Moving Forward While Looking Back: 17 Months With Glioblastoma

When I decided to move my blog over to a new home, I thought it would be a simple tech thing—copy, paste, maybe reorganize a bit. But then I started reading those old posts. The ones I wrote in hospital beds, or while hooked up to machines, or sitting next to my dog on the couch pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.

And suddenly it hit me: I have been living with Glioblastoma for 17 months. I was not supposed to make it this far. At least, according to the statistics, the studies, and the first doctor who looked me in the eye and gave me a timeline I was supposed to quietly accept.

But I did not accept it. I am still here. And reading those early posts again felt like reading someone else's story. Someone terrified but still typing. Someone hopeful despite what the odds said. Someone who really believed that green juice, mushroom powder, and pure stubbornness could somehow buy him more time.

November 22, 2023 – The Day Before Thanksgiving

I cannot reread that post without going right back to that moment. I was making pie (or trying to), panicking over statistics homework, when the world shifted. That headache was different. The kind that whispers, “Something’s not right.”

Next thing I knew, I was in the ER, being told there was a mass on my brain. A walnut-sized monster with no manners and terrible timing.

Fast-forward through the ambulance, the pink-haired doctor, the stoic surgeon, and the MRI machine that picked a great time to go on vacation—and somehow, here I am. Still writing. Still working. Still fighting. And yes, still procrastinating on pie.

Post-Surgery: Rewired and Reborn… Kind Of

After my resection, I felt like someone had taken me apart and put me back together differently. Maybe better. Maybe just more aware.

I started eating differently—not just clean, but aggressively anti-cancer. I made the Brainy Shake a daily ritual. Carrot juice, ginger, berries, Vega protein, sometimes with tears if we are being honest. I gave up sugar, processed crap, and half my social media feed.

I started walking more, sleeping better, actually resting instead of calling burnout “grind culture.”

Did I think all of this would save me? No. But I hoped it would give me more days like this. Clear enough to write. Strong enough to reflect. Grateful enough to say yes to life when it shows up.

The Weird Limbo of Feeling Good

That is the strange part. I feel... good. Or at least, not how you would expect someone with Glioblastoma to feel 17 months in.

I laugh. I eat. I work on my store, JohnVsGBM, which started with a couple of brain cancer tees and turned into something bigger than I imagined. I walk my dog. I binge Netflix. I have breakdowns sometimes, yes. But they pass. I am still here. And that confuses me sometimes.

Did the diet help? Maybe. Did the Optune arrays slow the growth? Possibly. Is my tumor just slower than average? Could be. No one has answers, and that used to bother me. Now I take it as permission to just keep doing what feels right. And that has been my compass.

Going Back on Optune

This Monday, I will be strapping Optune back on. The new version is lighter, more breathable, less torture-y. Last time I wore it, I had skin sores and migraines. It was hard. But I also believe it helped, and I am ready to try again.

This time, I go into it with more confidence—not because I think it will cure me, but because I know what to expect. I have the tools. The gear. The mindset. The backup hoodies. And the awareness that I am doing this not just for me, but for everyone watching who thinks, “If he can, maybe I can too.”

What Has Changed

Looking back, I do not recognize the guy who thought a headache would go away with Tylenol. I have changed in so many small ways.

I am more patient. More intentional. Less afraid of saying no. I let go of a lot of people who did not show up. I leaned harder into the ones who did.

I launched collections like the Gnome Cancer Awareness line because humor and healing are not mutually exclusive. I got more vocal about advocacy. I became a little more myself—and a little less of who I thought I had to be.

What Hasn’t

There are still days I spiral. Still moments where I stare at the calendar too long. Still questions without answers.

But I also still have Ernest—my husband, my rock, my comic relief. I still have Disneyland dreams. I still have this community, this store, this platform. And I still believe stories heal—especially when they are not sugarcoated.

Why I’m Really Writing This

This is not just about blog migration. It is about memory migration.

Taking the fear and fire of those first posts and bringing them here—to this next chapter, to this new space where maybe more people will find them and feel a little less alone.

It is also a reminder: Resilience is not just surviving. It is remembering. Reflecting. Rebuilding. It is saying, “Yeah. That happened. And I’m still here.”

What’s Next?

I do not know.

I will wear the Optune arrays. I will keep drinking weird mushroom coffee. I will keep making sarcastic T-shirts and hopeful hoodies. I will keep writing.

And I will keep saying thank you—to everyone who reads, supports, donates, laughs, or just sends a message saying, “Me too.”

I do not have a timeline. But I have today. And that is enough.

Maybe the best part of moving this blog is realizing just how far I have come—not just in months, but in mindset. I used to write to cope. Now I write to connect. And that’s what this space is about now: connection, honesty, and showing up real—even when it's messy.

This is more than a store. JohnVsGBM is a lifeline. A story. A reminder that we are still here, and still fighting, even when the stats say otherwise.