Victory Thru Faith: My Journey Thru Cancer

Let’s Talk About… Faith!

What is faith to me?
Faith is my strength—it gives me the courage to face each day with this disease. When I feel weary, faith helps me keep walking. When I feel faint, it helps me run. No matter the obstacles, faith keeps the fire inside me burning. It pushes me through the next treatment, the next scan, the next procedure… the next day... to me, Faith is Living!

But what does faith mean to you?

For many, faith means believing in something greater than ourselves—a divine presence, a higher power, or a sacred truth—even when there’s no tangible proof. It’s often rooted in religion: Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, and so many other spiritual paths. At its core, faith is about trust. Trust in God, in fate, in the universe, or even in the goodness of others.

Still, faith isn’t always religious. Sometimes, faith means believing in love after heartbreak… in light after darkness… in healing after pain. It can be the quiet confidence in our ability to grow, even when life feels impossible. Faith is resilience. It’s what helps us hope, strive, and move forward—especially when logic says, “Just give up.”

So again I ask: What does faith mean to you?

For someone living with something as overwhelming as cholangiocarcinoma—a rare, aggressive cancer—faith takes on an even deeper, more personal meaning.

A lifeline: When the future feels uncertain or painful, faith is what helps me hold on. Faith in God, in medical breakthroughs, in the love of my family—or simply in the belief that each day still matters. It’s what gives me the strength to face whatever comes next.

A way to make peace: Faith helps me accept what I can’t control. It reminds me that the unknown isn’t meaningless. That maybe, just maybe, there’s a purpose or a plan—even if I can’t see it yet.

A source of courage: When fear of the unknown creeps in, faith whispers, “You’re not alone.” It’s the belief that I’m not walking this road by myself—something greater is walking beside me.

A connection to others: Faith builds community. Whether it’s in spiritual groups, cancer support groups, or just through shared hope—faith reminds me I’m not alone in this fight. That connection is powerful.

A hope beyond this life: While I don’t consider myself religious, I am spiritual. My faith brings me comfort in the idea that there’s more than just this physical life—a continuation of the soul, something beautiful waiting beyond.

Of course, I know everyone experiences faith differently—especially during times like this. Some find their faith deepens. Others may question it, get angry, or feel abandoned. That, too, is part of being human.

But I offer this: Have faith. Know there’s a purpose beyond the pain.

None of us knows what tomorrow brings. We live each day—each hour—whether we recognize it or not. And in so many ways, we already live by faith. We set alarms with the belief we’ll wake up. We make plans for the future, trusting we’ll be there to keep them.

You see…

Faith is Living.

Until tomorrow… with Faith,

Steve
PS: Please joins us at: https://www.facebook.com/victorythrufaith and check out the new website at: www.victorythrufaith.org

April 5, 2025, VTF

I have been getting these pains that keep getting more intense. It feels like it could be an appendicitis. I don’t know… If it gets any worse I’ll head into a Doc-in-the-box and have it looked at.

I have felt a little sluggish today. However, I did get some things done around my apartment I’d been meaning to get to.

Looking forward to the conference next week. I have been working on something that I think will be good for Cholangiocarcinoma awareness here in Utah. I’ll hold back on the details until I get a little further along with the project.

Not much more going here in Salt Lake with me, so I think I’ll sign out for now!

Until Tomorrow,

Steve

Still Goin!

Still Going!

Hey friends,

I was feeling a little wiped out yesterday, so I didn’t get around to posting anything.

Today, I got to spend some time with my sister Missy. We went downtown to the Salt Palace, and I recorded a short video using my Meta Glasses. I’m planning to share it tomorrow on the Victory Thru Faith Facebook page for those of you coming to Utah for the Cholangiocarcinoma Conference next week. I wish I could’ve captured more footage, but I started feeling a bit fatigued.

Overall, it’s been a pretty decent week. Aside from the occasional fatigue, I’ve been feeling alright.

For those attending the conference, I was really hoping to make it to the Welcome Dinner. However, I’ve got treatment scheduled at Huntsman on the 8th—chemo/immunotherapy—which starts at 12:30 p.m. and usually runs about five and a half hours. That means I’ll likely get to the conference around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m. I’m going to reach out to Lisa Craine and ask her to save a couple of seats for Missy and me so we can join you and say hello.

