Six Battles, One Faith

Hello. Every time I write a post, I wonder if it will be my last one. Writing and putting my thoughts together have become much harder the last few months. This post alone took me months to write. But as always, I leave everything in God’s hands.

My Journey with Cancer, Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, Gastroparesis, Long Haulers COVID, and Now the Beginning of Dementia.

Sometimes I sit back and wonder how one person can experience so many different medical battles in a lifetime.

Cancer, Parkinson’s. Myasthenia Gravis. Gastroparesis. Long Haulers COVID. And now, the beginning of another chapter I never imagined having to write: Dementia.

Six diagnoses. Six different challenges. Countless doctor’s appointments, hospitalizations, treatments, medications, sleepless nights, unanswered questions, and moments when my body has reminded me that I’m not in control of nearly as much as I once thought.

This isn’t a story I’m sharing because I want sympathy. It’s not about seeking attention or having people feel sorry for me.

It’s about sharing my journey. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the heartbreaking, and everything in between.

It’s about being honest about what life looks like when you live with multiple chronic and progressive health conditions.

And most importantly, it’s about sharing what Jesus has meant to me throughout this journey.

Cancer: The Battle That Started It All:

In 2003, I heard two words that would forever change my life: You have cancer.

It was one of my first major medical battles and an early reminder of just how fragile life can be. Cancer brought uncertainty, fear, and questions about the future, but it also strengthened my appreciation for every day I’m given.

Little did I know that cancer would be followed by several more medical battles over the years.

Through it all, I’ve continued to learn that my circumstances may change, but God’s faithfulness never does.

Cancer may have been one of my battles, but it never became my identity. Jesus remained my identity, my hope, and my strength.

PARKINSON’S: THE BATTLE THAT KEEPS ON STEALING:

My Parkinson’s diagnosis came in 2007.

I never imagined that a neurological disease would become such a significant part of my life. Parkinson’s has affected my physical abilities, mobility, energy, and, perhaps most frustratingly, my ability to communicate.

My voice doesn’t always cooperate. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to say, but getting the words out is an entirely different challenge.

For someone who loves writing, encouraging people, sharing the Gospel, and communicating with others, losing some of that ability has been particularly difficult.

I’ve had to find different ways to express myself and share what God puts on my heart.

But here’s something I’ve learned:

Parkinson’s may affect my voice, but it cannot silence my faith.

I still have something to say. I still have a testimony to share. And I still have a reason to encourage others.

MYASTHENIA GRAVIS: WHEN YOUR OWN BODY BECOMES A BATTLEFIELD

In 2009, another diagnosis entered my life: Myasthenia Gravis.

Living with MG means dealing with a neuromuscular autoimmune disease that causes muscle weakness and can affect everyday activities in ways most people never understand.

Some days, even the simplest things require tremendous effort.

There are days when my body doesn’t have the strength to do what my mind wants it to do. There are moments when fatigue takes over and I have to accept that I simply cannot do everything I want.

One of the hardest parts of living with MG is its unpredictability.

You can have plans, dreams, and things you want to accomplish, only to have your body remind you that today isn’t going to go according to plan.

It’s a humbling experience.

But I’ve learned that my worth isn’t determined by how much I accomplish in a day.

God doesn’t love me more on my productive days or less on my difficult ones.

His grace is sufficient, even when my strength isn’t.

GASTROPARESIS: WHEN SOMETHING SO SIMPLE BECOMES A DAILY BATTLE

In 2015, Gastroparesis became another part of my medical journey.

Something most people never think twice about, eating, became another challenge.

Gastroparesis affects the stomach’s ability to empty properly. It can make nutrition, eating, and digestion incredibly difficult.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like when something as fundamental as eating becomes a daily medical challenge.

There are frustrations, discomfort, limitations, and days when you simply wish your body would cooperate.

I have dealt with a gastric stimulator, a feeding tube and 70% of my stomach being removed.

Dealing with gastroparesis is another reminder that so many things we take for granted are actually blessings.

I’ve learned to appreciate things differently, celebrate small victories, and recognize that sometimes getting through an ordinary day is anything but ordinary.

LONG HAULERS COVID: ANOTHER UNEXPECTED CHAPTER

In 2021, Long Haulers COVID added another layer to an already complicated medical journey.

