Chapter 14. Embracing Death Talk

Glioblastology, the Book

Intro to Embracing Death Talk (2025)

There is a lot of tumor in your brain—more than after radiation in 2016.

That was my neuro-oncologist earlier this week.

I shared the update on social media, where our community—analog and digital—showed up with well wishes and love. Thank you.

Many of you have lived two lives with me since late 2024: the life of new diagnosis and survivorship, as told through Glioblastology, the book; and the life of recurrence, unfolding in real-time.

The bad scans began in late 2023. I spent all of 2024 on chemotherapy. The tumor began growing again in late 2024, and in 2025—the same year I launched this restored book project—the growth accelerated.

Inoperable. We tried radiation again. Now, six weeks out from my second lifetime dose, the tumor is growing once more. The drug from the ’90s kept me alive through 2024. We’ll see if one from the 1970s can get me to 2026.

No doubt, the conversations have grown more serious. My doctor and I both caught it—wet corners of our eyes during a virtual visit, blinking across cyberspace.

Editing Glioblastology while also documenting recurrence has created a kind of emotional surrealism. I’ve found myself layering first-time memories on top of second-round realities. Descriptions I wrote from my initial diagnosis have lined up eerily well with the same protocols in recurrence.

Today’s chapter continues that sad serendipity. “Embracing Death Talk” recalls a moment years ago, yet nearly the same dialogue played out again last week—twice, in fact. Once with my palliative care doctor, and once with my oncologist.

Bold as I am, I consider them both friends.

I can’t predict what this chapter will bring to you. But for me, it’s a kind of validation. I was already doing the hard work back then. And this version of me—this present-day, scarred, stubborn version—is grateful.

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