Not sure if I mentioned this already (a little memory lapse may be setting in!), but I had a PET scan on March 25th. It showed some activity on the left thyroid, a large active mass in the upper left lung with a necrotic center, and active lymph nodes near my main airway and near the diaphragm—both suggesting cancer. The original liver tumor has grown from 3.2 cm to just under 4 cm, and there’s a new suspicious spot near the gallbladder, possibly a new tumor. The lymph nodes near the liver also showed cancer activity.

I’ve got a lung biopsy scheduled for April 16th to determine whether the lung mass is related to the cholangiocarcinoma or if it's something separate. The upside is that, according to my oncologist, the current treatment plan is pretty much the same for both possibilities.

It’s now 6:40 p.m., and I’ve got a few things to wrap up before heading off to dreamland.

Look out for the video tomorrow at: www.victorythrufaith.org

Until tomorrow,
Steve

If You Build It, They Will Come

Remember that iconic line from the Field of Dreams—"If you build it, they will come"? That’s the heartbeat of Victory Thru Faith. This mission isn’t about me. It’s not even just about cancer. It’s about creating something bigger: awareness. Awareness of cholangiocarcinoma, yes—but even more, awareness that faith is still alive. Faith is powerful. And when it’s woven together—like that three-strand cord—it holds strong. Unbreakable. Unshakable. That’s what we’re building here.

When I started Victory Thru Faith, I had no blueprint—just a calling. A sense that God was nudging me to speak up, to stand in the gap, and to share both the pain and the promise of this journey. I’ve faced a diagnosis that can shake even the strongest foundation, but I’ve found strength not in statistics, but in scripture. Every post, every prayer, every conversation is a brick in something greater—a place where hope lives and faith leads.

But this isn’t a one-man mission. Victory Thru Faith is something we’re building together. Whether you're a patient, a caregiver, a believer, or just someone searching for hope—you belong here. Your story matters. Your presence adds strength to this foundation. Together, we can be that unbreakable cord: supporting each other, lifting each other, and shining light into the dark corners of diagnosis, doubt, and discouragement. If you’re reading this, you’re already part of it.

"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. The cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4:12

This verse has anchored me more times than I can count. It reminds me that we were never meant to face life—or illness—alone. God designed us for connection. And when faith is woven together with love and community, it becomes something enduring. Something unbreakable. That’s what Victory Thru Faith represents to me: not just surviving but standing strong in the storm—together.

The vision for the Victory Thru Faith Foundation is simple but bold: to be a beacon of hope for those walking through the valley. We’re here to raise awareness for cholangiocarcinoma, yes—but more than that, we’re here to shine a light on the power of faith in the fight. We want to build a community rooted in encouragement, prayer, and practical support. Through blog posts, outreach, events, and partnerships, our goal is to remind people that they’re not alone—and that victory isn’t found in perfect outcomes, but in persevering with purpose and faith.

There will be ups and downs along this journey—but we don’t have to walk alone. Personally, I’m working through some deep struggles, including healing from past mistakes and trying to rebuild a relationship with my children. In those moments, I lean on my faith and on communities like this one. There’s real strength in being part of a group where we can share openly, knowing someone is listening—and that heart-to-heart connection can make all the difference.

If any of this speaks to your heart, I invite you to join the Victory Thru Faith Facebook Community. It’s a space where we build hope together—one story, one prayer, one day at a time. There, we share openly: our victories, our setbacks, our quiet struggles, and the faith that carries us through. Whether you're in the middle of the fight or walking alongside someone who is, your voice matters. Come be part of something bigger than any one of us—because when we build it together, hope shows up, and healing begins.

Until Tomorrow...

Steve

April Fools...

Today I find myself thinking back to February 11th, 2025, the day I was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma. And with-it being April 1st, part of me wishes someone had popped out and said, “April Fools!”

But then I remind myself: this is the path placed in front of me. And while it's been full of pain and suffering—something I’ve known in different forms for much of my life—this journey is real, and its mine.

People often say that going through tough times builds character. Let me just say, believe it. It’s not just a saying… its truth forged in the fire.

