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virtualham.bsky.social
My students call me experience … because I’m the best teacher. F*CK CANCER.
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Me: My red blood cell count is down so I need this blood transfusion? Is that right? Nurse: Exactly. Me: Thanks. I just wanted to be positive. Nurse: … Me: … Nurse: … Me: Get it? My blood type is B+. Hahahaha!

Me: What are you most looking forward to when I get out of the hospital? Wife: You know. Me: I don’t. Wife: Let’s just say it starts with an F and ends with UCK. Me: OMG! I miss food trucks so much!

As we watch this Trump vs Musk feud in real time, I think I finally understand what my wife means when she says she’s tired of watching television shows where broken men refuse to heal.

Getting a dog has really added another level to the family group chat.

Does Pierre Poilievre really need to comment on every little thing the Liberals do? I guess this is the issue with him failing to secure a seat. He can’t sit anything out.

As we enter Pride Month, please know this is a safe feed for LGBTQ2S+ folks. ✌🏻 and ❤️.

After the stem cell transplant, I apparently smell like creamed corn. Like does this cancer really need to do me like this?!?! At least give me a sexy corn like Mexican Street Corn.

Looks like the stem cell transplant went smoothly so hopefully on to recovery portion of my hospital stay. Thanks for all the prayers, thoughts, and vibes. Love you all. ❤️

I just found out my blood type is B-positive so … I guess the man upstairs has a sense of humour.

I think we can all agree he’s a soft taco.

Buddy: Cancer update? Me: I don’t think I’m gonna make it Buddy: Don’t talk line th … Me: to your fiftieth birthday this weekend. Buddy: I f*cking hate you.

My principal texted me to tell me he ran into a someone at the airport that I coached twenty years ago. Dude told my principal I was pivotal in him becoming the man he is today and … let me tell you … this story is gonna get me through my first week in the hospital.

Can’t wait to beat this cancer … AGAIN … and get back to the work I love with the people I love and for the people I love.

When the nurse told me there was a walk involved if I wanted to take a shower, I asked her if I could just stand over the toilet in my room and shower with the bidet wand. She was not on board with the idea.

So … the shower room door on my hospital floor doesn’t lock AND there’s no shower curtain. Let me tell you the fear I had that someone would walk in, especially considering the water was so cold.

My phone just autocorrected EXERCISES to EXCUSES and I’ve honestly never felt more seen.

The nurses outside my room were making fun of a coworker because she wears sneakers without socks. Nurse One: That’s just nasty. Nurse Two: Yeah, how can you rawdog your shoes like that? 😂😂😂

Nurse: I see you’ve filled out your proxy form so you’re okay with Kim making all your decisions if you can’t? Me: Absolutely. Nurse: And she’s your wife? Me: She’s not just my wife; she’s my best friend. Nurse: Awww. Me: *whispering to nurse* Gotta butter her up; she might be in charge of the plug.

Nurse: Your potassium levels are low. We’ll have to add some to your IV drip. Me: K. Nurse: … Me: … Nurse: … Me: Get it? K is the symbol for potassium on the periodic table! Haha! Nurse: Helium, helium. Me: Huh? Nurse: He-he. Get it? I’m laughing at you! Ha! Me: How the periodic tables have turned.

I hope my stem cell transplant goes better than this hospital wifi. 😂

Heading to the hospital for a four to six week stay starting with seven consecutive days of intense chemotherapy (Yes, that is what they call it.) followed by a stem cell transplant. Wish me luck. Vibes and prayers appreciated.

Now ready for your viewing pleasure: Love Letters From Men On The Internet Available now! Click that ⛓️‍💥tree.

If fighting fascism is wrong, I don’t wanna be Reich.

“Schools are too woke!” Dude, we’re using textbooks that are forty years old and the curriculum predates the last residential school closure.

*George Wendt ascends to Heaven and is standing at the pearly gates* Saint Peter and a chorus of angels: Norm!!!

For once, I wish Trump was right and there was a stage nine cancer. It would make overcoming my stage four diagnosis sound less daunting.

Wife: Can you take this glass dish to the car? Me: What if I fall because of my neuropathy? Wife: You have to learn to manage. Me: You’re right. I have cancer, not can’t-cer.