancer Fighter, Father of Twins, Kayak Fishing, Woodcrafter, Lover of Life

Grayfeathersblog

Category Archives: Cancer

Screwed up Appointments, Making Sawdust, The Fish are Waiting, Meeting Boyfriends, 100 Miles of 1000 Bicycle Riders

12 Tuesday May 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Amateur Radio, Arts and Crafts, Cancer, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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adventure, Amateur Radio, Appointment, Bicycle, BoyFriend, Cancer, Cheaha Challenge, Dad, Daughter, 🚓 Doctor Appointment, Engagement, Family, Fishing, health, kayak, Life, River Life, Skin Cancer, Surgery, writing

The title should say it all. It’s already been a busy week, and it’s just getting started. Read on if you want to know more.

My appointment with the dermatologist didn’t exactly go as planned.

Late Friday night, I received the automated reminder call about my surgery appointment at a completely different location. Naturally, that raised a few questions. So first thing Monday morning, I called the office to confirm everything.

The receptionist confidently informed me that my appointment was for a skin check and not surgery.

I questioned her ability to read the schedule correctly, only for her to double down and assure me that she was absolutely correct.

At that point, I had a feeling this was going to become one of those ā€œwell, this ought to be interestingā€ kind of days.

So, despite my suspicions, I drove the thirty minutes to the appointment. Once I got called back, I explained to the nurse that I thought there had been some kind of mistake. I told her I had previously rescheduled my surgery, and somehow the purpose of the visit had gotten mixed up.

She looked at my chart for about ten seconds before agreeing with me.

That was both satisfying and aggravating.

I told her that I had tried explaining that to the receptionist earlier, but apparently my medical degree from the University of Common Sense wasn’t enough to override the computer screen.

The nurse then informed me that if I wanted to reschedule surgery, I would have to speak with the surgery team.

That was the moment I realized surgery was definitely not happening that day.

Nothing brightens your morning quite like driving thirty minutes, burning expensive gas, and finding out you basically took a scenic tour of Alabama for no reason.

After I got home and cooled down a bit, I decided to spend some time in the workshop. I built another planter similar to the one I made for my mother. This one still needs a finish, but I’m thinking about just using shellac and letting the wood speak for itself.

Of course, now I’m already thinking about building a few more. Maybe some of the same size and a couple of larger ones, so I’ll have a little variety. I’ve also got plans for a few different planter designs I want to try.

That’s the problem with woodworking. One project turns into six more before the sawdust settles.

Tomorrow, however, is fishing day. 🐠 šŸŽ£

The kayak is loaded up and ready to go. I even modified my new measuring board by adding foam underneath it so it’ll float.

At least that’s the theory.

I also attached a cord to it because experience has taught me that ā€œfloatingā€ and ā€œrecoverableā€ are two completely different things when something goes overboard in twelve feet of water.

The replacement part for my reel finally came in, so it’s fixed and ready to go, too. I’m looking forward to getting back on the water.

The rest of the week should be fairly uneventful… or at least I thought so until one of my daughters informed my wife and me that she wants us to meet her boyfriend.

That usually means things are getting serious.

For years, she was the daughter who always had a boyfriend, while my other daughter played the role of the ā€œthird wheel.ā€ Now the tables have turned a bit since my other daughter seems to be heading toward engagement territory herself.

As a dad, it’s strange watching all this happen. One minute they’re asking for Happy Meals, and the next minute you’re evaluating boyfriends like you’re conducting job interviews.

And finally, Sunday is the annual Cheaha Challenge bicycle ride. Riders will be taking on routes exceeding 100 miles. I’ll be stationed at Rest Stop #2, handling communications via ham radio, coordinating assistance with bike repairs, and helping ensure riders can get back to the start line if necessary

There are already over 1,000 riders registered, so it’s going to be a long day. We’ll start around 7 a.m. and hopefully wrap up around 4 p.m.

Most years it’s fairly uneventful… but every now and then things can get exciting.

Let’s pray everyone stays safe and upright.