They say, “The truth will set you free.” That’s not just a quote—it’s a truth forged in the fire of experience. And it’s something we should all be seeking daily.

Truth is one of God’s design laws. When we earnestly pursue it, we rise above the noise of the world and the confusion that Carl Jung once called the Collective Shadow. In truth, there is freedom. In truth, there is healing.

I’m creating a Facebook group for those of us walking the path of cholangiocarcinoma—patients and caregivers alike—who choose to lean on faith as a source of strength, guidance, and purpose. This will be a space where we can support each other through testimony, encouragement, and community.

The group is built around a promise found in Isaiah 40:31:
"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles..."

Victory Thru Faith is more than a name—it’s a mission.
We are here to rise above life’s challenges with renewed strength, hope, and faith in God. And through that strength, we lift each other up, using our experiences to help others navigate this journey.

You’re not alone.
Together, we’ll fight—with truth, with faith, and with each other.

Until Tomorrow,

Steve

Me, My Oncologist & Artificial Intelligence (AI)

My first conversation with my oncologist after my PET scan in March of 2025, I confided in him that because it was late in the evening, and what I read of the results on MyChart were unsettling, so I ran them through an AI platform, which made them more unsettling. Turns out, AI was dead on, but without the treatment plan my oncologist had already put it in place and felt very comfortable about. This puts my mind at ease, but still the results become an addition to my current battle with Cholangiocarcinoma.

I am scheduled in April 2025 for a Lung Biopsy because the PET scan revealed a large mass on my left lung and activity in my lymph nodes around my chest area. The biopsy will determine whether the cancer is singular or dual. The chemo/immunotherapy treatment plan I am currently on according to my oncologist would be similar treatment for both.

The tension between receiving unsettling news late at night and turning to AI for clarity is a modern one. AI confirming my fears is both validating and disturbing, especially without the full clinical context and emotional support a physician can provide.

My oncologist’s reassurance—already having a treatment plan in place and being confident in it—brings a crucial counterbalance. It shows not only medical readiness but an understanding of my emotional needs. His ability to remain composed and forward-looking helps me to recenter the focus on action and agency rather than fear.

The upcoming lung biopsy, with its potential to redefine my diagnosis (one cancer or two), naturally adds a layer of stress. But I’m already on a treatment path that my oncologist believes is appropriate for either scenario. That’s a meaningful piece of stability in an otherwise shifting landscape.

This moment feels like a demonstration of strength not just in enduring the physical fight but in being proactive and emotionally honest, with a whole lot of tenacity. Consulting AI helped me with understanding and control, even when the answers were hard. This experience has shown me, rather than spiral, anchoring myself in the trust of my oncologist and my treatment plan.

Yes, the scan results added weight to my battle, but so did my resolve to face them head-on, seek insight, and lean into the partnership with my medical team, AI, and together navigate an incredibly difficult journey with intellect, vulnerability, and courage—and that’s powerful.

The Perfect Triad!

Until Tomorrow,

Steve

My Story: Why Victory Thru Faith

An Invitation to Walk This Journey with Me

On January 4th, 2021, I was admitted to the University of Utah Medical Center with necrotizing pancreatitis—a severe condition where inflammation causes parts of the pancreas to die. That dead tissue became infected, and things quickly turned critical.

I don’t remember much of the first 28 days. I was in a coma. The doctors didn’t think I’d make it through the first night. I was told later that when I finally woke up, my admitting physician greeted me with, “Welcome back—do you know who I am?” I replied, “Should I?”

From that point on, my life changed.

I spent four months in the hospital, followed by three months in a skilled nursing facility, learning how to walk and talk. I went home with three biliary tubes still attached, returning to the hospital every 6–8 weeks for exchanges until they were eventually replaced with internal stents.

Enter: Cholangiocarcinoma

On February 11th, 2025, I received another life-altering diagnosis: Stage IV Cholangiocarcinoma (Bile Duct Cancer). Strangely, I wasn’t surprised. Maybe it was the dark place my mind went during those days in the coma. Maybe it was God preparing me in ways I couldn’t understand at the time.

Life doesn’t always give warnings. It gives moments—some devastating, others divine. And this moment, this diagnosis, is now part of my story. But it’s not the whole story.