After everything my body had experienced, I found myself navigating the lingering effects of another illness.

The fatigue, physical challenges, and uncertainty added to an already difficult situation.

Sometimes it feels like just when I begin adjusting to one medical challenge, another one comes along.

I would love to tell you that I’ve gotten used to it.

But the truth is, you never completely get used to having your health turned upside down.

You learn to adjust. You learn to adapt. You learn to appreciate the good days.

And you learn that tomorrow is never guaranteed.

DEMENTIA: A NEW CHAPTER AND A DIFFERENT KIND OF FEAR

And now, there’s Dementia.

This is perhaps one of the most difficult chapters for me to write about.

It’s one thing to experience physical limitations. It’s another thing to begin facing questions about your memory, your thinking, and what the future might hold.

Dementia brings a different kind of uncertainty.

There are questions I don’t have answers to. There are things about the future that I would rather not think about.

I love remembering. I love writing. I love creating songs, sharing stories, encouraging people, and reflecting on what God has done throughout my life.

Those pleasures in life are becoming more difficult these days. This is a difficult season to process.

But I’m learning something important.

My identity has never been dependent on my memory, my physical abilities, my voice, or my medical circumstances.

My identity has always been found in Jesus Christ.

Even when my body struggles, even when my voice is weak, and even when my memory isn’t what it once was, I am still a child of God.

My value hasn’t changed.

My purpose hasn’t disappeared.

And my Savior hasn’t gone anywhere.

I don’t know what this chapter will look like, but I know who will walk through it with me.

THE PART OF MY JOURNEY PEOPLE DON’T ALWAYS SEE

Behind these six diagnoses is a human being.

A child of God’s. A husband. A son. A friend. Someone who still has dreams, hopes, passions, and a desire to make a difference.

There are days when the fatigue is overwhelming.

There are nights when sleep is difficult to find.

There are moments when pain, weakness, and frustration take their toll.

There are things I want to do but cannot.

There are meetings I have to miss, commitments I have to step away from, and days when I have to remind myself that resting isn’t quitting.

Sometimes I miss the person I used to be physically.

I miss the freedom of being able to do things without calculating how much energy they will require.

I miss having a voice that cooperates.

I miss the days when my body didn’t dictate so many of my decisions.

And yes, sometimes I get discouraged.

I’m sharing that because I believe Christians need to understand something:

Having faith doesn’t mean you never struggle. Having faith means you know where to turn when you do.

I don’t believe we have to pretend everything is wonderful when we’re hurting.

Jesus never asked us to pretend.

He invites us to bring our burdens, our fears, our disappointments, and our brokenness to Him.

And that’s what I continue to do.

MY FAITH IS BIGGER THAN MY DIAGNOSES

Over the years, I’ve experienced some incredibly difficult medical situations.

I’ve faced moments when doctors weren’t sure I would survive. I’ve experienced hospitalizations, intensive care, treatments, and medical circumstances that I never imagined would become part of my testimony.

I’ve also experienced what I can only describe as the incredible grace and mercy of God.

In 2019, after years of serious illness and moments when my life was hanging in the balance, I experienced a remarkable miracle after attending a prayer gathering.

A miracle that hasn’t disappeared because God is mad at me or my lack of faith.

I am still walking in my miracle.

I have countless testimonies of God’s faithfulness, and I carry those experiences with me.

But I’ve also learned that faith isn’t a guarantee that we will never get sick, never suffer, or never experience another difficult diagnosis.

Faith is trusting Jesus even when the healing hasn’t come or the healing isn’t complete healing.

I believe the majority of the time, our healing is progressive. That is a post for another post.

Faith is believing when the answers don’t make sense.

Faith is finding peace when the circumstances haven’t changed.

Faith is knowing that even in the darkest valley, we are never walking alone.

One of my favorite passages is 2 Corinthians 12:9:

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I’ve come to understand that Scripture in ways I never could have imagined.

I used to think strength meant being able to do more, accomplish more, and push through every obstacle.

Today, I understand that sometimes strength means getting out of bed when everything hurts.

Sometimes strength means asking for help.

Sometimes strength means resting.

Sometimes strength means crying out to Jesus and admitting that you don’t have anything left to give.

And sometimes strength simply means getting through another day.

TO MY WIFE, FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND EVERYONE WHO PRAYS

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the people who have walked alongside me.