Built with Love (and a Little Bit of Crooked Math)

30 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Arts and Crafts, Cancer, Disability, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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adventure, Appointment, Back Pain, Bible Study, CML, Doctor, Family, gardening, Gift, Handmade, Leukemia, Life, love, Math, Mom, Mother's Day, Pain, Theology, Tools, Woodworking, writing

With Mother’s Day fast approaching, I decided it was time to push through the pain and make something for my mom. She loves plants—like, really loves plants—so I figured a couple of wooden planters would be the perfect gift. Plus, I’ve got a pile of scrap wood that’s been quietly judging me for months, including some cypress fencing material my wife has been not-so-subtly encouraging me to ā€œdo something with.ā€

So, around 9:30 this morning, I dragged all my equipment outside and got to work. By about 11:30, I had everything cut down to size and was feeling pretty good about life. That’s usually the exact moment things take a turn.

I started assembling the first planter and quickly realized something wasn’t right. The pieces weren’t lining up like the plans said they should. Now, the plans called for ¾-inch wood… and I’m working with ½-inch. Details, right? Apparently not. Turns out, those little fractions matter.

Still, I pressed on.

At this point, I’ve got one planter about 90% complete. It’s… let’s just say ā€œcustom shaped.ā€ Not exactly square, which means putting the top boards on requires some math. And if you’ve followed me for any length of time, you already know—math and I are not on speaking terms. I’m pretty sure an angle finder is in my near future, the next time I wander into the store pretending I know what I’m doing.

After spending most of the day bending, lifting, and moving around, my back has officially filed a formal complaint. Sitting usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight I can’t seem to find a position that doesn’t make me question why I thought this was a good idea. The heating pad is doing its best, but the second I move, my back reminds me who’s really in charge. I took a pain pill earlier, but it’s apparently operating on its own schedule.

After looking at what I’ve completed on this planter, I’m not really happy with it. It’s one of those projects that looked a whole lot better in my head than it does sitting in front of me. So, there’s a good chance this one becomes a ā€œkeep it at the houseā€ planter, and I’ll come up with something else for Mom.

I guess you could say this was my practice run… whether I planned it that way or not.

It all really depends on how I’m feeling after this upcoming pain block. If I can get a little relief and move around without feeling like my back is plotting against me, I may give it another shot and build something I’m actually proud to give her.

If not, well… Mom may be getting something a little less handmade and a little more store-bought this year—and honestly, she’ll probably love it just the same.

As for doctor updates, I’ve now got two appointments lined up—one with the orthopedic in mid-June and another with a pain specialist next Thursday. I’m hoping the pain specialist can help take the edge off until June gets here.

And yes, I’ll admit it… I probably shouldn’t have stayed out on that kayak as long as I did last Thursday. But I’ll still argue it was worth it. I needed that time on the water—maybe just not that much time.

Tomorrow looks like it’ll be a recliner day. I plan on catching up on my Bible study material for Tuesday morning. Theology isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’m giving it my best shot—kind of like woodworking and math.

I also had a visit with my oncologist last week. My iron levels were low again, so they gave me a shot of Epoetin alfa to help boost my red blood cell production. They also ran my BCR-ABL1 test to check on my CML. The last several tests over the past six months have come back non-detectable, which is great news. I’m curious to see how this one turns out, though—it seems like those numbers like to keep me guessing. Should have results in a few days.

Other than that, things are pretty quiet around here. I’ll finish up that planter (eventually), survive the math, and hopefully have something worth showing for it.

I’ll check back in when I’ve got something else to write about… or when the second planter decides to humble me too.

It’s Not the End of the Road

27 Monday Apr 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Cancer, Depression, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Uncategorized

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adventure, Anger, appointments, Babies, Blogging, Cancer, CML, Depression, Diagnosis, Dreams, Emotions, Family, Help, Journey, Kids, Leukemia, Life, love, Medications, mental-health, Support, writing

Just a quick post.

I have Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). I was diagnosed back in 2014. I’m not going to lie—when I first heard those words, I thought my world had come to an end.

I was devastated.
I got depressed.
I was angry at everything and everyone.

I couldn’t even carry on a simple conversation without it turning into something it didn’t need to be. In short, I wasn’t exactly easy to live with.

The truth is, everything I felt is something a lot of people experience when they hear the word ā€œcancer.ā€ That flood of emotions hits hard. But what I’ve learned since then is this—there is always hope, no matter the diagnosis.

I follow several CML groups online, and I try to help people who are just starting this journey and struggling to process it all.

