
Regardless of outward circumstances, whether constantly traveling or remaining stationary for a prolonged amount of time, a perennial nomad recognizes the transitory nature of existence and acknowledges that life is a continually evolving series of adventures. My latest journey does not involve a shift in physical location but rather a plunge into another facet of reality: the world of the unwell. Mortality is hardwired into all of our lives, but when a potentially lethal disease rises up and attacks like an evil monster, what has been relegated to an abstraction takes on deadly corporeality.
I was first diagnosed as having early-stage prostate cancer back in 2017. At that time, it was advancing so slowly that no treatment was advised; instead, it would be monitored regularly through blood tests. My doctor assured me that many men get prostate cancer as they age, and most die with it rather than of it. The “wait and see” attitude was fine by me; I was busy with freelance work and raising my sons.
A few months ago, though, during a routine visit, my primary care doctor detected signs of another unrelated type of cancer erupting within my body. She was alarmed enough to insist on immediate tests. Examinations and a biopsy confirmed the presence of a malignant tumor, which was successfully removed through surgery. However, to minimize the possibility of reoccurrence or the cancer metastasizing and spreading elsewhere, follow-up radiation therapy and medication is necessary. Around the same time, another doctor dealing with my prostate cancer insisted that I was overdue for a biopsy.
I find myself increasingly caught in a quicksand of medical appointments, examinations, biopsies, and procedures. There seems to be no end to them. As Red Skull declares of the Hydra warriors in the Marvel movies, “Strike down one and two more will take their place.” That’s how it is with my doctor visits lately. One leads to more, and to more, and to more. I could have remained clandestine about this development in my life, I could have kept it to myself, but this would not be in keeping with my predilections as a writer. In fact, this is my latest adventure, my most recent journey. It is ongoing and extremely intense, and it is very possible, even likely, that I will not make it out of this one alive. This is not necessarily a cause for sorrow and lamentation; after all, the mortality rate for every member of humankind is one hundred percent.
Why do I share this with you, the readers of my weekly columns? Because as a perennial nomad, this is my latest journey, and I invite you to join me as I wander into the wilderness of mortality. All my posts will not be cancer-related; I will continue to write about travel, about museums and other local fascinations, and about books I am reading. However, sometimes I will also include observations from the realm of the unwell.
And I have another reason for sharing this. All of my writings on my website/blog, on Substack, and on Patreon have been freely available to all, and they will continue to be. Donations are optional. However, my medical appointments take up significant amounts of my time, which leaves me less time for the freelance work I undertake to be able to survive financially. If you value my weekly words, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. This is possible on any of the platforms, but the most versatile option is on Patreon.
Having shared my request, let me reassure you that whether you are able to assist financially or not, I welcome you to join me as we together explore the multifarious fascinating grand roads of the universe.





