Why Victory Thru Faith?

Because this journey isn’t just about disease—it's about faith, resilience, and the unshakable hope that carries me forward.

I’ve never claimed to be perfect. I’ve strayed, wandered, and lived in ways I know didn’t please God. But even then, He never left me. In my darkest seasons, He found a way to remind me of His presence—sometimes just for a moment, but always enough.

I consider myself spiritual, not religious. But my faith in Jesus Christ is what sustains me now. Whatever comes, I know I’m not alone.

Where This All Began

After my diagnosis, I went searching online—looking for real, honest stories from people battling Cholangiocarcinoma. I found some. But not enough. Especially not stories told from the trenches—while still in the fight.

That’s when I knew: I had to share my own.

What began as a blog has become something bigger—a platform of purpose:
👉 www.victorythrufaith.org

The Mission

"To raise awareness and advance research by empowering Cholangiocarcinoma patients to contribute during and after treatment.
Inspired by Isaiah 40:31, Victory Thru Faith helps others rise above life’s challenges with renewed strength, hope, and faith in God. We are committed to being a source of light and encouragement for those navigating illness, pain, or uncertainty—trusting in God's power to bring healing and purpose."

What You’ll Find Here

This blog will be a space of raw honesty, faith, and hope—a place where the journey is shared, not sugar-coated. Here’s what I’ll be posting:

Treatment Updates – The ups, the downs, and everything in between.
Reflections on Faith – How my walk with God strengthens me through it all.
Day-to-Day Realities – What it's really like to live with cancer.
Moments of Gratitude – Because even in pain, there’s beauty.

Walking This Road Together

I won’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m still learning, still processing, still fighting. But one thing I know for sure—we weren’t made to walk through our hardest battles alone.

Whether you're a fellow patient, a caregiver, a survivor, or someone looking for encouragement, I invite you to join me. Let’s walk this together.

No matter what lies ahead, we choose to Fight with Faith.

Thank you for being here. I’m pleased to share this journey with you.

— Steve

How Can I Help?

March 26, 2025

Today’s the first time I’ve felt nauseous. I took a prochlorperazine at 1:30 p.m., and it seems to be helping. I’ve also got mild cold symptoms — just the sniffles and a tiny cold sore. Nothing like the brutal colds or flu I had as a kid.

Lately, one question keeps running through my head: “How can I help?”

In January 2021, I was admitted to the University of Utah Medical Center with necrotizing pancreatitis. Looking back, that might have been the start of what eventually led to my cholangiocarcinoma diagnosis.

Since joining these Facebook groups, even briefly, I’ve been overwhelmed — in the best way — by the support, kindness, and compassion I’ve found. I’ve met some incredible people.

And still, “How can I help?” is the question I keep coming back to as I scroll through posts. Sometimes I comment — a few words of encouragement, a question, or a bit of my own story. Other times, I just listen and learn, or forward the post to someone I know may have an answer. I'm still new to all this.

As I shared recently: “I am of faith, with a voice, and on a mission.” That mission is to walk through this journey, step by step, however it unfolds. These groups give me strength. They make the path less lonely.

I was diagnosed on February 11, 2025. Right away, I started reading everything I could about cholangiocarcinoma — treatments, survival stats, patient stories. But what I couldn’t find was the process — the everyday reality of living through it. So, I decided to document mine, in case it helps someone else just starting out. That’s what you’re reading here.

Everyone’s path is different — mentally, physically, spiritually — but maybe mine can be one more voice of support in the mix.

I’ve seen people beat the odds. That gives me hope. What once felt like a bleak diagnosis now feels like a mission. This community is made up of trailblazers. And like the saying goes, a cord of many strands is not easily broken.

Before I go further, I want to share something my sister wrote after my PET scan last week. She’s officially declared herself my caregiver — and, honestly, she’ll probably be the one to do it. What she wrote in her journal hit me hard. It’s too good not to share.

Random Thots of a Batshit Caregiver

3:03 a.m. Cup of coffee #2. Happy March 26, 2025, to me.

Yesterday, I took my brother in for his first PET scan. When he came out, I told him I was starving. He says, “Yeah, I’m craving alkaline batteries. Can we hit Radio Shack?” I lost it — full-on cackling in the waiting room. It felt so good to laugh.

