Mission Log:
July 18, 2026
Yesterday ended on a high note.
My doctor officially confirmed that radioactive iodine treatment is moving forward and we discussed what comes afterward, including starting levothyroxine. Having a plan beyond treatment somehow made everything feel a little more real. Not just surviving this chapter, but preparing for the next one.
Dinner turned into one of the best meals I’ve had since starting the low iodine diet. My deconstructed stuffed peppers weren’t just a success, they made me realize something.
Sometimes temporary solutions deserve a permanent place.
Even after this mission ends, I may keep this recipe in the rotation.
The evening closed with Larry Crowne, the movie that inspired one of the pivotal scenes in Paul’s Penance. Watching Tom Hanks sitting in traffic, wondering what comes next, reminded me why I wrote that scene in the first place.
Waiting.
Uncertainty.
Choosing your next step before you can see the whole road.
I went to bed feeling surprisingly good.
Today’s mission started with a much smaller objective.
Find Watermelon Sour Patch Kids.
David thought Family Dollar might have them, but first I needed to stop at Dollar General or CVS. I also needed to pick up more incontinence pads before Tuesday’s hospital stay. Not glamorous, but this mission has never been about glamour. It’s about preparation.
I slept later than usual.
For once, I didn’t apologize to myself for it.
I needed the rest.
I took my morning medications before everything else, then promised myself something I haven’t always been good at keeping.
I’m not going to push.
I wanted to write three or four scenes for Paul’s Penance, but my body quietly voted for a different plan. When your body has carried you through surgery, scans, blood work, and uncertainty, you learn to respect its opinion.
Breakfast was oatmeal with maple syrup and coffee.
Dinner was the leftover deconstructed stuffed peppers.
Even better the second day.
Sometimes leftovers improve with time.
Maybe people do too.
Later, Jeff, Bear, and I wandered through Pioneer just to browse the Witchy Vendor Fair. I came home with two composition books that have reusable covers, perfect for future journals, and an unexpected little treasure.
A tiny citrine Pikachu.
It now sits on my desk like a cheerful reminder that hope doesn’t always arrive in profound ways.
Sometimes it shows up wearing pointy ears.
I managed to write a few more scenes before the day ended, moving Paul’s Penance forward one page at a time.
Katie called with family updates, and we talked about checking in with Bob Barrett and Tony Kuziowski while I’m in the hospital.
Another reminder.
The village keeps growing.
By evening, I was tired enough to call it a day. Maybe I’ll pick Project Hail Mary back up tomorrow.
Maybe not.
Either way is okay.
I’m learning that productivity isn’t measured only by pages written or boxes checked.
Sometimes success is honoring the need for rest.
Sometimes it’s cooking a good meal.
Sometimes it’s buying a tiny stone Pikachu that makes you smile every time you see it.
Alignment isn’t always found in motion.
Sometimes it’s found in permission.
Permission to slow down.
Permission to recover.
Permission to trust that the mission continues, even on the quieter days.
