Tag Archives: mental-health

I Just Wanted a Burger, Not a Lecture

26 Monday Jan 2026

Posted by in Life, Uncategorized

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Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Pexels.com

I’ve been debating on posting this for a long time, and honestly, I really didn’t have a reason to—until just recently.

I was at a drive-through the other day, placing an order like I’ve done a thousand times before. When I pulled up to the window, I addressed the person there as “ma’am.” Simple. Automatic. The way I was raised.

And that’s when the wheels came off the wagon.

I had made the mistake of identifying the person at the window as the wrong gender. My mistake. I went purely by appearance. I’m one of those people who tends to call it like I see it. If it quacks like a duck, it must be a duck…right?

Apparently not.

The person at the window immediately began to chastise me for not reading their mind.

Now, let me stop right here and say this: I wasn’t trying to insult, provoke, belittle, or make a statement. I wasn’t being sarcastic. I wasn’t trying to be clever. I was just ordering food. Hungry, slightly impatient, and completely unprepared for a pop quiz on modern social navigation.

I also want to be clear about something else. I don’t do political posts. I avoid them on purpose. If someone wants to label this as political, then congratulations—this will officially be my first and last one.

Here’s where I stand, plain and simple. If you’re a man and want to be a woman, so be it. If you’re a woman and want to be a man, so be it. If you identify as non-binary, or something else entirely, that’s your life and your choice. It’s not my job to run it, and it’s not my place to stop you.

But I also don’t believe it’s reasonable to expect strangers to instantly know what’s in your head.

Somewhere along the line, something that used to be automatic—sir, ma’am, he, she—has become a minefield. And the expectation, at least in that moment, was that I should somehow know the correct answer before the question was ever asked.

That’s the part that stuck with me.

We live in a time when communication is supposedly easier than ever. We’ve got phones, apps, and watches that tell us to stand up and breathe. And yet, basic human interaction feels more complicated than ever. Instead of conversation, correction. Instead of grace, assumption.

Here’s the honest truth: I’m going to get things wrong sometimes. Not out of hate. Not out of stubbornness. Not out of disrespect. But because I’m human, I’m older than Google, and I grew up in a world where appearances usually matched labels.

And maybe the better answer—for all of us—is a little more patience.

If I misidentify you, tell me. I’ll listen. I’ll adjust. I’m not above learning. But I don’t believe shame, scolding, or public correction at a fast-food window is how understanding is built. Respect shouldn’t be a weapon; it should be a bridge.

Life’s already heavy enough. We’re all carrying something. A bad day. A loss. A diagnosis. A bill we don’t know how to pay. The last thing we need is to turn a cheeseburger exchange into a courtroom drama.

So this isn’t a rant. And it’s not a political crusade. It’s one simple request from one imperfect human to another:

If I get it wrong, tell me. Don’t try to teach a lesson. Don’t draw a line in the sand. Just tell me.

Because I’m not your enemy. I’m just a guy in a drive-through trying to buy lunch.

And if we’ve reached a point in life where a stranger deserves a public scolding instead of a quiet correction, then maybe the real thing we’ve lost isn’t proper labels.

Maybe it’s grace.

Can You Hear Me Now?

15 Thursday Jan 2026

Posted by in Family, Life

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For many Americans today, the answer was a resounding “No!” Verizon Wireless went down, and just like that, millions of us were spiritually transported back to 1983. Society wobbled. Productivity plummeted. Somewhere, a teenager had to actually talk to someone.

With our phones suddenly reduced to very expensive paperweights, many of us were forced to resort to smoke signals, carrier pigeons, and aggressively refreshing the screen like that was going to fix anything.

I was sitting in a doctor’s waiting room when it happened, and it was better than cable. People kept picking up their phones… staring at them… turning them sideways… tapping them harder… then setting them back down. Five seconds later? Same ritual. Over and over. It looked like a support group for the technologically dependent.
Full disclosure: I was absolutely one of them.