Last night, I came across a post from a young woman who had just been diagnosed with CML. She was going through the same emotions I went through—fear, anger, and the overwhelming feeling that her life was over. She had just gotten married and was planning to start a family, but now she was ready to give up on that dream. Her husband, loving her the way he does, was willing to give that up, too.

That hit me.

So I reached out to her privately.

I told her what I wish someone had made crystal clear to me in the beginning: things have changed. Years ago, this diagnosis looked very different. Today, it’s not the same story.

There are medications now that can control this disease. It may not be something that just disappears, but it’s something many people live with—and live well with.

I also told her I understood exactly what she was feeling, because I had been there—the anger, the depression, the uncertainty. And I let her know she didn’t have to go through it alone.

And I told her about this blog—about my life after diagnosis, the ups and downs, the fishing trips, the everyday moments. I wanted her to see that there is still a life to live after hearing those words.

Honestly, I didn’t expect a response.

But she wrote back.

And after several messages, I could tell something had shifted. Knowing that someone else had been walking this road since 2014—and is still here—gave her a different perspective. It even made her reconsider the idea that her future, including having a family, might not be over after all.

That right there is why I share my story.

CML is not a death sentence. It’s a bump in the road. A big one sometimes—but not a roadblock.

My numbers still go up and down like a rollercoaster. Some months are good, some aren’t. But it’s been that way long enough that it doesn’t shake me like it used to.

Life goes on.

And that’s exactly what I told her—live your life. Keep your appointments. Take your medication. Listen to your doctor.

But don’t stop living.

Because this diagnosis doesn’t mean the end of your story.

My Hobbies Are Cheaper Than Therapy (Mostly)

05 Thursday Mar 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Amateur Radio, Cancer, Depression, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Uncategorized, Woodworking

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books, escape, Fishing, hands on, health, Hobbies, Kindle, Life, Mental, mental-health, Nature, Reading, Stress, traveling, Woodworking, writing

Let’s talk about hobbies.

Hobbies can serve many purposes. AI summarizes them as follows:

  • Provide relaxation and stress relief from daily pressures
  • Foster creativity and self-expression through various activities
  • Enhance skills and knowledge in specific areas of interest
  • Promote social connections and friendships with like-minded individuals
  • Improve mental health and overall well-being through enjoyable pursuits
  • Offer a sense of accomplishment and personal fulfillment

I’ll have to agree with most of these, but a couple stand out more than others for me. The ones that stand out the most are relaxation, creativity, self-expression, and mental health. Most importantly, mental health.

I’ll be the first to admit, and my wife would be the first to agree, that I have way too many hobbies. A short list would include fishing (of course), reading, woodworking, Amateur Radio, camping, and cooking. If I’m being completely honest, the list is probably a little longer than that, but I’ll stop there before my wife reads this and starts counting.

I’m not someone who enjoys just sitting around the house. I have to be doing something. I love the outdoors and enjoy most anything that takes me outside, whether it’s camping or traveling somewhere just for the day. Sitting still for too long makes me feel like something must be broken… or worse, that someone is about to hand me a chore.

I’ve always been good with my hands, and I enjoy making things out of wood or repairing things that need fixing. When I was a kid, I used to get into trouble because I was always taking things apart just to see how they worked. The only problem was that I wasn’t always successful at putting them back together. Apparently, parents don’t appreciate curiosity when it involves their appliances.

On rainy days, I like to curl up with a good book that allows my mind to travel to places I may never be able to visit. Reading also helps take my mind off the stresses of the day.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that people are reading this who have far greater health concerns than I do. But regardless of your health, you may have had a bad day at work, an argument with your spouse, or just received a bill you know you can’t pay. Each of us faces stress in our lives that can be difficult to deal with.

Because of that, each of us needs to find some sort of escape—a place where we can go, even if it’s only for a short time, to gather our thoughts. Sometimes, that time allows us to find a way to deal with the situation at hand. Other times, it helps us realize we need to talk with someone who can help us sort things out.

As an outsider, I can’t tell you what to do. I can only offer suggestions about what works for me.

When I find myself in a situation where I know I’m going to be stressed, I grab my Kindle and start reading. Before I knew it, my mind had drifted away from whatever was bothering me. For example, the wreck I had the other day has been stressing me out more than it probably should. There’s nothing I can do right now but wait for the police report to be submitted. Unfortunately, patience has never been one of my stronger qualities.