While I was waiting, I found myself singing He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother (yes, I’m that person), and joking with the nurses about how brothers are a pain in the ass. We laughed. It helped.

Laughter matters. My brother is reminding me of that — and I’m weirdly grateful.

But let’s be honest: cancer is terrifying. It’s a gut-punch. Still, you have to grab the moments when they show up. Life doesn’t wait for your plans. It just barrels through. You’re not in charge. But if you stay present and feel the real stuff, you start to see how precious the small moments really are.

We don’t know what tomorrow holds — or even this afternoon. So we keep going, one blessing at a time.

After I dropped him off, I got hit with this wave of regret — like, why didn’t we spend more time together before? Talking. Laughing. Being real. I’ve never been into small talk. I want the honest, messy, gut-level conversations. And now we’re having them. Finally.

We’re not young anymore. But maybe that’s okay. You stop wasting what matters.

Until tomorrow,
—Steve

Check out the new website, www.victorythrufaith.org Only the home page is live and more pages are being developed as we speak... Some you won't wanna miss!

Finding Strength, Shifting Schedules, and Launching Victory Thru Faith

March 27th, 2025 – VTF Update

The day started off with a wave of fatigue—nothing extreme, just a kind of sluggishness. But as the hours passed, my energy picked up. I can’t tell if that’s the treatment doing its thing or just the reality of getting older.

This afternoon, I had the privilege of speaking with Lisa Craine, a mentor and global advocate for cholangiocarcinoma patients. She’s also the founder of Craine’s Cholangiocarcinoma Crew, a nonprofit focused on hope through research, mentorship, and advocacy.

That’s exactly what Lisa gave me today—hope.

Right before our call, I remembered that I have a chemo/immunotherapy session scheduled for April 8th. It’s a long one—five and a half hours—and it overlaps with the Welcome Dinner for the 2025 Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation Conference (5:30–7:30 p.m.). I’m now scrambling to reschedule for the day before. One way or another, I will be at that dinner.

On a lighter note, I needed a suit altered for the event, and my younger sister Missy snuck in and paid for it. Total surprise. God bless her—things are tight financially, and that gesture meant a lot.

Today also marked the launch of the Victory Thru Faith website. Right now, only the Home Page is live, but more pages and content are on the way. You can check it out at: www.victorythrufaith.org

My personal blog, Victory Thru Faith: My Journey Thru Cancer, will also live on the site. The mission? To raise awareness and drive research forward by empowering cholangiocarcinoma patients to take part in the process—during and after treatment.

After my diagnosis, I found a lot of stories about outcomes—but not much about the journey. That’s why I’ve chosen to share mine, in real time, with all its ups and downs. This disease is real. So are we.

Our Mission:
Inspired by Isaiah 40:31, Victory Thru Faith helps others rise above life’s challenges with renewed strength, hope, and faith in God. We are committed to being a source of light and encouragement for those navigating illness, pain, or uncertainty—trusting in God's power to bring healing and purpose.

Grateful doesn’t even begin to cover it. Right now, I’m thankful for the days when the side effects stay quiet—and for moments like these, when I can share progress, purpose, and peace.

Until Tomorrow,

Steve

A New Chapter in the Fight — Facing What’s Next with Faith

March 27, 2025

Two days ago, I got the results from my latest PET scan. Medical reports are never easy to read, but I want to be open and share what’s really going on — in plain terms.

The results came on Tuesday evening. I skimmed them at first, then ran the report through my A.I. tool to get a better read. What I saw kept me up all night — especially the part about survival time.

Here’s the update:
The cancer in my liver (cholangiocarcinoma) is still active and has grown slightly. It may also have spread to nearby lymph nodes and possibly an area near my gallbladder. That wasn’t unexpected.

But what hit me hard was something new: a large, active mass in my left lung. It’s surrounded by lymph nodes that also lit up on the scan. The radiologist thinks it could be a separate lung cancer, not just a spread from the liver.

This afternoon, I talked to my oncologist. He saw the scan results too, along with a report from TEMPUS — a company that collects massive clinical and molecular data to help guide cancer treatment.

