When My Brain Gets Weird

This morning in the waiting room, my brain went rogue. Not “what’s for dinner” rogue. Not “should I reorganize the pantry” rogue. Straight to:

“If we were all cavemen right now, who survives the saber tooth tiger?”

Excuse me, brain?

But once it started, the casting was obvious:

• Tiger food: The guy blasting his video loud enough for the whole waiting room to hear. The woman pacing the corridor, yelling into her phone. In caveman days? Gone. First round. Thanks for playing.
• Tribal elders: They wouldn’t outrun the tiger, but they’d carry the stories, the wisdom, and the knowledge of which mushrooms feed you — and which ones kill you (or make you high AF).
• The warriors: Maybe one or two folks in here could trap the tiger if luck was on their side.
• Me: Screaming “stick together!” and bossing people into formation, probably while holding a torch. Because even in prehistoric times, I’m organizing the chaos.

It’s dark, I know. But that’s what my brain does in heavy places — rewrites the scene as some bizarre survival game. Gallows humor. Maybe survival in its own way.

And maybe my brain wasn’t entirely wrong. Because lately, it really has felt like survival mode.

Last week was brutal — one of the hardest since treatment ended. Spirits were low. Tempers were short. Everything felt heavier.

This week, though, feels different. Mike is still foggy most of the time, but caffeine and activity help. His stamina is creeping back. He can make it through a couple of hours at an event before crashing. Days packed with calls wear him out, but they’re also nudging him toward his old rhythm. It’s progress. Slow, imperfect, but real.

So maybe my caveman brain wasn’t that far off. Some days, it feels like we’re still dodging tigers. Other days, we’re just grateful to still be in the tribe.