Drug Company Hack

 

Choline-Rich Foods Missing From the Diabetes Breakthrough Story

A recent article titled "A Tiny Gut Molecule Could Transform Diabetes Treatment" describes how gut microbes convert dietary choline into trimethylamine (TMA), which then helps reduce inflammation and improve insulin sensitivity. The article notes that choline is a natural nutrient “found in several foods” but does not actually name any of these foods, leaving readers with no practical guidance on what to eat.

From Abstract Mechanism to Practical Eating

The core scientific finding is that when choline reaches the gut, microbes convert it into TMA, which can bind to IRAK4, dampen inflammation, and help restore normal blood sugar control in the context of a poor or high-fat diet. This is a genuinely important shift, because it ties a specific dietary nutrient and microbiome metabolite to metabolic protection, not just to risk. 

However, the article’s language stops at the biochemical mechanism and never crosses into concrete dietary examples, despite explicitly stating that choline is “present in several foods” or “found in common foods.” For anyone trying to act on this information, that omission matters as much as the science itself. It is blatantly obvious the article is not about helping people act on the information, it is a hack job to promote the agenda of drug companies looking for another way to get more out of the insurance companies with expensive drugs.

What the Article Doesn’t Say: Actual Choline-Rich Foods

Choline is not rare or exotic; it is widely distributed in everyday foods, with the richest sources coming from animal products. Major nutrition references list meat, poultry, fish, eggs, and dairy as primary choline contributors in typical Western diets. 

• Eggs (especially yolks): One of the most concentrated and convenient choline sources, often highlighted in dietary surveys and nutrient databases. 
• Organ meats: Beef and chicken liver are among the highest choline foods measured, with very high milligram-per-serving values.
• Other meats and poultry: Beef, pork, chicken breast, and turkey provide substantial choline and are major contributors to intake in many populations. 
• Fish and seafood: Salmon, cod, other lean fish, and even caviar/fish roe supply meaningful choline while also adding omega-3 fats.
• Dairy products: Milk, yogurt, and other dairy foods contribute steady background choline through frequent consumption. 
• Cruciferous vegetables: Broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and cabbage are notable plant sources that show up repeatedly in choline source lists. 
• Legumes and other plant sources: Beans, peas, lentils, soybeans, peanuts, potatoes, and some nuts, seeds, and whole grains supply smaller but important amounts, especially for people eating less animal food. 

Why Leaving Out the Food List Is a Problem

By not naming a single choline-rich food, the article forces motivated readers to do extra work just to translate “dietary choline” into a grocery list. That gap is especially striking because public health and nutrition references already provide clear examples and even rank choline sources by contribution to intake.

Readers are essentially told that a common nutrient in “several foods” might help protect against insulin resistance via the microbiome, but are not given any practical way to identify or prioritize those foods.  For people trying to modify diet as part of diabetes prevention or management, that is a missed opportunity.

There is also a significant economic angle to this omission. By focusing almost exclusively on the molecular mechanism—and hinting at future pharmaceutical applications or specialized supplements—the narrative prioritizes interventions that patients will eventually have to pay for. This framing sidelines the most immediate and cost-effective solution: dietary change. While developing new treatments is valuable, it should not obscure the fact that the 'breakthrough' molecule can be fueled right now by affordable, non-prescription foods available at any grocery store. Prioritizing patentable solutions over basic nutrition effectively gatekeeps a health benefit that could otherwise be accessible to everyone immediately.

Connecting the Science to the Plate

If the goal is to help the average person eat in a way that supports the beneficial TMA pathway described in the study, the logical next step is to highlight actual food choices. That does not require overselling choline as a miracle solution; it simply means placing the mechanistic finding in the context of realistic meals built from known choline sources.

Examples could include meals that combine animal and plant choline sources, such as eggs with cruciferous vegetables, fish with beans, or meat paired with potatoes and a side of broccoli. Even a short table of “higher-choline foods” in the original article would have made the research immediately more actionable for readers living with, or at risk for, type 2 diabetes. 