He thinks it’s all still one cancer, not two, but we won’t know for sure until I get a lung biopsy later this week. The silver lining is that if it is lung cancer, the current treatment plan won’t need to change much. We’ll follow up with a CT scan in about a month.

It’s not the news I was hoping for — but it’s not the worst either. The treatment has always been palliative. And for now, I’m still standing.

Before I wrap this up, I want to share a meme I made Tuesday night after reading my MyChart results. It’s a reminder to myself, and maybe to you too:

We Are Warriors.

I’m still moving forward. Not alone — but with God walking beside me, and with the strength I draw from this community.

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles…”
— Isaiah 40:31

Until tomorrow,

Steve

Lisa's Story

MARCH 26, 2025

I’m still waiting to speak with my oncologist about the results of my PET scan from yesterday. I did see the report last night, but I’d prefer not to share any thoughts publicly until I’ve had a chance to review it with my doctor.

In the meantime, if you haven’t already watched Lisa’s story, I encourage you to do so. It’s a powerful example of hope and resilience—going from an ordinary life to sudden devastation, and then coming back stronger than ever.

In her own words, she’s an “Emotional Italian,” a Mentor, and an Advocate. To me, she’s also one of my heroes.

Enjoy this video!

Until tomorrow,

Steve

Hoping For The Best

March 25, 2025

Today was my PET scan. Like with treatment, I was a little anxious going in, but it turned out to be just another step on this path — even if the path is palliative. Still, forward is forward.

The process was pretty much what I expected after doing some research. I met with Tremaine, my Nuclear Medicine Tech at Huntsman Cancer Institute. Super calm, kind energy — the kind of person who instantly makes you feel at ease.

After answering a few questions, I settled into a large hospital recliner (surprisingly comfy). Tremaine gave me the radiated glucose, and I promptly dozed off for about 45 minutes. A solid reminder of the underrated glory of a mid-afternoon power nap.

Next up was the actual scan. Three passes, just as Tremaine had explained earlier, and that was it. Quick and easy. I already joked about this on Facebook, but yeah — afterward, I suddenly craved alkaline batteries and had the urge to visit a Radio Shack. Tasteless? Maybe. Still made me laugh.

Chemo treatment #2 was yesterday, and I’m still waiting on the big side effects everyone talks about. Not complaining, just... waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the meantime, I’ll take the win.

Tomorrow, I’m planning to finally get my Meta glasses set up for a little walkabout downtown Salt Lake City, around the Salt Palace — where the April Cholangiocarcinoma Conference will be held. Once I figure the glasses out, I’ll share it in the groups I’m part of.

Speaking of those groups — they’ve been incredible. The support, the shared knowledge, the sense of not being alone in this — it’s real. If you’re navigating this disease, don’t do it in isolation. These Facebook groups have been lifelines:

They’re full of people from all over the world, all facing Cholangiocarcinoma. And in that shared experience, you find even more common ground than you expect.

In closing tonight, I want to say thank you to everyone for your support — especially my little sister, Missy. This is just as hard on her, if not harder. Also, tomorrow I’ll be posting some pics and video from the last couple of days, along with the walkabout video. Stay tuned.

Until Tomorrow... Steve

PS: Let me know what you think or feel about the new Facebook header. Also, I would like to rotate the pics in the puzzle pieces. If you want, you can send me a pic with reasonably good resolution to: victorythrufaithteam@gmail.com

Alkaline Batteries?

MARCH 24, 2025

Today, I want to start by sharing something truly special. During my treatment, I had the pleasure of meeting two amazing people—Matt and Karli. We connected just a few days ago through the Cholangiocarcinoma Facebook Group, and they came to see me in person today. That kind of support means the world to me.

I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating—people in these types of support groups feel like family. I’ve never been one for groupthink... until now. This experience is changing me in ways I never expected.

Today also marked the end of my first 21-day treatment cycle (two weeks on, one week off). Week one includes chemo and immunotherapy, and week two is chemo only. On those treatment days, I also have lab work and a consult with Paula, my oncology nurse from Dr. Gilcrease’s team.

