Gazing down upon a thundering cloudscape

March 15th, 2026. It’s 1:52 in the night.I’ve had my first wake-up tonight, and I can clearly conclude that this awakening—at least in part—was caused by my refeeding. My gut currently feels highly wired. It’s as if there are neural explosions happening all around.The closest comparison I can think of is being in an aeroplane at just the right altitude—not too high—flying above a mountainous region where thunderstorms are unfolding below. Beneath you stretches a cloud-covered landscape, and at irregular intervals lightning bolts flash through the clouds, striking in different places.That’s roughly what it feels like.The thunder keeps rumbling in my gut lining.The Thunderstorm in the GutI know at least one factor that contributed to this. It was a risk I could have foreseen.Earlier today I ate quite a large amount of legumes—haricots verts. We received a delivery from Spain, freshly picked beans. Not the small ones you usually see in Sweden that you could span between your thumb and pinky. These were almost twice that length.That’s one factor.The other is that I ate a bit too late in relation to when I went to sleep. Unfortunately, that has been a persistent habit of mine.Over the past eighteen months since receiving my diagnosis, I’ve made many changes to how I live my life. Not just temporary changes, but habits I now follow very strictly.For most of my adult life I wasn’t a heavy drinker anyway, but since the diagnosis I haven’t touched alcohol at all. The same goes for sugar. And I avoid starchy foods that lack fiber.But eating late in the evening has been one of the harder habits for me to correct.I’m not eating as late as I used to—especially compared to when I was working in London. Back then my workdays often stretched far into the evening. I rarely had time to cook during the week, so I would work late, cycle home, and stop at one of three restaurants that stayed open late enough for me to grab a meal.Then I would go straight to bed.To make matters worse, my bedroom was right next to a railway track. The house stood almost directly beside it, perched slightly above the track on a small hill. The railway line was somewhat submerged below the foundation of the house, which probably made the noise resonate even more.Freight trains passed through at all hours of the night—huge container trains booming through central London. Something like that would never happen in Stockholm, but London is a global metropolis with an immense flow of goods and an enormous urban sprawl.Living close to railway lines like that is not unusual there, even if it’s far from optimal.So my sleep quality and dinner habits have improved since then. But it would still be much better if I pushed dinner even earlier.Two Years of Food RecordsI’ve also kept extremely detailed records of everything I eat.Every meal. Every breakfast, snack, lunch, dinner. Every protein shake. Everything that has entered my body since a few weeks before starting treatment in August 2024.The more I think about it, the more bizarre it seems. It’s probably the most obsessive habit I’ve developed during this journey.At the beginning I would sometimes weigh every ingredient. Now I’ve developed a fairly accurate eye for estimating portions. So these days it’s more of a guesstimate, but I still record every ingredient.For almost two years now I’ve maintained this log.At some point I want to analyze this dataset more seriously, but as you might imagine, I’ve had quite a lot going on.Refeeding After TreatmentReturning to the present situation: late eating is one factor, but the main one is that my gut hasn’t fully recovered from the latest treatment.I thought I was being systematic and careful. I followed roughly the same approach as during the previous cycle. I began refeeding very cautiously, keeping most of my nutrition liquid.During the first two days I mainly consumed nutrient-dense broths. Any more caloric ingredients were submerged within those broths. No spices, nothing complicated.But around day three of refeeding I was probably too aggressive in expanding the variety of foods.It seems my gut lining hasn’t fully recovered, and my gut microbiome likely took a substantial hit as well. The equilibrium required to process the type of diet I eat hasn’t fully re-established itself.My diet is strict ketogenic, but it includes a large amount of cruciferous vegetables and some legumes. That means quite a lot of fiber.Even though I cooked the vegetables thoroughly when I began reintroducing them on day three, my gut microbiome still seems reactive.Hence the thunderstorm.Lightning strikes here and there in the gut, rumbling in the background like distant thunder.The overall internal environment clearly isn’t optimal yet.The Reboot StrategySo I’m now thinking about how to correct course.The best strategy seems to be reverting to the simplest version of my refeeding diet—the one I used on the first day.Chicken broth. No spices.Perhaps adding a small amount of animal protein.I’ll follow that approach for a single day. It won’t allow me to reach my ideal caloric intake, but for one day that’s acceptable.After that I can gradually ramp things back up again.One complication is that I want to return to the gym tomorrow. I haven’t yet managed to start strength training during this cycle, and the timing window is