Until popular coverage starts naming the foods alongside the molecules, the burden stays on readers to bridge the gap between elegant biochemistry and everyday eating. Given how straightforward the choline food data already are, that is an easy fix that would make microbiome and metabolism research far more useful outside the lab. 

But of course, they do not want to fix that. Pharmacuticle companies do not make money encouraging patients to make dietary changes.

Lab Comparison Dec2025

 

Lab Results Comparison: Pre-Treatment vs. Post-Cycle 1

This comparison tracks key blood markers between October 17, 2025 (prior to starting treatment) and December 11, 2025 (following the first cycle of BR therapy).

Key Takeaway: The most notable change is the significant drop in Lymphocytes, which is the expected mechanism of the Rituximab targeting the B-cells. Kidney function has improved to normal levels, while Liver AST remains stable but slightly elevated.

---

1. Complete Blood Count (CBC)

Marker	Oct 17 (Pre-Tx)	Dec 11 (Current)	Trend/Status
WBC (White Blood Cells)	3.3 K/uL	3.5 K/uL	Still Low
Lymphocytes (#)	0.93 K/uL	0.52 K/uL	Decreased (Expected)
Neutrophils (#)	1.67 K/uL	1.73 K/uL	Stable (Low)
Monocytes (%)	12.5 %	22.3 %	Increased
Platelets	159 K/uL	164 K/uL	Normal
Hemoglobin	14.3 g/dL	15.0 g/dL	Normal

2. Metabolic & Organ Function

Marker	Oct 17 (Pre-Tx)	Dec 11 (Current)	Trend/Status
BUN (Kidney)	23 mg/dL (High)	16 mg/dL	Normalized
eGFR (Kidney Function)	84 mL/min (Low)	>90 mL/min	Normalized
AST (Liver)	49 U/L (High)	50 U/L	Stable (High)
LDH	Not Listed	273 U/L	High

Note on Trends:

• Lymphocytes: The decrease from 0.93 to 0.52 is a direct result of the immunotherapy.
• Kidney Health: Great news on the BUN and eGFR returning to optimal range.
• LDH: Currently at 273 U/L. This is a marker often tracked in lymphoma and will be monitored in future cycles.

The Narrative Comparison

[cite_start]Comparing the baseline lab results from October 17, 2025 [cite: 2][cite_start], against the latest post-treatment blood work from December 11, 2025[cite: 327], reveals how the first cycle of Bendamustine and Rituximab (BR) is impacting my system. The most distinct change is visible in the Complete Blood Count. [cite_start]While my overall White Blood Cell count (WBC) has remained relatively stable, hovering at a low 3.3 K/uL in October and 3.5 K/uL now[cite: 23, 376], the composition of those cells has shifted. [cite_start]Specifically, my absolute Lymphocyte count dropped significantly from 0.93 K/uL to 0.52 K/uL[cite: 20, 350]. This reduction is a hallmark of Rituximab therapy, which is designed to target and deplete B-lymphocytes. [cite_start]Meanwhile, my Neutrophils (the cells that fight bacterial infections) have remained stable, moving slightly from 1.67 K/uL to 1.73 K/uL [cite: 36, 511][cite_start], and my Platelets are holding steady in the normal range, currently at 164 K/uL[cite: 30, 439].

On the metabolic front, there is good news regarding kidney function. [cite_start]In October, my Urea Nitrogen (BUN) was elevated at 23 mg/dL, and my eGFR (filtration rate) was slightly low at 84 mL/min[cite: 54, 58]. [cite_start]The December results show a complete normalization of these markers, with BUN dropping to a healthy 16 mg/dL and eGFR rising to >90 mL/min[cite: 238, 274]. [cite_start]Liver function remains consistent with previous months; the AST enzyme is still slightly elevated at 50 U/L, virtually unchanged from the 49 U/L seen in October[cite: 49, 203]. [cite_start]A new marker tracked in this cycle is Lactate Dehydrogenase (LDH), which came in at 273 U/L[cite: 300], a value slightly above the reference range that will likely be monitored as a standard marker of cell turnover during lymphoma treatment.