But when I picked up my Kindle and started reading, before long my mind was somewhere else entirely—and not thinking about insurance adjusters, body shops, or police reports.

I also have the unfortunate routine of visiting the doctor for lab work or appointments at least three times a month—sometimes more. This week alone, I had three appointments, and the month has just started. At this point, I’m starting to feel like the waiting room staff should just give me my own assigned chair.

Thankfully, I enjoy reading. Last year, I read 45 books, and quite a few of them were finished while waiting for a doctor to call my name. I also read quite a bit before going to bed. It helps me relax and takes away some of the stress from the day.

Another hobby I’ve written about before is fishing. Of course, I enjoy catching fish when I go, but honestly, that’s only part of it. What I enjoy most is the solitude. Being out there gives me time to think without distractions.

Sometimes I’ll paddle out to the middle of the river, set the paddle down, and just listen to the birds and the other sounds of nature. Every once in a while, a fish even cooperates and jumps on the hook just to make the trip look productive.

To me, that’s more relaxing than just about anything else I’ve found.

Most of the time, I come home from a fishing trip in a better mood—whether I catch anything or not. Of course, catching something does make the ride home a little sweeter. It also helps justify all the fishing gear I’ve somehow managed to accumulate over the years.

I guess what this post really boils down to is this:

Find your happy place.

Find a place where you can go—either physically or mentally—to relax and get away from it all. Only you will know where that place is.

Stress has a way of dragging us down, sometimes to a place where it becomes very difficult to climb back out. I’ve been there, and I know what it feels like.

Luckily, I was able to find my place and climb my way back before the stress got to a point where I couldn’t.

And that’s why hobbies matter more than most people realize.

Insurance Knows Best… Supposedly

25 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Cancer, Diabetic, Disability, Family, Leukemia, Life, Photography, Retirement, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

co-pay, cost, Diagnoses, Doctors, Drugs, health, health-insurance, healthcare, Insurance, Medicare, Medication, Pharmacy, prescriptions, rejection, research

Doctor Says Yes… Insurance Says ā€œWe’ll Think About Itā€

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Doctors, diagnoses, prescriptions, Medicare, insurance, and denial — those are words that seem to follow me around these days. Sometimes I think dealing with the medical system is almost a full-time job. If they paid by the appointment, I’d be drawing a salary by now.

One thing I’ve never quite understood is how a doctor can go to school for years, train for years more, examine you personally, and decide what medication you need — only for the insurance company to step in and say, ā€œNope, we don’t think so.ā€

Apparently, somewhere a person is sitting behind a desk who knows more about my condition than the doctor who actually saw me.

I worked for a health insurance company for 32 years before I retired. I was in the maintenance department, which meant I fixed things like doors and lights — not insurance claims. Still, people who knew where I worked would often ask me why their medication was denied even though their doctor prescribed it.

I always had to explain that just because I worked there didn’t mean I knew anything about insurance decisions.

Truth be told, I still don’t.

A good example is what happened recently with my son. He was prescribed medication for severe sleep deprivation. His previous insurance covered it, and he was happy because they had finally found something that actually worked.

Then he changed jobs.

His new insurance company now says the medication is ā€œnot medically necessary.ā€ I guess sleeping is optional now.

The doctors now think he might have sleep apnea and ordered a sleep study. Before he even got scheduled, he got a phone call saying the test would cost over $2,000 because his insurance wouldn’t cover it.

He’s a young man with a mortgage, a car payment, and utility bills. In other words, he’s living in the real world — the one where people don’t just have $2,000 laying around for a test that might help them sleep at night.

Meanwhile, I realize I’m one of the fortunate ones. Because of my disabilities, I qualify for Medicare, and because I worked for an insurance company, I retired with a good supplemental plan. That combination gives me coverage that many people would love to have.

I don’t pay co-pays for doctor visits. I don’t pay for emergency room visits. Every time I leave the hospital, the bill says I owe exactly zero dollars, which is my favorite number.

I do pay for some medications, but not a lot.

One medication I take costs about $20,000 for a 30-day supply.

Yes, twenty thousand dollars.

For that price, I feel like it ought to come with a steak dinner and a weekend vacation.

Fortunately, the drug company offers a $0 co-pay card because they know insurance only pays part of the cost. Thanks to that program, I don’t pay a penny for a medication that costs more than some cars.