closing.If I don’t go tomorrow morning, I’ll lose the rhythm I established during the previous cycle, where I managed four sessions before the next treatment round—two upper-body sessions and two lower-body sessions.Soon I’ll enter the compression phase again, where I taper down food intake and begin preparing for the next fasting period. Two days later the systemic therapy begins again, along with the added stress of hyperbaric oxygen therapy.So the plan is to attempt the gym session tomorrow morning regardless.Life Between Treatment and LivingTomorrow I also hope to meet my girlfriend—actually, my wife. It still feels strange to say that. We married recently, somewhat spontaneously.We’re planning to meet a couple of friends who are briefly passing through Stockholm. I haven’t seen them in quite some time.One of them unfortunately seems to have developed a parasitic infection after injuring her foot in Mexico. Situations like that always interest me—not out of morbid curiosity, but because there’s often so much to learn from how people deal with adversity.After that, I should ideally study.I’m currently trying to combine my studies with the disease and the aggressive treatment cycles I’m undergoing. That combination is difficult. When your body is constantly navigating life-and-death stakes, it’s hard to find motivation for activities that, while interesting, aren’t existential.Still, I enjoy these studies.Studying Trees While Fighting a War in the BodyI’m enrolled in a two-year program to become a certified arborist—a specialist in tree care and tree climbing.The training covers planting, maintaining, pruning, and felling trees and shrubs. At the moment we’re studying plant physiology, which aligns perfectly with my background in biology and biochemistry.The subject fascinates me.But combining it with treatment is extremely challenging.Two months ago, after seeing the results of my latest scans, I seriously considered dropping out of the program entirely. Initially I gave myself permission to quit.Then I reconsidered.Instead of making a final decision, I decided to take things one step at a time and see whether it might still be possible to combine both paths.So far, it has proven difficult.Recently I had to attend class at 8:30 in the morning on day five of refeeding—the eleventh day of the treatment cycle overall. That schedule clashed badly with my sleep rhythm. I had to set an alarm, which woke me in the middle of an REM cycle.I was completely off balance that day. After arriving at school I managed to stay until lunch, but eventually I had to go home.Back home I tried to nap, but again woke at the wrong point in the sleep cycle.Sleep disturbances have been a constant challenge throughout treatment.The Orchestra Without a ConductorOne of the most fascinating aspects of this whole experience is observing how the body’s different systems try to recover after the shock of treatment.The systemic therapy, combined with prolonged water fasting and hyperbaric oxygen exposure, creates a kind of internal disaster. Afterward, the body tries to rebuild itself.But the systems are often out of sync.It’s like an orchestra without a conductor. Each section is trying to resume the piece from memory, but everyone starts at a slightly different tempo. Some attempt to lead, others attempt to follow, and the result is temporary confusion.Sleep regulation, endocrine signaling, nervous system responses, digestive recovery—all of them are trying to re-establish equilibrium simultaneously.Because of my background in biology, I find it fascinating to observe this process almost like detective work.I’ve also become very attuned to the subtle variations in bodily sensations.Different symptoms often point toward different systems:Heat and heart palpitations can indicate endocrine signaling—perhaps cortisol rhythms or HPA axis activity.Pins-and-needles sensations or prickling often point toward neurological processes, particularly in the peripheral nervous system.Changes in blood pressure, pulse, and throbbing sensations reflect cardiovascular activity.Even the lymphatic system makes itself known. Because my disease has spread through the lymphatic network, certain areas of my body sometimes feel pressure when lymphatic drainage occurs during sleep.All these systems are interacting in complex ways.And in trying to understand them, I’ve also had help from my digital “squire”—the large language model I often consult: ChatGPT.Together we examine the subtle interdependencies between these systems as they attempt to restart themselves.At the moment, however, the digestive server hasn’t rebooted correctly.So tomorrow we try again.Forward MotionHopefully I can fall back asleep now.Tomorrow I aim to wake early enough to return to the gym. Strength training has become one of the key pillars of my recovery strategy.It helps me rebuild strength after the aggressive cycles of fasting and treatment. I’ve already seen good results from it, and I intend to continue.And I wish the same for you.Find habits that feel life-giving. Stick to them long enough that they build momentum and eventually bear fruit.In my case, with my restrictive diet, that fruit salad would consist mostly of berries—freshly picked, in season, and unsweetened.Over and out, team. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit victorsalander.substack.com