I wrote a song about getting through my second round of prostate cancer radiation.
Not about beating cancer.
Not about pretending the experience was a blessing.
About what actually happens when the predictive brain encounters something it has learned to fear—and you still have to put one hand on the coffee, one hand on the keys, and show up again.
From the Parking Lot to Peace
Cancer treatment rarely unfolds the way the calendar suggests it will.
My second round of prostate cancer radiation was scheduled for 25 treatments. Getting through it required 34 attempts to produce 25 sessions in which my bladder, bowel, and body met the geometry the treatment required.
That meant diet restrictions, carefully timed fluids, bowel and bladder protocols, and an hour-and-fifteen-minute drive to Tampa while deliberately carrying an uncomfortable full bladder. On the way home, the water kept being filtered, sometimes requiring three or four stops—and, in emergencies, a urinal in the driver’s seat.
None of those things sounds enormous by itself. Together, repeated day after day, they became an allostatic load: the accumulated physical and mental cost of continually trying to get the body, the clock, the traffic, the treatment machine, and my own predictions to agree.
And they often didn’t.
Every failed preparation meant another prediction error and another retry.
Meanwhile, Abiraterone and Eligard affected my energy and cognition. Acute radiation proctitis eventually put me in an ambulance to rule out something more dangerous and left me with thousands of dollars in unexpected expenses.
Work piled up as my ability to do it diminished. Self-care remained my responsibility, largely without family or close friends nearby to share the load.
It has now been a month since radiation ended.
My life is not the same.
I am not ready to call cancer a blessing. Perhaps I never will.
But grace accompanied me.
That distinction matters.
The experience taught me that getting through cancer treatment is not simply a matter of courage. Sometimes it is logistics. Sometimes biology. Sometimes fatigue, fear, money, traffic, cognition, bladder capacity, bowel timing—or getting back into the car one more morning when yesterday’s prediction proved wrong.
And sometimes courage is nothing more dramatic than arriving again.
The song How You Doin’, Amygdala? comes from one of those mornings: coffee on the dashboard, quarter after eight, sitting in a VA Tampa parking lot before the next treatment of the second radiation journey.
Fear was already predicting what came next.
It wasn’t entirely wrong. Some difficult things did come next.
But fear didn’t know everything.
It couldn’t predict the people who would help. It couldn’t calculate grace. It couldn’t weigh purpose enough. And it couldn’t know that after every prediction error, disappointment, side effect, and exhausted return home, there would still be another opportunity to begin again.
A month later, the goal isn’t to pretend the experience didn’t change me.
It did.
The goal is to discover what I can build with the person who came home.
Fear can ride beside me.
It just doesn’t get to lead.
It’s always begin again.
A word about the Amygdala
The amygdala is part of the brain’s threat-detection system. It helps rapidly evaluate what might be dangerous, drawing on previous experience and triggering protective responses—often before our conscious reasoning has caught up.
It isn’t the enemy in this song. It’s trying to protect me.
The conversation is about appreciating the warning while deciding whether the warning deserves the steering wheel.
Listen — Frankly Speaking Studios
HOW YOU DOIN’, AMYGDALA?
A Frankly Spunk duet from Frankly Speaking Studios
LISTEN TO THE SONGFear can ride beside us.
It just doesn’t get to lead.
Lyrics
Coffee on the dashboard, quarter after eight
Parking lot in Tampa and I’m early to my fate
Sunlight on the windshield, backpack over my shirt
Walkin’ toward the doorway with a forecast full of prior hurt
I ain’t in the room yet, but the room is in my chest
Some old committee members met before I could get dressed
One part says, “You’re fine, boy, this is only one more day”
One part’s countin’ exits, one part’s halfway run away
I can see you scan the windows, measure every face
Like danger might be hiding in the coffee or the place
Your body wrote a headline before your mind could read
A whole front-page disaster from a single shaking need
You’re not weak for feeling thunder when the sky is only gray
Some old weather learned your name and still rolls through this way
But fear don’t get the final word just ’cause it spoke in red
It’s a smoke alarm, not scripture, in the attic of your head
How you doin’, Amygdala? You been workin’ overtime
Turnin’ every waiting room into a scene of prior crimes
How you doin’, traveler? You don’t have to win this war
Just don’t hand the keys to panic like you did the time before
How you doin’, Amygdala?
I can hear you callin’ fire
Every shadow gets promoted
Every heartbeat climbs a wire
How you doin’, Amygdala?
I know you’re only tryin’ to save me
But every door ain’t danger, honey
Every white coat ain’t the Navy
So take a breath—but not a sermon
Take my hand—but not control
You can ride along beside me
You just can’t drive this soul
I have seen some rooms go sideways, seen some promises go thin
Seen a doctor miss the landing and old panic walk right in
Seen my body lose the signal, seen my confidence misplace
Seen the past come through the ceiling and sit down in someone’s face
I got memories with shoulder pads and steel-toed boots and nerve
Some were earned in cancer country, some from roads I used to serve
Some from years of night-shift livin’, some from battles I outdrove
Now they all want voting rights in every hallway that I know
And the hippocampus keeps receipts in boxes marked IMPORTANT
Every close call gets a gold star and a witness for the warrant
But memory ain’t a judge, dear, and history ain’t the room
The past can file an affidavit—it can’t pronounce the doom
Your body budget’s runnin’ ragged, your reserves are stretched and thin
Sleep debt, heat, and too much thinkin’ make the dark feel like a twin
So before you call it prophecy, before you call it fate
Maybe ask if half this terror came from walkin’ in half late
How you doin’, Amygdala? You got my collar in your teeth
Every little “what if” hangin’ like a dog tag underneath
How you doin’, stubborn man? Come on and loosen up your grip
You don’t need to trust the weather to survive the little trip
How you doin’, Amygdala?
You’ve been paintin’ storms on glass
Turnin’ maybe into mayday
Turnin’ moments into mass
How you doin’, Amygdala?
I know you learned to shout for reasons
But every room ain’t made of winter
Every day ain’t all four seasons
So ring your bell—but ring it wisely
Tell me what you think you know
You can sit up on the dashboard
You just don’t get to steer the show
Here’s the deal.
I know what you’re tryin’ to do.
You saw a few bad rooms and built a whole religion out of warning labels.
You learned that if you shout early enough, maybe I won’t get blindsided.
And I appreciate the service.
I do.
But you and I both know this thing has gone freelance.
The body votes early
The story comes late
The hands start tremblin’
Then the mind names fate
But I’ve got other departments now.
I’ve got a frontal cortex with a clipboard and a coffee stain.
I’ve got evidence.
I’ve got context.
I’ve got people.
I’ve got songs.
And I’m not askin’ fear to disappear.
I’m just askin’ it to move over one seat.
How you doin’, Amygdala?
Thanks for standin’ watch this long
But the house is not on fire
And this hallway ain’t that song
How you doin’, Amygdala?
You can keep your post beside me
But I’m handin’ this here moment
To the wiser parts inside me
So ring your bell when somethin’s real
And I will listen when you call
But if you scream at every doorway
I won’t believe you after all
How you doin’, Amygdala?
Come on down and take a seat
We’re both just tryin’ to get me safely
From this parking lot to peace
From the parking lot to peace…
From the parking lot to peace…
One hand on the coffee
One hand on the keys
Fear can ride beside us
But it don’t get to lead.
— James
Frankly Speaking Studios