We’ve grown so accustomed to grabbing our phones to check Facebook, watch a YouTube video, text a friend or spouse, or occasionally even make an actual phone call. When that little pocket computer doesn’t work, it feels like someone unplugged part of our brain. I half expected a nurse to walk in and say, “Sir, you seem confused… do you know what year it is?”

We’ve lost the art of voice communication. Kids will sit around the breakfast table and text their friends instead of talking to the rest of the family. You can have four people in the same room, all on their phones, silently sharing videos with people who aren’t there. These little glowing rectangles have become idols that we worship. We can’t seem to live without them — not even for a couple of hours. If the Wi-Fi hiccups, we act like we’re auditioning for a survival show.

I’m old enough to remember the dark ages — before pocket computers ruled our lives. Back when a “dead zone” meant the phone cord wouldn’t reach the couch. If you were bored in a waiting room, you didn’t scroll… you committed. You read a six-year-old magazine about kitchen remodeling. You memorized a poster about heartburn. You judged people quietly.
And somehow… we lived to tell the tale.

Granted, there was a moment today when I really wished I could call or text my wife to let her know I’d be making a few stops on the way home. Instead, I found myself longing for the return of phone booths — the kind where you could pull over, squeeze inside, dig a quarter out of the cup holder, and make an honest-to-goodness phone call.

No apps.
No passwords.
No updates.
No, “your call is very important to us.”

Just a dial tone, the smell of warm plastic, and the unsettling feeling that the last person in there may have been a superhero… or a criminal.

Maybe today’s outage was a good reminder that the world won’t end if our phones stop working. Conversations still exist. Eye contact is still legal. And boredom, while uncomfortable, won’t actually kill us — though judging by that waiting room, several people were close.

So if you need me, I’ll be over here practicing my smoke signals, teaching kids how to communicate using actual words, and checking my cup holder… just in case phone booths ever make a comeback.

Please Hold…My Brain is Loading

11 Sunday Jan 2026

Posted by in bariatric-surgery, Cancer, Family, Leukemia, Weight Loss

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When I started this blog some years ago, it was mainly meant to be a diary of sorts — a place to vent and to voice my opinions. Gaining an audience was never part of the plan. This was more “Dear Diary” than “Dear Internet.” It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with CML that I decided to use this platform to write about my experiences with cancer and maybe, just maybe, help some other poor soul going through the same thing.

As with most things in life, plans change. Sometimes gently. Sometimes with a two-by-four.

Not only was I dealing with CML, but I also decided to write about my experiences with gastric bypass surgery. When I was doing my research, I noticed there really wasn’t much content out there. And what I did find often ended shortly after surgery, for whatever reason — almost like everyone vanished once the anesthesia wore off and nobody ever came back to update the internet.

There’s something else that’s been going on for quite some time, and I’ve finally decided to put it down on paper. I’ve been experiencing brain fog for several years, and over time, it has gotten worse. “Brain fog” is a term used to describe symptoms such as difficulty concentrating, memory problems, mental cloudiness, confusion, and trouble finding words — essentially, feeling like your brain is running Windows 95 in a world that expects fiber internet.

I notice it most when I’m trying to carry on a conversation and, right in the middle of it, my mind just… leaves. Names vanish. Phone numbers disappear. Sometimes I forget what I was saying while I’m still saying it. Short-term or long-term, it doesn’t matter. It’s there… then it’s not, kind of like my car keys.

What makes this so difficult isn’t just the symptoms themselves, but how they sneak into everyday life. I’ll walk into a room and forget why I’m there. I’ll open my phone to look something up and immediately forget what I was looking for. I’ll stand in the kitchen staring into the fridge like it’s going to explain my life choices to me.

Conversations that should be easy sometimes turn into mental obstacle courses as I search for words I’ve used my entire life. It affects my confidence more than I care to admit. When you can’t trust your own memory, you start second-guessing yourself. You hesitate before speaking. You rely more on notes, reminders, and the people around you. I’m grateful for their patience, but it’s a strange feeling when your own brain doesn’t always show up prepared.