I consider myself blessed, because there are people who need this same drug and simply can’t get it because they don’t have the right insurance. That part isn’t funny at all.

When I ask why the drug costs so much, I’m told it’s because of all the research that went into developing it. I understand that research costs money, but sometimes I wonder if the scientists also built a few vacation homes along the way.

After being on this medication for a while, I feel like I’ve personally contributed a pretty fair share toward paying for that research — and I know some folks have been on it a lot longer than I have.

I don’t know what the answer is. Doctors are trying to help people. Insurance companies are trying to control costs. Drug companies are trying to recover research money.

And patients are just trying to stay alive without going broke in the process.

Maybe one day there will be a system where if your doctor says you need something, you can actually get it without filling out forms, making phone calls, and saying a small prayer first.

Until then, I guess we’ll just keep taking our prescriptions — and a healthy dose of patience right along with them.

Dutch Ovens, Daughters, and the Coming of Spring

22 Sunday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Boy Scouts, Cancer, diet, Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Photography, Retirement

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anemia, BBQ, Boy Scouts, camping, Cooking, Daughter, Dinner, Dutch Oven, Engagement, Family, Fishing, Food, Marriage, recipe, Recipes, Seasons, Spring, Summer, Weather, Yard Work

In just a few hours, spring will arrive… in 25 days. That may sound like I failed math, but when you’ve spent the winter cold to your bones, you start announcing spring like it’s breaking news.

I cannot wait for consistent 70-degree days. Since being diagnosed with anemia, anything under 75 degrees feels personal. I walk around my house in a zip-up hoodie while the thermostat is set at 72, which apparently is ā€œcomfortableā€ for everyone else. For me, 72 feels like I’m storing meat in a deep freezer. I’m convinced the power company, and I have a mutual understanding: I keep the heat reasonable, and they don’t require a second mortgage.

Spring means I can finally venture outside without dressing in layers like I’m summiting Mount Everest.

It means yard work — and believe me, there’s no shortage of it around here. I actually enjoy yard work. There’s something satisfying about looking at a freshly mowed lawn or trimmed bushes and thinking, ā€œYes, I did that.ā€ Of course, by next week, it looks like I never touched it, but for those few hours, it’s glorious.

Spring also means camping. I love camping, especially in early spring and fall when the nights are cool enough to sleep well but not so cold that you question every life decision that led you to sleeping on the ground. There’s just something peaceful about waking up to cool air and the smell of coffee brewing outside.

But this summer will feel different.

With my scouting days behind me, camping won’t be automatic anymore. For 25 years, Scouts were built into my calendar. Camping trips, summer camps, weekend outings — it was just part of life. There’s been talk of some of us former leaders getting together for a trip, but so far it’s been more nostalgia than reservations. This will be the first summer in a quarter of a century without Scouts in it. That’s going to take some getting used to.

Of course, there’s always fishing.

I can’t go fishing enough. If I could, I’d go every day of the week. One of my favorite memories happened last year when I took one of my daughters out fishing. We had tried a couple of years before, but that trip ended with a fishing hook buried in my finger and a quick trip to the hospital. The wind shifted, the kayak jerked, and suddenly I was the one being reeled in.

My daughter still blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault. Sometimes the wind just has other plans.

Last year’s trip was redemption. She caught several bass — the first she had ever caught. I was so thankful I was there for it. There’s something special about being present for those moments. You don’t realize at the time how much they’ll mean later.

And speaking of later, she recently announced that she and her boyfriend will be getting engaged. That’s supposed to be a secret, so if you’re reading this, you didn’t hear it from me.

Life changes. Seasons change. Kids grow up. And apparently, future sons-in-law don’t fish. I’m hoping she and I will still carve out a day or two to hit the water together. Some traditions are worth holding onto.

Spring also means outdoor cooking — and that may be what I’m most excited about. Grilling on the BBQ, cooking in my Dutch ovens — I love it. My love for cooking really started when I got involved in Scouts with my son. One of the dads in the troop took the time to teach me the art of Dutch oven cooking. And yes, I call it an art. There’s something about managing coals, timing, and recipes that feels almost sacred.

