In my New Year’s post, I described how 2025 was a brutal year. I started the year believing I had finally won. Two rounds of treatment behind me. The nightmare was over.
Then came June 3rd, 2025.
Our 25th wedding anniversary. A day that should have been about celebrating a quarter century of love with my wife, Sarah. Instead, we sat together reading a pathology report that shattered everything. My cancer was back. It had spread to my lungs. The word “terminal” hung in the air between us.
In that moment of devastation, we made a decision. We weren’t going to accept this as the end. After consulting with a pharmacist in Tennessee, we took control. We modified my treatment to focus on healing my body and optimizing my nutrition alongside conventional care.
Six months later, the cancer is mostly undetectable and stable. From terminal to stable. I am still here. Every single day is a miracle. Every moment with my family and friends is a gift I refuse to take for granted.
But being alive and truly living are two very different things.
What Cancer Left Behind
This journey has cost me my career, my voice, and at times, my hope. Cancer may be stable, but the damage it and its treatments left behind is anything but.
Radiation stole my voice. Until therapy helps, I speak only in a whisper, the kind of whisper that makes people lean in and then look away, unsure what to say. The nerves that once let me project across a conference room, lead a team meeting, or simply call out to my sons from across the yard, those nerves are damaged, possibly destroyed.
And then there’s the neuropathy.
If you’ve never experienced neuropathy, imagine this: the bottoms of your feet feel like bean bags, soft, shapeless, not quite yours. There’s some feeling and some numbness, shifting in and out like a signal you can’t quite tune in. It’s not sharp pain. It’s more like a deep, persistent tiredness that settles into your feet and never leaves, as if they’ve been walking for days without rest, even when you’ve been sitting still.
The worst part is what the neuropathy takes from you beyond discomfort. I can’t fully trust my own balance. If I close my eyes while standing, something as simple as washing my face in the shower, I have about fifteen seconds before my body starts to sway and I become a fall hazard. Fifteen seconds. That’s all the time my brain can manage without my eyes doing the work my nerves no longer can. That kind of vulnerability, in your own bathroom, in your own home, is a humbling thing.
Sleep is no longer rest. I wake after about four hours, every night, pulled from whatever peace sleep offers by discomfort that makes itself known the moment I try to shift positions. It’s not agony, it’s the kind of stiffness and soreness in my neck, left shoulder, and feet that won’t let you settle back in. The pain medications are already on the nightstand because I know they’ll be needed. Four hours of sleep, then pills, then lying in the dark waiting for the discomfort to ease enough to try for a few more restless hours. That’s not recovery. That’s survival.
Then there’s the physical therapy. I show up, I do the work, and my body reminds me exactly what it’s been through. My neck grinds and cracks through every rotation, sounds that make my therapist pause. The stiffness in my left shoulder resists every stretch like rusted metal. The grinding noises aren’t just unpleasant; they’re a soundtrack to the damage that radiation left in its wake. But the range of motion is getting better. Slowly. Incrementally. The kind of progress you measure in degrees, not miles. I keep going, because the alternative is letting my body lock up entirely, and I’ve come too far to let that happen.
The Science of Hope: Alpha-Lipoic Acid and the SYDNEY Trial
Through all of this, I’ve done what I’ve always done, researched, documented, and searched for solutions the way a project manager hunts for the critical path forward. That research led me to Alpha-Lipoic Acid (ALA) infusion therapy, and more importantly, to the clinical evidence behind it.
The SYDNEY Trial (Sensory Symptoms of Diabetic Polyneuropathy Are Improved with Alpha-Lipoic Acid), published in Diabetes Care in 2003, was a randomized, double-blind, placebo-controlled study, the gold standard of medical research. 120 patients with symptomatic nerve damage were enrolled. Sixty received 600 mg of ALA intravenously, five days per week, for a total of 14 treatments. The other 60 received a placebo.
The results were striking.
Patients receiving ALA infusions saw their Total Symptom Score, a composite measure of stabbing pain, burning pain, numbness, and prickling, improve by an average of 5.7 points from baseline. The placebo group improved by only 1.8 points. The difference was highly statistically significant (P < 0.001). Every individual symptom measured, lancinating pain, burning pain, numbness, and prickling, showed statistically significant improvement in the ALA group compared to placebo.
What makes this finding even more remarkable is the researchers’ conclusion about why the improvement occurred. The benefit was attributed to improved nerve pathophysiology, meaning the nerves themselves were healing, not simply being numbed or masked. The study concluded that intravenous ALA “rapidly and to a significant and meaningful degree improved positive neuropathic sensory symptoms.”
A subsequent meta-analysis pooling data across multiple randomized controlled trials confirmed these findings, showing a pooled reduction in symptom scores of −2.81 (P = 0.0001) for intravenous ALA compared to placebo. The researchers concluded that intravenous ALA leads to “significant and clinically relevant improvements of symptomatic peripheral neuropathy.”
TheDripBar in Edina, Minnesota, is ready to begin my treatment. The out-of-pocket cost is $5,500, and insurance won’t cover it. If you’d like to help me access this treatment, you can contribute to my GoFundMe. Every dollar goes directly toward these infusions, my ongoing high-dose vitamin C treatments, and medical expenses as I wait for my SSDI disability assistance to begin in February. The link is on my blog at WaynesCancerJourney.com.
A Miracle Worth Fighting For
I’ve learned that healing isn’t just about eliminating cancer cells. It’s about rebuilding your body, nourishing it, and giving it every possible tool to fight back.
I want to laugh again without wincing. I want to stand in the shower with my eyes closed and not worry about falling. I want to sleep through the night, really sleep, without discomfort pulling me awake before dawn. I want to rehabilitate so I can work again. I want to reconnect with old friends. I want to actually live, not just survive.
To everyone who has prayed, shared my story, or simply sent a kind word, thank you. Your support has carried me through the darkest days. You’ve shown me what community looks like, the power of faith, and the resilience of the human spirit.
I’m still here. And I intend to stay.
With love and deep gratitude,
Wayne