Living through brain cancer: A travelogue
Trying to figure out how my brain works post cancer — one experience, symptom, frustration, breakthrough, memory, and story at a time.
This is a first-person record of what it feels like to keep living, thinking, working, parenting, adapting, getting angry, finding humor, and trying to understand a brain and life changed by cancer.
October 3, 2026
I missed a step Wednesday and fell down the stairs. I tried to call out that I was ok, but I landed heavy and loud. My wife raced around the corner from the kitchen and my daughter from upstairs.
Read More →September 20, 2026
Socializing is hard to do. It takes work and brain power, especially if conversing is hard. You lack the fluidity of speech you're used to, words get stuck, and I often lose track of the conversation.
Read More →September 16, 2026
I used to be really good at it. I was a high school math teacher for thirty years. The last brain surgery affected my ability to manipulate numbers in my head.
Read More →September 7, 2026
I was prescribed Nazilam, a nasal spray that is supposed to stop seizures that come one after another. What I actually got from the pharmacy was Naloxone — an emergency medication for an opioid overdose.
Read More →September 6, 2026
You know how insects make noise on a late summer day? It's a wall of sound. This is what my brain sounds like all the time.
Read More →August 26, 2026
I have trouble reading line-by-line like I used to. I lose track of which sentence I’m in or where the next line begins.
Read More →October 3, 2026
I missed a step Wednesday and fell down the stairs. I tried to call out that I was ok, but I landed heavy and loud. My wife raced around the corner from the kitchen and my daughter from upstairs.
September 20, 2026
Socializing is hard to do. It takes work and brain power, especially if conversing is hard. You lack the fluidity of speech you're used to, words get stuck, and I often lose track of the conversation.
September 16, 2026
I used to be really good at it. I was a high school math teacher for thirty years. The last brain surgery affected my ability to manipulate numbers in my head.
September 7, 2026
I was prescribed Nazilam, a nasal spray that is supposed to stop seizures that come one after another. What I actually got from the pharmacy was Naloxone — an emergency medication for an opioid overdose.
September 6, 2026
You know how insects make noise on a late summer day? It's a wall of sound. This is what my brain sounds like all the time.
August 26, 2026
I have trouble reading line-by-line like I used to. I lose track of which sentence I’m in or where the next line begins.
Diagnosis, treatment, radiation, and the medical reality of brain cancer.
recoveryThe long, non-linear work of recovering — physically, cognitively, emotionally.
symptomSpecific neurological symptoms: seizures, fatigue, cognitive changes, and more.
supportWhat it means to receive help, prayer, care, and presence from others.
daily lifeThe ordinary made strange — getting dressed, sleeping, moving through the day.
workIdentity, teaching, and what happens to a career when the brain changes.
identityWho you are when the person you were is no longer available.
Dream the Ride began as a way to write through what was happening — to make sense of a brain that had been operated on, treated, and returned to daily life changed in ways that were hard to explain and harder to ignore. It is not a medical journal. It is not a survivor's guide. It is a travelogue of a particular kind of journey.
Read the StoryDream the Ride stays centered on first-person experience and the author's writing — not a polished health brand, not a clinic, not a nonprofit. Just one person trying to understand what happened to his brain, and writing about it honestly.