Especially my bride, Laura.

For more than two decades, she has walked through this medical journey with me. The appointments, treatments, surgeries, hospitalizations, uncertainty, and countless difficult days.

She has been there through so much.

People sometimes talk about what it means to love someone through sickness and health. Laura has lived that commitment in ways that words cannot adequately describe.

I am also grateful for family, friends, and everyone who made the choice to stick around and pray for us, encourage us, check in on us and reminded us that we’re not alone.

Your prayers matter.

Your encouragement matters.

And sometimes, just knowing someone is thinking about you makes a difficult day a little easier.

I’M NOT FINISHED LIVING

So, where do I go from here?

Honestly, I don’t know exactly what tomorrow will bring.

I cannot promise that my health will improve. I cannot promise that I won’t face more challenges. I cannot predict what these diagnoses will mean for my future.

But I can make a decision about today.

I can continue loving my wife.

I can continue encouraging people.

I can continue sharing my faith.

I can continue writing, creating, praying, and looking for opportunities to make a difference.

I can continue living a life of significance, even if that life looks very different from what I once imagined.

I have spent much of my life encouraging people to keep fighting, keep believing, and keep overcoming.

Today, I’m reminding myself of that same message.

And I want people to understand something:

I’m not an overcomer because I’ve defeated every medical condition.

I’m an overcomer because these conditions haven’t taken away my hope, my faith, my love for Jesus, or my desire to keep living.

My health issues are part of my story.

They are NOT my identity.

My identity is found in Jesus.

I am a child of God.

I am loved.

I am still here.

And I still have a purpose.

ONE FINAL THOUGHT

If you’re reading this and you’re fighting a battle of your own, whether it’s cancer, Parkinson’s, dementia, an autoimmune disease, chronic illness, depression, or something nobody else can see, please hear me.

You are not your diagnosis.

You are not your limitations.

You are not your worst day.

You are not forgotten.

You are not alone.

Give yourself permission to have difficult days. Give yourself permission to rest. Give yourself permission to ask for help.

And never believe that your life has lost its significance simply because your circumstances have changed.

I don’t know how many chapters remain in my story.

But I know who holds the pages.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

But I know who holds tomorrow.

And I don’t know what the future of my health looks like.

But I know that Jesus will be with me every step of the way.

Six medical battles. Countless challenges. One Savior. One unwavering faith.

I’m not giving up.

I’m not throwing in the towel.

I’m not finished living.

I’m still fighting. I’m still believing. I’m still trusting Jesus.

And by His grace…

I’M STILL AN OVERCOMER!

KEEP FIGHTING. KEEP BELIEVING. KEEP OVERCOMING.

To God be the glory. ~OC

November 5, 2026 0

A Day In My Life

Today’s a new day!

There are days when I wake up and have to remind myself that my body is not the same body I had years ago.

For most people, waking up is simply the beginning of another day. For me, waking up can feel like the beginning of another battle.

I live with Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, Gastroparesis and Dementia. Each condition brings its own challenges, and sometimes they seem to take turns—or work together—to remind me that this journey is anything but easy.

But there is something else I wake up with every morning:

Hope.

Morning Comes With Questions

Before my feet even hit the floor, I often have to figure out what kind of day my body is going to allow me to have.

Will my muscles cooperate today?

Will the Parkinson’s symptoms be manageable?

Will my mind be clear, or will dementia make the morning confusing?

Will my stomach tolerate food?

Will fatigue consume the energy I need just to get through the day?

These aren’t questions most people have to ask themselves when they wake up.

For me, they are part of everyday life.

Sometimes getting dressed takes longer than it should. Sometimes walking across a room requires concentration. Sometimes my body simply doesn’t want to cooperate with what my mind is telling it to do.

And yet, I get up.

Because I’m still here.

Even Breakfast Can Be a Battle

Gastroparesis has changed my relationship with food.

Something as simple as eating breakfast isn’t always simple. My stomach doesn’t always cooperate, and there are days when eating can leave me feeling miserable.

There are times when I wish I could just sit down and enjoy a normal meal without thinking about what it might do to my body afterward.

But I’ve learned that living with chronic illness means learning to adapt.

You make adjustments.

You listen to your body.

You celebrate the small victories.

Sometimes simply being able to eat something and keep it down is a victory.