I always made sure at least one meal a day on a camping trip was cooked in a Dutch oven. If someone said, ā€œI don’t know what to cook,ā€ I’d hand them my trusty Dutch oven cookbook and say, ā€œWell, you’re about to find out.ā€ Most of the time, they did just fine.

Now it’s just my wife and me at home. The only problem is that most Dutch oven recipes feed ten or more people. So unless we’re planning to eat the same meal the next two weeks, I’ve had to make some adjustments. Turns out, retirement requires learning how to cook for two instead of twenty.

But maybe that’s what this season is about — adjusting. Letting go of some routines while holding onto the things that matter. Finding new rhythms. Creating new traditions.

And counting down the days until it’s warm enough for me to take this hoodie off inside my own house.

Twenty-five days and counting.

Kayak, Quiet, and Keeping It Together; Out There, I Found Myself Again

11 Wednesday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Cancer, Depression, Fishing, Kayaking, Leukemia, Life, Nature, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

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Cancer, Cell Service, Communication, Depression, Diabetes, Dialysis, Fishing, Garmin Mini InReach, GPS, health, kayak, Kayaking, kidney failure, Leukemia, Life, love, mental-health, Nature, religious, satellite, solitude, writing

My fishing buddy texted me Monday night asking if we were still meeting for breakfast Tuesday morning—a morning ritual we started a few months back. For the second time in two weeks, I had to tell him no because of doctor appointments. I worry that he thinks I’m brushing him off, but honestly, that’s not the case at all.

We’re both at an age—and health status—where we really shouldn’t go fishing alone. He’s 72 and has had five strokes. Thankfully, his health has improved a great deal, and I’m not overly worried about the two of us being out in an area with no cell service for hours on end. I carry a Mini InReach, a satellite communicator that allows me to send and receive text messages via satellite if things go sideways and help is needed. It even has an SOS button. If either of us were to have a medical emergency, pressing that button would send our GPS coordinates to rescuers. It might take a few hours, but help would be on the way.

I’m 62, and if you’ve read any of my posts, you already know I have my own long list of health concerns. Having a partner with you in a place where two-way communication is sketchy isn’t just a good idea—it’s warranted.

But it comes at a cost.

Sometimes, I need to be alone. I enjoy getting out in my kayak, stopping for a while, and just absorbing the sounds of nature. It’s where I have one-on-one time with my God. Rick is always nearby, as he should be, but I no longer feel like I truly get that quiet space. If I slow down to let him get ahead, he stops too, probably just to make sure nothing’s wrong.

When I first started kayak fishing, I went alone. Rick didn’t have a kayak then. Back then, my world felt like it was closing in on me. My cancer numbers were out of control, my kidneys were failing, and dialysis felt like the only road left in front of me. I was depressed, scared, and felt more lost than I ever had in my life.

Being out in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by silence, by peace, by the kind of beauty only God could create—gave me something I couldn’t find anywhere else. It gave me room to breathe. It gave me space to think. It gave me a place where I could be honest about how scared I really was. Sometimes it didn’t fix anything… but sometimes it gave me just enough strength to get through one more day.

I needed that time alone. It wasn’t about fishing. It wasn’t about getting away from people. It was survival. It was the only place where I felt I could truly talk to God and not feel like I had to be strong for anyone else.

This isn’t meant to be a religious post. I don’t use this platform for politics, religion, or controversy. This is simply how I dealt with a situation that felt completely out of my control.

I hope each of us has a place we can go—a place of solitude, reflection, prayer, or even just quiet—where we can catch our breath when life feels too heavy.

And I want to ask something, not as a writer, not as someone posting on social media, but as someone who knows what it feels like to be overwhelmed:

How do you deal with depression?
When you feel like things are getting out of control, how do you hold on?
What helps you get through the days when everything feels heavier than it should?

Because the truth is… someone reading this right now might be barely holding on.
Someone might be smiling on the outside and falling apart on the inside.
Someone might just need to know they’re not the only one fighting that battle.

If you have something that helps you keep going, share it.
You might help someone more than you will ever know.

When Your Brain Hits the Snooze Button

09 Monday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Cancer, Disability, Leukemia, Life, Pets, Retirement, Uncategorized

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argument, brain, Brain Fog, Breakfast, Chemotherapy, Devotional, Food, Forgetfulness, health, Meditation, recipe, Recipes, Sleep

Brain fog is working overtime this morning.