During our conversation, I asked Paula a few questions:

How long will I be on treatment initially?
She said they’ll likely continue for 2–3 months before doing another CT scan to reassess.
Will side effects increase as treatment goes on?
Her answer: “It’s different for everyone.” So far, I’ve been fortunate and haven’t experienced the more common side effects.

I also asked about something called “Tempus.” After talking with Matt and Karli, I’ve decided to complete the paperwork and send it in tonight. It’s a genomic testing service that helps personalize future treatment options based on my unique genetic makeup. Sounds promising.

I mentioned to Paula that I’d had a little facial redness and dry skin the last couple of days, but it cleared up with some over-the-counter 1% hydrocortisone. I’ve dealt with this before and used to have a prescription steroid cream. She said if it returns or worsens, she can prescribe something—but for now, we’ll stick with what’s working. Whether it’s a side effect or not remains to be seen.

For now, it’s a waiting game. We’ll reevaluate everything in a few months. In the meantime, I have a PET scan scheduled for tomorrow. Depending on the results, there may be some changes to the treatment plan.

When we got home, my sister Missy and I had a good laugh over something silly—the word “FOB.” You know, those little security devices you use to get into buildings? Somehow, we came up with about a hundred different ways to say it. Just one of those goofy moments you don’t plan but really enjoy.

Before I close, I want to mention something really helpful: Daveen, a patient and family support specialist at Huntsman Cancer Institute, dropped by during my treatment. She told me about a weekly Zoom men’s group for patients who are walking a similar path. If you’re interested in joining, feel free to email me at victorythrufaithteam@gmail.com. I’ll be reaching out to the moderator tonight to get all the details and the link.

And finally, something truly heartwarming happened this morning. My oldest daughter and I haven’t been in touch much lately. Last night, I sent her an email, and this morning she responded—positively. It feels like the start of a new chapter for us, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Until tomorrow…
—Steve

Five Days Running

FIVE DAYS RUNNING

I woke up a little after 6:00 a.m. today. It’s been five days since my first round of chemo and immunotherapy. Over the past couple of days, I’ve noticed some stiffness, especially in my neck. I’ve been drinking at least 80 ounces of water daily since treatment started, so I’m not sure if the stiffness is related.

So far, I haven’t had any nausea or digestive issues, but yesterday afternoon my face became extremely dry and red. I applied hydrocortisone cream before bed, and while it’s less sore this morning, the redness is still there.

Yesterday, I joined two Facebook support groups: Cholangiocarcinoma Support Group and Cholangiocarcinoma Immunotherapy & Targeted Therapy. The people there are incredible, and their stories really hit home. I’ve never been one to join groups like this, but just like with the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation, these communities already feel like family. They’ve been a true blessing.

My second treatment is tomorrow at the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City. So far, side effects from the first round have been mild. I’ve heard so many different stories, but the one thing that keeps coming up is: “It’s different for everyone.” I’m choosing to believe that—and so far, so good.

“We have power over what we believe, and what we believe has power over us.”

Oops... Got Sidetracked

I woke up around 3:45 a.m. feeling stiff and sore—just the usual signs of aging. My mouth was dry, so I drank about 15 ounces of water. I had taken Olanzapine before bed, and I think it's helping—not just with sleep, but with the nausea too.

Mornings like this, especially with a palliative diagnosis, naturally bring up spiritual thoughts. Not necessarily religious, but more about what I believe are God’s design laws. I think a lot of people carry guilt over past mistakes—stuff that gets buried deep. But if we’re willing to face the parts of ourselves we usually avoid, we can start to bring them into the light. And once we do, they lose their grip.

I originally planned to write more about the design law of redemption today. But instead, I found myself on Facebook and came across two cholangiocarcinoma support groups: The Cholangiocarcinoma Support Group and Cholangiocarcinoma Immunotherapy & Targeted Therapy. I spent most of my free time reading and replying to posts in these communities. There’s a lot of powerful, emotional sharing in those spaces—stories of pain, hope, and success. I got some great advice, too.

I’m grateful to be part of both groups and really looking forward to meeting as many members as I can at the upcoming conference, April 9–11, 2025, at the Salt Palace in Salt Lake City, Utah.

More info and registration are available through the Cholangiocarcinoma Foundation.

Until tomorrow—