Then There Is Fatigue

Myasthenia Gravis brings another level of unpredictability.

Fatigue isn’t always the kind of tiredness that a good night’s sleep fixes.

It can feel like my muscles have simply run out of strength.

Things that look incredibly easy from the outside can require tremendous effort on the inside.

Walking.

Standing.

Getting dressed.

Taking a shower.

Going through a normal day.

People may see me doing something and think, “That doesn’t look difficult.”

What they can’t see is the energy it may have taken for me to do it.

That’s one of the hardest things about invisible illness.

People see what you accomplish.

They don’t always see what it cost you.

Then There Is Dementia

Perhaps one of the most frightening parts of this journey is not always knowing whether my mind is going to cooperate.

There are moments when memories become difficult to retrieve.

There are moments of confusion.

There are moments when I know something should be familiar, but my mind doesn’t immediately connect the dots.

And that can be frightening.

There is a unique kind of frustration that comes when your mind doesn’t work the way you know it once did.

You know the information is somewhere inside you, but you can’t always reach it.

I’ve had to learn to be patient with myself.

I’ve had to learn that forgetting something doesn’t make me less valuable.

Confusion doesn’t make me less of a person.

And needing help doesn’t make me weak.

Some Days Are Better Than Others

That’s probably one of the biggest lessons chronic illness has taught me.

No two days are exactly alike.

Some days I accomplish more than I expected.

Other days, simply getting through the day is the accomplishment.

And I’ve learned not to measure the value of my life by how much I accomplish.

My worth isn’t determined by how productive I am.

My worth isn’t determined by how fast I walk.

My worth isn’t determined by how clearly I speak.

My worth isn’t determined by what my diseases have taken from me.

My worth comes from God.

And that changes everything.

I Still Have Things To Do

One of the greatest mistakes we can make when facing a long-term health battle is believing that our lives are over.

They’re not.

They may look different.

The dreams may have to change.

The pace may have to change.

The plans may have to change.

But our purpose doesn’t disappear simply because our bodies change.

I may not be able to do everything I once did.

But I can still encourage someone.

I can still love my family.

I can still pray.

I can still write.

I can still share my story.

I can still remind someone else that they aren’t alone.

And maybe that’s part of my purpose.

Maybe the scars from this journey aren’t just reminders of what I’ve survived.

Maybe they’re opportunities to help someone else survive their own battle.

Some Days I Get Tired

I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

There are days when I’m tired of being tired.

There are days when I wish I could have just one completely normal day.

One day without thinking about symptoms.

One day without wondering what my body is going to do.

One day without having to calculate how much energy something will require.

One day without my mind playing tricks on me.

But even on those days, I remind myself:

I’m still here.

And as long as I’m here, there is still purpose.

My Life Isn’t Defined By My Diseases

Parkinson’s is something I live with.

Myasthenia Gravis is something I live with.

Gastroparesis is something I live with.

Dementia is something I live with.

But none of those things gets to define who I am.

I am more than my medical chart.

I am more than my symptoms.

I am more than my limitations.

I am more than the difficult days.

I am a husband.

I am a friend.

I am a child of God.

I am an overcomer.

And I am still walking this journey one day at a time.

If You’re Walking A Similar Journey

If you’re reading this while living with Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, Gastroparesis, Dementia, or another chronic illness, I want you to know something:

You are not your diagnosis.

Don’t be ashamed of needing help.

Don’t feel guilty for resting.

Don’t compare your journey to someone else’s.

Don’t beat yourself up because today wasn’t as productive as yesterday.

Give yourself grace.

Celebrate the little victories.

And when all you can do today is get out of bed and make it through the day, remember that sometimes surviving the day is a victory worth celebrating.

And For Me, There Is Still Hope

My faith doesn’t mean I pretend this journey is easy.

It means I don’t have to walk through it alone.

There are days when I don’t understand why God has allowed this journey to be so long.

There are days when I am exhausted.

There are days when I have questions.

But I continue to hold onto God’s promises.

I continue to believe that my life has purpose.

I continue to believe that my story can encourage someone else.

And I continue to wake up every morning and say:

“God, I’m still here. Use me.”

That’s what a day in my life looks like.

It’s messy.

It’s unpredictable.

It’s exhausting.

Sometimes it’s painful.

Sometimes it’s confusing.