My cat got me up earlier than normal, so I started my day the usual way — getting my coffee going and sitting down to do my daily devotional. Afterward, I usually sit in the darkness for a bit to reflect on what I just read and mentally prepare myself for the rest of the day. That normally lasts about 15 to 20 minutes, depending on what I have planned.

Evidently, today I went into a deep sleep while doing so.
So instead of reflecting on scripture, I apparently reflected on the inside of my eyelids.

I got up, went into the kitchen, took a bowl out of the cabinet, and proceeded to pour cereal into it when my wife walked into the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I could only look at her with what I assume was a very strange look on my face — the same look Windows gives right before it crashes.

Normally, when someone is pouring cereal into a bowl, it means they’re about to eat breakfast. So I told her I was fixing breakfast.

She then informed me that I had already eaten breakfast.

A small argument began.

ā€œNo, I haven’t,ā€ I replied, with the confidence of a man who clearly has no idea what he’s talking about.

She then pointed to the kitchen sink where an empty bowl with a spoon sat. Next to it was an empty plate with a fork — the same plate where I had apparently made myself a sausage patty earlier.

I honestly don’t remember eating breakfast this morning. But the evidence was sitting right there in the sink like a crime scene I had committed against breakfast foods.

I took the bowl of cereal, poured it back into the cereal box (because groceries are too expensive to waste), and went to sit down — feeling beaten and confused.

It made me wonder… how many times have I done something like this before and not remembered it? I think this was the first time with breakfast. Otherwise, I probably would have noticed empty dishes in the sink and wondered if we had a very polite burglar who only steals memories and leaves dishes.

What I do know is that during conversations, I can forget things right in the middle of saying them, and it’s frustrating. Sure, I know as you get older your brain starts playing games with you, but this feels different.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve done the classic ā€œwalk into a room and forget why I’m thereā€ routine. I’ll leave one room, get halfway down the hall, and forget where I was going or what I needed. At this point, I just assume I live in the hallway now.

But lately, it feels… bigger than that.

I’ve also quit arguing with my wife about things that come up missing. I used to accuse her of moving things and not remembering where she put them — when in fact, it was me who moved them and can’t remember doing it. Turns out the call was coming from inside the house… and by house, I mean my brain.

I go back to the doctor on Tuesday, and if I can remember, this will definitely be one of the topics I bring up. I’m not sure if there’s anything they can do, but at least it will be on record.

And maybe — just maybe — tomorrow I’ll only eat breakfast once.

When a Routine Becomes a Memory

03 Tuesday Feb 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Boy Scouts, Cancer, Diabetic, Disability, Life, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

awards, blood, Bloodwork, Boy Scouts, camping, ceremony, Coffee, Doctor, Dutch Oven, health, labwork, leader, Life, mental-health, needles, Scouts, writing

Tuesdays are my long days.

They start at 4:00 a.m. — rolling out of bed, grabbing a shower, getting dressed, and heading straight to the kitchen for the first of what will be four cups of coffee. Tuesday mornings mean Bible study across town at 6:00 a.m., so once my first 22-ounce cup is ready, I sit at the kitchen table and go over the material we’ll be covering later that morning. Sometimes I’ll pour a bowl of cereal while I drink my coffee and wake up enough to be conversational.

This morning, though, I lost track of time. One coffee refill turned into ā€œoh wow, I need to leave now.ā€

I left the house about ten minutes later than normal, thinking I could make up the time on the drive. That thought lasted right up until I hit a blocked road. Detour ahead. The detour added about twenty minutes to my drive, which pretty much killed any hope of being early. And I’m one of those people who would rather be thirty minutes early than five minutes late. I ended up pulling in right at 6:00 a.m. — which, technically, is on time… but still feels late to me.

Normally, after Bible study, I head back toward home and stop for breakfast with one of my fishing buddies. Not today. Today was lab work day, which meant going to the doctor’s office to give blood. Ever since I lost all this weight, nurses seem to have trouble getting blood from me without sticking me multiple times. Either the blood stops flowing, or my veins decide to roll out of the way like they’re dodging responsibility.

This morning was no different. Three sticks before they found a vein that cooperated long enough to get what they needed.

