This post is part of my Cancer & Healing journal, an archive of the updates I wrote while going through treatment for Stage III rectal cancer. These entries reflect what I knew and felt at the time.

A little life update from the wild west over here. 🤍

My Biopsies Came Back Clear

I received my biopsy results, and all of the biopsies came back clear with no cancer found.

I’m taking that as a very real win.

That said, it does not officially mean I’m cancer free yet.

The next step is meeting with my surgeon in the coming weeks and hopefully getting another MRI around the 12 week post chemo mark.

If everything continues pointing toward a complete clinical response, I may qualify for something called watch and wait.

Basically, instead of going directly to surgery, I would be monitored very closely with scopes, labs and scans, with surgery still an option if the cancer comes back or subsequent testing shows residual disease.

So for now, I’m thankful.

Hopeful.

Praying hard.

And breathing a little deeper tonight.

And Somehow, We Opened Another Store Today

Because apparently cancer wasn’t enough to keep us busy, Shana and I opened our second R. Rebellion location today in Joseph, Oregon, which honestly might be one of the most beautiful places on earth.

We had about ten weeks to plan it.

And seven days to move in and build it out.

Completely unhinged behavior, really. 😂

We are exhausted.

Grateful.

Running on caffeine, adrenaline, prayer and probably dry shampoo.

But we did it.

Turns out we can do hard things pretty damn well.

Looking Back

This one gets me a little.

Because on May 8, for the first time, I could see a path that might not include major rectal surgery.

My biopsies were clear.

My previous Signatera had been negative.

My CEA had been normal.

My scans had been encouraging, although there was still that small questionable area.

And now there was this possibility called watch and wait.

Maybe treatment had worked completely.

Maybe what remained on imaging was treatment effect or scar tissue.

Maybe I wouldn’t need surgery.

Maybe I could simply be watched very closely and get on with the business of living.

That’s a lot of maybes.

But they were good maybes.

And after months filled with frightening ones, I was more than happy to have them.

Clear Biopsies Didn’t Answer Everything

This is another place where hindsight can distort the story if I let it.

The biopsies really were clear.

No cancer was found in the tissue that was sampled.

That was true.

Later, we would learn there was still viable cancer deeper in the tumor bed and, eventually, cancer in lymph nodes that those biopsies couldn’t tell us about.

That doesn’t mean the biopsies were somehow “wrong.”

They answered the question they were capable of answering about the tissue that was actually sampled.

Cancer is frustrating like that.

Sometimes one test says something encouraging while another leaves a question.

Sometimes the surface looks clear while something remains deeper.

Sometimes you simply don’t have enough information yet.

On May 8, we didn’t.

So I allowed myself to hope.

I’ve said this several times as I’ve gone back through these old updates, but I think it’s important:

I refuse to make my past self feel foolish for believing good news was good news.

It was.

That day, no cancer had been found in my biopsies.

That deserved a deep breath.

And Then We Opened Joseph

The other half of this post might be even more important to me now.

Because on the exact same day I was writing about biopsies, MRIs, watch and wait and the possibility of avoiding surgery…

Shana and I opened another R. Rebellion store.

There is something almost absurdly perfect about that.

Cancer had spent months shrinking my world.

Treatment.

Home.

Labs.

Bathroom.

Bedroom.

Cancer center.

Repeat.

And then on May 8, my world got physically bigger.

We opened a door in Joseph.

We turned on the lights.

We put our products on the shelves.

We welcomed people inside.

We built something.

Cancer was asking me to wait.

Life wasn’t.

I love that now.

We Can Do Hard Things

When I wrote:

“Turns out we can do hard things pretty damn well.”

I was mostly talking about opening a retail store in seven days.

But reading it now, I think I had earned the right to mean a few other things too.

I’d made it through chemoradiation.

I’d made it through FOLFOX.

I’d made it through months when leaving my bedroom felt ambitious.

I’d made it through scans and scopes and biopsies and waiting.

And somewhere in the middle of recovering from all of that, Shana and I decided opening another store sounded reasonable.

Completely unhinged behavior, really.

Some things haven’t changed.

But May 8 was a good day.

Clear biopsies.

A little more hope.

And the doors opened in Joseph.

I’ll take that one.