Practicing Medicine

Each day seems to blend into the next, a steady stream of appointments, tasks, and responsibilities that keep me tethered to this journey. This morning, like so many others, began with a trip to the lab at the cancer center for another round of tests. These blood draws and evaluations have become routine—a constant in a life that feels anything but predictable.

The lab waiting area was its usual mix of quiet conversations and nervous energy. Some faces looked weary, others hopeful, but all carried the unmistakable weight of the shared experience. Sitting there, I reflected on how this rhythm—these repetitive steps—has become a lifeline. The structure gives me something to hold onto when the enormity of it all threatens to pull me under.

Before heading out today, I made sure to drink plenty of water, knowing that a well-hydrated vein makes for an easier blood draw. It’s such a small thing, but these minor adjustments feel like acts of agency in a situation where so much is out of my control. I also layered up, mindful of how cold I can get during and after these visits. Having learned from past experiences, I brought my favorite jacket; it’s soft, warm, and oddly comforting in its reliability. These seemingly insignificant actions—hydrating, dressing warmly, mentally preparing—are my way of reclaiming a sense of control, however small. They remind me that while I can’t change the need for these appointments, I can change how I show up for them.

Once called back, the familiar process unfolded. The nurse tied the tourniquet on my right arm, found a vein, and began drawing the vials of blood that would be analyzed to determine my body’s current state. As I watched the tubes fill, I thought about how these tests tell a story—my story. Each number, each value, is a piece of the puzzle that my care team and I are trying to solve together.

When the draw was finished, and the nurse removed the band, I thanked her with a smile. It may have been just another blood draw to her, but for me, it was another step forward, another task tackled on this long road. Walking out of the lab, I felt an unexpected wave of accomplishment. It’s strange how something so routine can feel like a victory. Resilience, I’ve come to realize, isn’t about heroic acts or grand gestures. It’s about the quiet, persistent determination to keep going, even when you’re tired, scared, or overwhelmed. It’s about showing up for yourself, day after day, no matter how heavy the burden feels.

Today, as I checked another box off my list, I reminded myself of the purpose behind these tasks. Each appointment, each blood draw, each preparation is part of a larger mission: to fight, to heal, to endure. It’s not glamorous, and it’s certainly not easy, but it’s mine to carry. As I walked out into the brisk air, I felt a flicker of hope. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but for today, I kept going. I faced the day’s challenges, stayed on course, and moved forward. And for now, that’s more than enough.