It’s been six months since I last released a podcast episode—and for good reason. During that time, I’ve walked through the fire of cancer treatment, faced hospitalization, grieved the loss of our beloved dog, and slowly made my way back to myself. In this episode, I share the full arc of my cancer recovery journey so far—not just as an update, but as an offering. If you’ve ever found yourself asking, “What is life asking of me now?”, I invite you into this reflection on grace, grit, and the slow work of healing.
A Long Silence, and a Promise to Return
After a six-month pause, I’ve finally recorded a new episode of This Life Without Limits. This one is different. It’s not a guest conversation or a coaching insight—it’s personal. It’s a voice note from the edge of something I never imagined I’d face.
In September of 2024, I was midway through treatment for stage 3 HPV-attributed tonsil cancer. Radiation five days a week. Chemo every Thursday. A body unraveling, a mind stretching to hold on. And a part of me whispering, “You’re going to get through this. But you won’t ever be the same.”
Descent: Into the Belly of the Experience
Week four marked the beginning of the hardest stretch. The burns in my mouth made eating almost impossible. I dropped weight rapidly and clung to a daily goal of 2,500 calories, even if it meant eating lobster bisque through tears.
By week six, I was on liquid Dilaudid just to tolerate the pain. I couldn’t drive. I could barely speak. I was still showing up for radiation with a purple heart stone in my hand, strapped to the table, holding my breath and counting the seconds until it was over.
I rang the chemo bell in early October with joy—but also exhaustion. And then, two weeks later, I landed in the ER with a 103-degree fever and was admitted for severe malnutrition. I got a feeding tube. Spent a week and a half in the hospital. Had a blood transfusion reaction that triggered full-body convulsions and summoned an entire trauma team into my room.
And through all of that… I survived.
Held: The Unexpected Gifts of Being Cared For
What surprised me the most was how hard it was to receive. To let others drive me. Feed me. Fund me. Pray for me. To be seen in my most vulnerable, emaciated, disoriented state.
And yet—that’s where grace came rushing in.
In the hands of nurses who held me through convulsions. In the way my son watched Chef’s Table with me on a couch I could barely rise from. In the realization that healing happens in relationship, not in isolation.
Grief: My Newest Apprenticeship
In December, just as I began to stabilize, we lost our beloved dog Luna. I had just come off Dilaudid, still not fully back in my emotional body. Her sudden decline and the decision to let her go broke something open in me that I didn’t know was still shut.
I held her in my arms as she took her final breath. And then I fell into a wave of blame. Had I neglected her? Had I failed her like I’ve failed other parts of my life?
But something else emerged, too: a deeper layer of self-forgiveness. A crack in the armor I’d worn for years.
Emergence: The Long Arc of Return
The weeks that followed were filled with quiet milestones. My first solid food (cream of wheat). My first haircut. Playing guitar again. Helping facilitate men’s groups. Starting a young men’s circle at my son’s high school. Riding my bike again. Eating pizza with my daughter.
And slowly, new questions began to surface:
What is life asking of me now?
How do I want to serve from here?
What does true self-mastery mean after facing death?
Spirit: When the Path Begins to Reveal Itself
In January and February, I resumed coaching. I guided group experiences. I began performing rituals inspired by an ancestral divination reading—including one to heal sexual shame and another to clarify my soul’s purpose.
I had a few job interviews—including one at Meta—but they didn’t pan out. And somehow, that felt okay. I wasn’t chasing stability anymore. I was listening for alignment.
I also faced new medical concerns—lymph nodes in my chest lit up on a PET scan, leading to a bronchoscopy and a new round of uncertainty. I’ll share more about that soon. But even in the unknown, there’s clarity: I’m still here. I’m still becoming.
Closing Reflections
This cancer recovery journey has been more than medical. It’s been spiritual, relational, financial, emotional.
It’s been about making peace with my past, meeting the present with humility, and stepping into the future with a quiet kind of strength.
I’m not the same person who began this. And that feels like the point.
Watch The Video:
As always, this podcast streams on Apple Podcasts and Spotify. And NOW, you can check out the visual experience on YouTube! Check out other episodes here!
Resources:
Weston’s GoFundMe Page: https://gofund.me/0978a984
Head & Neck Cancer Alliance: https://www.headandneck.org/
Be good to yourselves and be good to others,
Weston
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