Some days are better than others. There are moments when everything feels clear and normal, and I start to think maybe I’ve turned a corner. Then there are days when my thoughts feel like they’re moving through mud, and even simple tasks take extra effort. Those are the days that wear on you — not with fireworks, but with a steady drip of “Seriously? Again?”

If you Google the term “brain fog,” you’ll find a long list of possible causes: lack of sleep, medications, chemotherapy, B12 deficiency, and even anemia. I’ve spoken to my doctor about it, and while some over-the-counter options might help, with my anemia and the chemotherapy drugs I’m on, they may not make much difference. In other words, this may just be part of my user agreement for now.

I don’t share any of this for sympathy. I share it because this blog has always been about honesty — the good, the bad, and the occasionally forget-why-I-walked-in-here. Brain fog may be part of my story right now, but it’s not the whole story. I still laugh, I still enjoy life, and I still manage to function… even if I need a few more sticky notes than the average person.

I’ve learned to adapt. I write more things down. I set reminders. I give myself a little more grace than I used to. And when I lose my train of thought mid-sentence, I’ve decided it’s perfectly acceptable to blame the fog, shrug, and move on. If nothing else, it gives the people around me a chuckle — and honestly, some days I’m laughing right along with them.

And if you ever see me standing in a room staring off into space like I’m waiting on divine revelation, don’t worry. I’m probably just buffering.

Unwelcomed Alarm

10 Saturday Jan 2026

Posted by in Weather

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I wrote in my last post about how crazy our weather has been. Apparently, the weather department took that as a challenge.

Last night, it decided to toss in another curveball — a cold front pushing through, dragging thunderstorms along with it. We spent most of the day and evening under a tornado watch. By bedtime, we had already picked up nearly three inches of rain, and the storms were still rolling in. The thunder wasn’t rumbling anymore; it was auditioning for a demolition crew.

Before going to sleep, I set my phone alarm for 5:30 a.m. so I could get up and get ready for men’s Bible study at 8. Responsible. Mature. Clearly overconfident.

Sometime later, I heard an alarm and woke up. I didn’t question it. I just accepted my fate. I took a long, hot shower, shaved, got dressed, and headed to the kitchen. I started the coffee and even remember thinking, “Tracy should be getting up soon. It’s got to be around six.”

The first pod finished, and I glanced at the stove clock.

4:10 a.m.

I stared at it, waiting for it to blink and say “Just kidding.”

It didn’t.

I checked my watch. Same time. That’s when it hit me — I hadn’t been woken up by my phone alarm. I’d been summoned by the weather radio.

I sat down in my recliner with my coffee and pulled up the radar. Sure enough, the National Weather Service had issued a flash flood warning at 3:45 a.m. That alert was the “alarm” that launched me into full morning-person cosplay.

So there I was — clean, dressed, caffeinated, and absolutely betrayed — living in a time slot meant only for bakers, farmers, and people who lost a bet.

There was no going back to bed. And even if I tried, I’d probably sleep right through the real 5:30 alarm just to complete the joke.

Moral of the story: I don’t need an alarm clock. I need a personal meteorologist who knows when to mind his business.

A Little Health Update (Spoiler: I’m Still Kicking)

11 Thursday Dec 2025

Posted by in Cancer, Leukemia

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I haven’t posted about my health in a while, so here’s your semi-regular episode of “What’s My Body Doing Now?”

First up, the oncology report: still no detectable blast cells for about eight months. 🎉 I’m not throwing a party just yet, because last time I got excited, my labs basically said, “Surprise!” and did their own thing. But for now, we’ll call it a win.

Iron levels? Yeah… those are still on strike. I’ve officially been diagnosed with chronic anemia, which explains why I’m always freezing and walking around the house like it’s January in Alaska. I’ve had so many iron infusions I’m pretty sure I’m 3% metal at this point. Waiting on Marvel to call.

And then there’s the potassium situation. Apparently my potassium levels have been creeping up. My oncologist thinks it’s tied to the kidney failure. Meanwhile, I barely eat any high-potassium foods, so my best guess is that my body is just freelancing at this point.