But it is also filled with moments of grace, love, laughter, faith and hope.

And tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I will do it all over again.

Not because this journey is easy.

But because I’m still here.

And as long as God gives me another day, I intend to live it with purpose.

I may have Parkinson’s.
I may have Myasthenia Gravis.
I may have Gastroparesis.
I may have Dementia.
But I am not defeated.

I am still walking.

I am still fighting.

I am still believing.

I am still hoping.

I am still an Overcomer. ~OC

August 16, 2026 0

Through A Different Lens

Today’s a new day!

Another night of very little sleep, so I found myself awake rewatching the amazing documentary Photography No. 24: Ken Griffey Jr. at the Masters.

Ken Griffey Jr. has always been one of my favorite players, especially during his days with my Cincinnati Reds. There is something special about watching someone with that kind of passion, talent, and eye for the moment.

And it got me thinking about something I have always enjoyed: photography.

I love seeing a beautiful photograph. You know the kind I mean—the one that makes you stop scrolling, stare at it for a moment, and maybe even takes your breath away.

I’ve taken some pretty good photos with my iPhone over the years, but lately I’ve been thinking about taking photography a little more seriously.

As I continue dealing with Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and now Dementia, I have had to accept that I am no longer able to run. Running was a huge part of my life, and losing that ability has been difficult.

But maybe this is an opportunity to discover something new.

Maybe I can trade running for photography.

And there is another reason this idea excites me.

I am having more trouble with my voice these days. Sometimes finding the words or getting them out the way I want to can be difficult.

But a photograph doesn’t need a voice.

A photograph can speak.

It can tell a story.
It can capture emotion.
It can make someone stop and think.
It can show beauty in places we might otherwise overlook.

And perhaps photography could give me another way to raise awareness about Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and Dementia.

I could use the images I capture to tell stories about this journey, while also reminding people that there is still beauty to be found in the middle of difficult circumstances.

I’ll be working with a limited budget, so I would really appreciate any suggestions from photographers or people who know cameras.

What would you recommend for someone getting started? What older or affordable cameras would be good to experiment with?

And if anyone has an older camera, lenses, tripod, camera bag, or other photography equipment sitting around that you aren’t using anymore and would be interested in donating, I would be incredibly grateful.

I don’t need the newest or most expensive equipment.

I just need an opportunity to learn.

I’m honestly excited about the possibilities.

Maybe I can’t run anymore, but I can still chase moments.

Maybe my voice is becoming quieter, but I can still tell stories.

Maybe my body has changed the way I move through this world, but it hasn’t taken away my desire to find beauty in it.

So perhaps this is the beginning of a new adventure.

A new journey.
A new creative outlet.
A new way to speak.
A new way to raise awareness.
A new way to see.

And who knows?

Maybe the next beautiful photograph I take will tell a story that words never could. ~OC ❤️📸

#Photography #ParkinsonsAwareness #MyastheniaGravis #DementiaAwareness #CincinnatiReds #KenGriffeyJr #PhotographyJourney #Overcomer #NeverGiveUp #FindTheBeauty #NewBeginnings

August 13, 2026 0

My Medical Rap Sheet Doesn’t Get The Final Word

Today’s a new day!

Here is my medical rap sheet.

Crippling Arthritis — 2002 (Ended up being cancer)
Cancer — 2003
Parkinson’s Disease — 2007
Myasthenia Gravis — 2009
Gastroparesis — 2015
COVID Long Haulers — 2022
Type Two Diabetes 202 (medication induced)
Cluster and Migraine Headaches — 2024
Dementia — 2024

Looking at that list, many people would probably assume my life is over.

They would assume the best years are behind me. That my dreams have ended. That all that’s left is surviving.

But they would be wrong.

Every single day, I choose life.

I choose to keep making memories with my beautiful bride of twenty-six years. I choose to laugh, to love, and to appreciate the moments that many people rush past.

I choose to continue advocating for other patients who need someone to remind them that they are more than a diagnosis.

I choose to keep fighting against human trafficking because there are people who desperately need hope, justice, and someone willing to stand in the gap.

Does that mean this health journey is easy?

Absolutely not.

There are days filled with pain. Days of exhaustion. Days when my body reminds me of every diagnosis on that list.

But years ago, I made a decision.

This health battle would never become my identity.