After lab work, I went across the street to a diner and grabbed a breakfast sandwich to go. Once I got home, I spent most of the afternoon working on Boy Scout awards. We’ve got an awards ceremony for the young men in our troop this Saturday, and everything had to be sorted and organized. Of course, I found out I’m missing some awards, so tomorrow it’s back to the Scout office to track those down.

Tuesday nights are — or maybe I should say were — Scout nights for me.

Tonight was my last regular Tuesday night with the Boy Scouts. We have the awards ceremony on Saturday, and that will be my last official night serving as a leader. I’m not going to say much more about that until after Saturday. I’ve got something in mind that I’ll be writing about and posting here once everything is finished. All I’ll say for now is… it’s bittersweet.

After the meeting, some of the leaders stayed behind talking about old times and even tossing around ideas about future camping trips. I haven’t been home long, and it’s getting late. I’m not really sure what my Tuesday evenings will look like starting next week. Part of me is a little sad… and part of me is relieved.

I do have a training class starting next month that will fall on Tuesdays, but it’s only for eight weeks. After that? I guess we’ll see what new routine Tuesday decides to become.

When “Stable” Is a Standing Ovation

30 Friday Jan 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Cancer, Diabetic, diet, Leukemia, Life, Uncategorized, Weight Loss

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Diagnosis, Dialysis, Doctor, eGFR, energy, Flood, health, Hemoglobin, Hospital, infusion, Iron, Kidney, kidney disease, kidney failure, Kidneys, Life, Medical, Nepgrologist, Oncologist, wellness

My nephrologist called me the other day to reschedule my appointment. Apparently, the hospital had a flood on the top floor, and their offices were flooded as well. Because when you’re already dealing with kidney issues, why not throw in some surprise indoor rain?

As a result, they had to temporarily move their offices to one of their satellite locations in a nearby city. The day before my appointment, they called again and asked if we could just do a teleconference instead. Same time, same doctor, no driving, and no pants required from the waist down—absolutely.

My lab work had already been done a couple of weeks earlier, and because I like to mentally prepare myself for either good news or emotional damage, I had my results emailed directly to me. Now, I’m not a doctor, and I don’t pretend to understand every number on those reports, but there are a few that I follow very closely.

First up is eGFR, or estimated Glomerular Filtration Rate. This number tells you how well your kidneys are filtering your blood. A normal range is between 90 and 120—numbers I personally haven’t seen in a while and would probably frame if they ever showed up again.

  • 60–89 is Stage 2 kidney disease
  • 45–59 is Stage 3a
  • 30–44 is Stage 3b
  • 15–29 is Stage 4
  • Below 15 means kidney failure, and dialysis becomes a very real conversation

Then there’s Creatinine, a waste product filtered by the kidneys. In simple terms, the higher the number, the worse things are working. Think of it as your kidneys’ performance review—lower is better.

The last big number I keep an eye on is hemoglobin, the protein responsible for carrying oxygen throughout your body. This one has a direct impact on how much energy I have, which explains why some days I feel like I could conquer the world, and other days I need a nap after tying my shoes. Normal range is 13.2-17.1

So here are the numbers I focus on:

  • eGFR: 35
  • Creatinine: 2.09
  • Hemoglobin: 10.5

Now yes, an eGFR of 35 doesn’t exactly scream ā€œpicture of perfect health,ā€ but context is everything. Last year, that number was 14. At that point, my doctor was already talking about my next visit being with a dialysis specialist. That’s not a meeting you look forward to.

So going from 14 to 35? I’ll call that a solid upgrade.

My creatinine also improved significantly—from 4.29 last year down to just over 2. Another small victory, but I’ll gladly stack those wins wherever I can get them.

Hemoglobin, however, continues to do whatever it wants. It fluctuates so much that I regularly need iron infusions. My oncologist thinks it’s related to my kidney function, while my nephrologist believes it’s tied to the chemo drug I’m on. At this point, I feel like the two of them should arm wrestle, and whoever wins gets to be right.

When the call wrapped up, my nephrologist said she was happy with where things are. She even used the word ā€œstable.ā€

And if you’ve never dealt with chronic illness, ā€œstableā€ might sound underwhelming. But when you live in this world, stable is a beautiful word.

Stable means no dialysis—for now.
Stable means nothing is getting worse.
Stable means today is better than last year.

So yeah, I’ll take stable.
No complaints.
And preferably without any more floods—indoor or otherwise.

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