Cut 71…

Doc Seavolt called me twice this week. That, friends, is never a good thing. She told me hard truth in a very kind way. She is a great surgeon with an equally great bedside manner. Rare. 

She told me the biopsy came back squamous cell cancer. Again. 

F($% me, I thought as I somewhat listened to her rattle off the options for this monster of a mass on my forehead. It is huge, this much we know. The biopsy showed cancer cells all the way through. Translation. It ain’t shallow either. So, April fools day, this dude is gonna blow up like a basketball. Gonna look worse than normal for a week or so, maybe longer. It’s no big deal but I’m soft and tired of this bullshit. So, a couple nights ago, I allowed myself to feel sorry for my sorriness. Pity party, you know. Depressed as hell. Just want to go to bed and wake up after its over. Not how it works.

Headed to see grand babies 2 and 3. Gonna be an epic adventure with my bride. I’m giving the whole thing (good and not so good) to a great, BIG God. Peace is beginning to wash over my sorry soul. I cannot do this on my own. Weak as weak can be a lone. Strong as a rock when I surrender and say (and mean) God, help me. 

Allow yourself to feel life, my friend. Experience natural highs. Touch the depths of depression when kicked in the ASS (or in my case the forehead). As the Wizard has said like a broken record – It’s alright to be down. It’s not okay to stay there. 

Pick your sorriness up. Dust it off. Ask God for help. Do the damn thing and get on with it. Life is hard. Designed so. Embrace the pain and suffering. You know how the story ends, right? Cut 71 is coming. I’m ready. Now. 

Live hard. Love ❤️ harder…