My diagnoses describe some of the battles I face—they do not define the man I am.

I refuse to allow illness to steal my purpose. I refuse to let disease dictate my joy. I refuse to surrender the calling God has placed on my life simply because my body doesn’t always cooperate.

Instead, I choose to keep living.

I choose to keep loving.

I choose to keep serving.

I choose to keep overcoming.

If you’re walking through a battle today—whether it’s a health crisis, grief, depression, financial hardship, addiction, or something no one else can see—I want to encourage you.

Don’t let your battle become your identity.

Keep fighting.

Keep making memories.

Keep dreaming.

Keep showing up.

Keep loving the people around you.

Live your life to the fullest, even if it looks different than you once imagined.

Champions aren’t defined by the battles they face.

They’re defined by the courage to keep getting back up.

So today…

Choose hope.

Choose purpose.

Choose joy.

Choose life.

And whatever comes your way, keep overcoming.

Live like a champion. ~OC

August 7, 2026 0

Dear Parkinson’s Community

Dear Parkinson’s Community,

I wanted to see if there would be interest in starting a weekly or monthly Zoom gathering for our Parkinson’s community.

The vision is simple: to discuss the latest developments in Parkinson’s research and treatment, share practical insights, encourage one another, and remind each other that no one has to walk this journey alone.

This group would be open to:

People living with Parkinson’s disease
Caregivers and family members
Medical professionals
Anyone who has lost a loved one to Parkinson’s

Whether you’re newly diagnosed, have been living with Parkinson’s for years, care for someone with the disease, or simply want to learn and support others, you are welcome.

If this is something you would be interested in, please leave a comment below or send me a direct message. If there’s enough interest, I’ll begin organizing our first Zoom meeting.

Together, we can learn, encourage one another, and find hope for the road ahead.

You are not alone. ~OC

August 4, 2026 0

When 660 Specialists Aren’t Enough

Imagine living with a neurological condition that slowly changes the way you walk, talk, swallow, write, or even smile. Now imagine being told that the specialist you need is hours away, has a waiting list of several months, or simply isn’t accepting new patients.

For far too many people, this isn’t a hypothetical situation. It’s reality.

Did you know there are only approximately 660 Movement Disorder Specialists in the entire United States? That’s not just for people living with Parkinson’s disease—that number includes specialists caring for patients with all movement disorders, including dystonia, essential tremor, Huntington’s disease, multiple system atrophy, progressive supranuclear palsy, ataxias, and many other complex neurological conditions.

Think about that for a moment.

Millions of Americans are living with movement disorders, yet only a few hundred physicians have completed the advanced fellowship training needed to provide specialized care. That means countless patients must travel long distances, endure lengthy wait times, or rely solely on general neurologists who may not have specialized training in these highly complex diseases.

This isn’t a criticism of neurologists. They work incredibly hard and provide outstanding care every day. The issue is much larger than any individual physician. We simply do not have enough specialists to meet the growing need.

As our population ages, diagnoses of Parkinson’s disease and other movement disorders continue to rise. The demand for specialized care is increasing every year, while the workforce isn’t keeping pace.

Something has to change.

We need more fellowship programs. We need greater investment in training the next generation of Movement Disorder Specialists. We need better incentives for physicians to enter this field. We need expanded telemedicine options to reach underserved communities. And we need policymakers, medical schools, healthcare systems, and advocacy organizations to recognize that this shortage is becoming a national healthcare crisis.

For those of us living with Parkinson’s or another movement disorder, access to expert care isn’t a luxury—it’s essential. The right treatment at the right time can dramatically improve quality of life, preserve independence, and provide hope for patients and their families.

No one should have to wait months for expert care simply because there aren’t enough specialists.

Six hundred and sixty specialists for an entire nation is not enough.

We can do better.

And we must.

Because behind every statistic is a person—a husband, wife, parent, grandparent, child, friend, or neighbor—who deserves the very best care possible.