Skin cancer update: I had a melanoma spot and another bonus cancer removed from my left arm a little over a month ago. They left some lovely scars, which I now refer to as battle wounds because that sounds way cooler than “my dermatologist wanted a closer look.”

Now they’ve moved on to my back. I had a spot removed Tuesday that they think might also be melanoma. We’ll know more when the biopsy comes back, but let me tell you… back pain is a whole different universe. I slept approximately 12 minutes that night because I couldn’t get comfortable. Tylenol and I are in a committed relationship now.

Anyway, that’s the latest episode. Thanks for tuning in. Same time next month for whatever plot twist my body decides to add next. 😅

Hospital Visits, Craft Fairs, and Nine Hours of News

07 Friday Nov 2025

Posted by in Family

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Patriotic Black Slate Coaster

If you’ve known me for more than five minutes, you know I live by my calendar. It’s not just a planner — it’s my Bible, my life map, and my emotional support spreadsheet. I color-code, I plan ahead, and if something’s not on the schedule, it’s basically not real.

So imagine my stress level when my mom landed in the hospital and my siblings decided we all need to “take turns sitting with her.”

Now, before anyone clutches their pearls — she’s fine. She’s getting great care from an entire team of professionals who actually know what they’re doing. The woman is being treated better than most people at a five-star resort.

Meanwhile, my siblings and I are out here acting like we need to take shifts in case she suddenly decides to join the Hospital Olympics. Spoiler alert: she’s not going anywhere.

The thing is, I’ve got a craft fair coming up next weekend, and that means I need to be creating — not sitting in a hospital room pretending to enjoy watching nine hours of nonstop news coverage. Nine. Hours. I don’t even like watching nine minutes of the news. I can only listen to so many “breaking” stories about things that broke three days ago before I start questioning my life choices.

But there I sit, smiling, nodding, pretending I’m not slowly dying inside while she argues with the TV. I could be home making candles, painting signs, or doing literally anything that doesn’t involve election updates.

And when I say, “Hey, my schedule’s packed,” my siblings look at me like I just said I’m skipping Christmas. Listen, I love Mom. I’ll visit. I’ll call. I’ll even bring snacks. But she’s being well cared for — by actual trained professionals — while I’m over here trying to figure out if I can make fifty more gnomes before Friday.

So no, I’m not heartless. I’m just scheduled. And if loving my mom and respecting my calendar at the same time is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Time Doesn’t Stand Still

22 Wednesday Oct 2025

Posted by in Cancer, Depression, Family, Leukemia

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The older I get, the more I realize that time doesn’t stand still. It seems like almost every week I hear about someone I used to go to school with or work with who has passed away. Just the thought of it can be depressing.

This past Saturday, I did a craft fair and happened to run into one of my high school classmates and her sister. We had a chance to catch up for a bit, and somehow the conversation turned to the classmates we’ve already lost. Sadly, cancer seems to have claimed most of them.

I’m 62 now — older than many of my classmates since I was held back a year — and although my health hasn’t always been the best, I count myself lucky to still be here.

Most of my classmates already have great-grandkids. Me? None of my three kids are married yet, so I’m not even a grandparent. Only one of the three is dating anyone right now, and I’m not sure when or if the other two will. That’s okay, though. I don’t ever want them to feel pressured. Still, before I go, I’d love to see all my kids married and maybe even get the chance to hold a grandbaby or two.

My parents, who are both in their mid to upper eighties, would love to see great-grandkids too. I have to remind my mom not to put pressure on my kids — she has a way of speaking her mind about things like that.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have a form of leukemia called CML. Right now, it’s under control. Sometimes one of the markers the doctors watch goes a little wild and sends everyone into a panic, but eventually, the numbers settle back down, and all is well again. I’ve come to accept that nothing I do can change the fact that I have CML. All I can do is take my daily pill, stay consistent, and be thankful that the medicine is working. Worrying won’t change the outcome.

Are you the worrying type? What’s the main thing that weighs on your mind — your kids, your health, your future, or something else? I get my worrying honestly; my grandmother on my mom’s side was a worrier, and my mom’s the same way. I guess it just runs in the family.