April 30, 2026 — The Pancreatic Journal/James Comey/And the Juice Jockey

April 30, 2026 — The Pancreatic Journal/James Comey/And the Juice Jockey Hey everybody—Back again with the daily dispatch from the front lines. If this journal does anything, I hope it makes the road a little less lonely for the next person who hears the same diagnosis. There’s power in sharing the map while you’re still walking it.I’ve been learning—a lot. Turns out when you mix curiosity, urgency, and modern tools, you can become a pretty decent student of your own condition. Not a doctor, not pretending to be one—but informed enough to ask better questions.One thing that’s come into focus: glucose matters.Cancer cells, from what I’ve gathered, have quite the sweet tooth. They thrive on glucose. So now I’m stepping into a new experiment—monitoring my blood sugar. My PCP set me up with a glucose monitor, which feels strange for someone who’s never been diabetic. But here we are.Back when the jaundice first hit, my glucose spiked to 140. Not catastrophic—but not my normal either. I’m used to steady numbers. Since chemo, I haven’t checked again yet, but that’s coming this Wednesday.So the plan:Protein forward.Sugar cautious.Glucose steady.Last night… well, science met temptation.I went to Meadows Ice Cream—yes, that one—and ordered a small chocolate cone. A small act of rebellion. A moment of sweetness in a season that doesn’t offer many.It was glorious.And then… it was 2 a.m.Wide awake. Wired. The chocolate—and its quiet caffeine—lit me up like Times Square. Lesson learned: even small indulgences echo louder now. The body keeps score, and lately, it reads the fine print.Another takeaway: watch caffeine. Watch sugar. Not obsessively—but intentionally.I also spent time digging through my cancer center’s app—an odd kind of treasure hunt. Information everywhere. Some of it reassuring, some of it… less so.Yes, there are cases where chemo doesn’t behave as cleanly as we’d like. There are risks. There are uncertainties. That’s part of the contract no one wants to sign but all of us are handed.Still—I’m here. Still standing. Still betting on the better outcome.A Brief Detour into PoliticsNow, I can’t help myself.There’s chatter swirling around James Comey again. And like most things in modern politics, it arrives wrapped in noise, spun into spectacle.Comey—the same man who prosecuted Martha Stewart, the same man whose late-stage announcement cast a long shadow over Hillary Clinton’s campaign. A figure who has shaped outcomes, intentionally or not.And now? The narrative shifts again.Across the political spectrum, you see a pattern: investigations that flare and fade, consequences that land unevenly, accountability that feels… selective.On one side, figures orbiting Trump—some investigated, some convicted, some pardoned. On the other, frustrations around how cases have been handled, delayed, negotiated.What does it all mean?Hard to say with certainty. But it does leave you wondering whether justice, in practice, moves with the steady hand we imagine—or with the currents of power we rarely see.No conclusions here. Just observations from a citizen who’s watching while also fighting a far more personal battle.Story Time — The Juice Jockey YearsLet’s end somewhere human.1977. Seventeen years old. Second job.I was pumping gas at a Mobil station—what we used to call a “juice jockey.” Full service. Windshield wiped, oil checked, the whole Norman Rockwell routine.One night, near closing, I stepped into the restroom. When I came back out, time changed its pace.Two men.One shotgun. One pistol.The pistol found its way under my chin, pressing into my Adam’s apple.“Give me all your change.”Carl’s Mind Chimes Magazine is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Funny how the mind works in those moments—everything slows, sharpens. I had already locked the day’s earnings in a safe I couldn’t open. All I had was $75—my float for the next shift.I handed it over.They left.And just like that, I was still alive.The police came. Shrugged it off as routine. “Happens all the time,” they said. Comforting, in a grim sort of way.A few weeks later, I’m in a fast-food joint, working through an all-you-can-eat salad bar—because that’s what kings do at seventeen.And in walk the same two guys.Same energy. Same intent.Before anything could happen, the manager steps out and says, calm as a man ordering coffee:“Not here. Don’t even think about it.”And just like that—they left.I sat there thinking: You’ve got to be kidding me.The next morning, I called my boss.“I’m done.”He asked about two weeks’ notice.I laughed.Some jobs don’t deserve a goodbye tour.That’s where I’ll leave it today.Monitor your body. Guard your energy. Stay curious. Stay stubborn.And above all—stay here.Hope and prosper.Carl’s Mind Chimes Magazine is a reader-supported publication. Dues are due by quiet a few we know who and so do you!Thanks for reading Carl’s Mind Chimes Magazine! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit mindchimesmagazine.substack.com/subscribe