Let’s raise awareness, encourage future physicians to enter this specialty, and advocate for meaningful change. The movement disorder community deserves nothing less. ~OC

July 29, 2026 0

My Voice

Today’s a new day! Wakeless nights, they used to whisper low

A diagnosis that shook my world, don’t know where to go

But then I felt it, like a spark in the night

A flame that flickered, shone a light on my plight

Joy in the struggle, purpose in the fight

Finding my voice, in the dark of night

Parkinson’s crept in, tried to steal my sound

But I resist, I won’t be wearin’ chains bound

I write these words, a symphony of pain

A melody of hope, a rhythm that remains

I find my voice, it’s louder than before

Echoing with joy, and a purpose more

In the silence, I hear a gentle hum

A reminder that I’m not alone, there’s more to come

My voice is a river, flowin’ strong and free

Carrying my story, for the world to see

Joy in the journey, purpose in the strife

Finding my voice, and it’s changin’ my life. ~OC

February 5, 2026 0

Flashing Neon Sign

Today’s a new day! As with many neurological illnesses there is nothing noticeable about my condition. It’s not like a broken leg or arm where there is a cast which is obvious when seeing the person. But I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the same old words since my diagnosis last fall, Todd, you do not look like you have dementia.

I often wonder if it comes down to the fact that people feel uncomfortable talking to me about it, so they say the first thing that comes to mind. Which at times can come across as very insensitive and judgmental. Since my diagnosis of early onset dementia caused by my Parkinson’s, I have had several people tell me I do not look or act like someone with dementia. Or Todd, maybe you’re just dealing with an infection of some kind and just need to take some antibiotics. I would be overjoyed if that was actually the case. But I have some amazing doctors and they didn’t come up with this diagnosis lightly.

What does dementia look like? There is no cast or bandage to put on it. I guess I could wear a flashing neon sign that says, “HELLO, I HAVE EARLY ONSET DEMENTIA!” that lets people know of my latest diagnosis.

But seriously, I am walking through a very new and strange season of life, but I know I am not the only one. It simply gets frustrating when people decide to find a different diagnosis or make you doubt your current state of health because they do not like the diagnosis. It can be irritating and cruel when people doubt you and your medical team. Believe me, no one wants to sit in a doctor’s office and hear the words “You have early onset dementia.”

I do think that part of this attitude is because people have a hard time believing someone in their 50’s could have an “old person’s” disease. Also the topic of dementia is not an easy or fun subject to talk about. It can be easier to just ignore it or try to explain it away.

I also believe people have their own preconceived beliefs about dementia and I and many others suffering from this horrible disease do not fit in their picture of dementia.

So please do me a favor. Stop putting your personal beliefs or opinions on those suffering from a visually invisible disease or one that you don’t like. Life with dementia is already hard enough. Thanks for listening. ~OC

August 30, 2025 0

Timeless

Today’s a new day! Being a cancer survivor and dealing with multiple health issues forever changes your relationship with time. It seems to pass so quickly, and there’s always a question about how much of it you’re going to get. At times it can be overwhelming. But maybe that’s why I always loved running. A 5K, 13.1 or 26.2 run can feel timeless if you’re embracing every moment of the journey.

Before I had to quit running a number of years ago, running almost made me forget my health issues. As I continue running this crazy beautiful health journey, I realize time marches on whether we are ready or not. I am as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go! ~OC

June 13, 2025 0

My Journey with Cancer, Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, Gastroparesis, Long Haulers COVID, and Now the Beginning of Dementia.

PARKINSON’S: THE BATTLE THAT KEEPS ON STEALING:

MYASTHENIA GRAVIS: WHEN YOUR OWN BODY BECOMES A BATTLEFIELD

GASTROPARESIS: WHEN SOMETHING SO SIMPLE BECOMES A DAILY BATTLE

LONG HAULERS COVID: ANOTHER UNEXPECTED CHAPTER

DEMENTIA: A NEW CHAPTER AND A DIFFERENT KIND OF FEAR

THE PART OF MY JOURNEY PEOPLE DON’T ALWAYS SEE

MY FAITH IS BIGGER THAN MY DIAGNOSES

TO MY WIFE, FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND EVERYONE WHO PRAYS

I’M NOT FINISHED LIVING

ONE FINAL THOUGHT

Morning Comes With Questions

Even Breakfast Can Be a Battle

Then There Is Fatigue

Then There Is Dementia

Some Days Are Better Than Others

I Still Have Things To Do

Some Days I Get Tired

My Life Isn’t Defined By My Diseases

If You’re Walking A Similar Journey

And For Me, There Is Still Hope

Looking Beyond Genetics

We Need to Pay Attention

My Journey

A Call for Hope and Action