If you are looking for the story of my diagnosis and treatment, Start Here.

About The Cancer Years

My name is Robert. I’m 48 years old, I live in Ontario, Canada, and I have mycosis fungoides, a rare form of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma. I’m starting this blog partway through the story, which probably isn’t the neatest way to do it, but better late than never. I’ve already been dealing with this disease and its treatment for years, so some of what I write here will look back at how I got to this point, while the rest will follow whatever comes next.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been on methotrexate trying to get the disease under control. I’ve been sick, exhausted, nauseated, weak, and generally worn down for a long time now, and one of the things I’ve learned is that the treatment can sometimes feel worse than the disease itself. That doesn’t mean I regret being treated, and it certainly doesn’t mean I’ve given up. It just means cancer treatment can take over your life in ways that are hard to explain unless you’ve lived through it.

On September 23, 2026, I begin a new treatment that is expected to last at least a year. I’m not approaching it as though I’m dying, because I don’t believe that I am. I’m not sitting here terrified of every day that comes next, and I’m not trying to turn this into some dark countdown. Mostly, I’m tired. There is a real difference between being frightened and being worn down, and after being sick for more than two years, worn down is probably the best way I can describe where I am.

A couple of days ago, I was watching a documentary about Mr. T and discovered that he had also been diagnosed with mycosis fungoides. I had absolutely no idea. There was something strangely comforting about finding out that someone so recognizable had gone through the same rare cancer. He is well into his seventies and still here, and he went through treatment decades ago, when the options were nowhere near as advanced as they are today. I know that doesn’t guarantee anything for me, but it gave me some perspective, and sometimes perspective is enough.

One thing I read about his treatment was that he kept a bucket in every room because he was so sick. I understood that immediately. It sounds horrible, and objectively it is, but after you’ve been on cancer treatment long enough, things like that stop sounding shocking and simply become practical. You stop worrying about whether something is dignified or pleasant because you’re too busy trying to get through the day.

Apparently, Mr. T eventually gave up on the buckets and started using towels instead. That’s where he lost me. I cannot imagine the laundry situation, and I’m not sure I want to. Then again, if you can afford to walk around with that much gold around your neck, I suppose you can probably afford somebody else to deal with the towels. I’m not in that tax bracket, so mine will remain reserved for getting out of the shower.

The harder part of this story, though, isn’t really the nausea, the medication, the appointments, or even the exhaustion. It’s what being sick has done to the rest of my life. I’m a father, and over the last couple of years I don’t feel as though I’ve been the father I wanted to be. I know there are reasons for that, but my son is young, and I’m not sure he fully understands why I’ve been so absent, why I haven’t been able to do more, or why I haven’t always been around in the way I should have been.

I’ve been so tired and so sick that my world has gradually become very small. I stopped going out. I stopped seeing people. I lost touch with friends. I stopped doing a lot of the things that used to make up a normal life because I simply didn’t have the energy for them anymore. I don’t really have much of a social life now, and most days I’m more concerned with how I feel physically than with anything happening outside my immediate little bubble.

That has affected my relationship with my son, and that is probably the part I struggle with most. I know I didn’t choose to be sick, and I know there is only so much anyone can do when their body refuses to cooperate, but knowing that doesn’t make the guilt disappear. I hope I get better soon enough to make up for some of the time I’ve missed. I can’t change what the last couple of years have looked like, but I can hope this next treatment gives me enough of my life back to be more present in his.

Part of the reason I started The Cancer Years is that I’m much better at writing about almost anything other than myself. Give me politics, history, ideas, or a subject I can research and I’m comfortable. Writing about my own life is much harder. I don’t think of myself as especially charismatic, and I have no interest in turning cancer into some polished inspirational story where every miserable experience comes with a tidy little lesson attached to it.

What I can do is tell the truth about what this is actually like.

A lot of cancer isn’t dramatic. A lot of it is repetitive, boring, frustrating, and unpleasant. It’s appointments, bloodwork, medications, side effects, waiting rooms, canceled plans, bad sleep, nausea, fatigue, and long stretches of simply feeling awful. There are frightening moments, but there are also absurd ones. Sometimes you have to laugh because the alternative is getting angry, and sometimes something as ridiculous as another cancer patient talking about buckets and towels can make you feel a little less alone.

That is what I want this site to be about. I want to write about the medical side of it, but I also want to write about the life that surrounds it. I want to talk about the treatments, the side effects, the things that work, the things that don’t, the loneliness, the humor, the fear, the boredom, the frustration, and all the strange little things that somehow become normal when you’ve been sick long enough.

I’m not a doctor, and nothing I write here is meant to be medical advice. This is simply my experience. It’s one person’s account of living with mycosis fungoides, going through treatment, trying to remain a father, trying to keep writing, and trying to hold on to some version of a normal life while cancer keeps finding ways to get in the way.

Because I’m starting this blog in the middle, the story won’t always be chronological. Sometimes I’ll write about what is happening right now. Sometimes I’ll go back and fill in the gaps. I’ll probably write about treatments I’ve already been through, things I wish I had known earlier, mistakes I made, things that surprised me, and moments I would rather forget but probably shouldn’t.

For now, this is where I am. I’m 48, I live in Ontario, I have mycosis fungoides, and I’ve been sick for more than two years. On September 23, 2026, I begin another year of treatment. I’m tired, but I’m still moving forward, and I’m hoping this next stage gets me a little closer to feeling like myself again.

That is where I’m starting.

Welcome to The Cancer Years.