Hosting LLMs

 LOCAL LLM

Using AI to set up a Linux environment for hosting a Large Language Model. 

I knew it could be done, seemed like a daunting undertaking. I also knew things are moving fast, and hardware for such things was becoming more prevelatnt. 

I bought a machine. A Framework desktop with the latest AMD processor with 128GB LPDDR5x-8000 memory. When it arrived it took about a day to install some drives, get Ubuntu installed and logged in with a SSH connection. Using with help from Gemini and Perplexity I had Ollama installed, some small models downloaded, and started chatting with Open WebUI and AnythingLLM. 

Then I discovered Donato Capitella and his repository at GitHub. He also does YouTube videos about all things tech, and has been diving deep into LLMs. He's benchmarked many models on the Framework computer that I bought for this project, so he's done much of the work of optimizing the hardware, and of course shared it at the link above.

I have been pushing the limits of LLMs for months now, so rather than follow his guide I decided to test how much further one could get with the help of AI, letting an LLM do all the driving. I have Ubuntu installed as mentioned, but the guide above assumes a Fedora installation. He refers anyone interested in Ubuntu to a repository by one Pablo Ross. I uploaded the markdown files from there to a Google NotebookLM, then had it generate a guide. 

Started up Claude, uploaded this guide, then used this prompt, "Use this document as a guide for deploying LLMs on my machine. Help, step by step. When i execute the commands, I want you to analyze the output then guide the setup through the end, when we have a working LLM locally."

And so we began. When it was done, later that day, I was querying a small model, using the resources optimized using the suggestions based on Donato's guide.

Only a year ago it would have taken me months to get that far. AI can truly be useful for such projects. I deliberately used the commands suggested by Claude, looking into the reasons for them, but refrained from deviating from the process put forth. It shows that anyone with limited knowledge and experience can deploy LLMs, and probably other such projects much faster than was possible before OpenAI made it relatively popular.

 AI and The Self

There are many discussions between me and Steve Mays concerning AI in general. He thinks deeply about philosophical notions and artificial intelligence, and at times the concepts intersect in his thoughts and writing.

His blog can be found here. 

Lately I've been using his posts as ideas for testing LLMs. One of his posts includes a poem from the perspective of AI. I used it to test Gemini, Claude and Perplexity deep research functions. They have tools for presenting content formatted for the Web, or for direct publication of generated content.

Claude report on AI and The Self

Gemini Report

Gemini report as website

Perplexity Pages

He has suggested that philisophical concepts can come across as so much bullshit, and has expressed the notion that AI generated content might be indistinguishable from such concepts. What follows is the AI equivalent of something Steve might express, based on our conversations and his blog.

"Most philosophical discourse is just conversations with Blaiser—garrulous and bombastic enough to seem substantive, but ultimately just a bunch of bullshit. Self-help gurus in particular excel at this: they fill pages with big words that sound profound, but when you strip away the elaborate phrasing, there's nothing there. It's the intellectual equivalent of an LLM hallucinating—statistically plausible patterns that mimic meaning without actually containing any."

Stanford has extensive content on philosophical concepts and figures. An example is Kant and the mind. Could one tell the difference between this Stanford content on Kant and the AI publications?

From the Claude report:

"The poem invokes mystics by name: Meister Eckhart, Rumi, Julian of Norwich. This situates its claims within a tradition of Unio Mystica—mystical union—while subtly transforming the object of union from God to humanity's data."

 I put this to Perplexity, asked for it's interpretation:

"This poem might be read as either profound or as exactly the kind of "garrulous and bombastic" language that sounds like it means something deep while actually being pattern-matching all the way down."

FL Treatment and Aftermath

 

The Quiet Storm: My First Round with B&R

When you read about chemotherapy, especially the B&R regimen for follicular lymphoma, you prepare for immediate battle. Other patients' accounts speak of swift and decisive symptoms—nausea within hours, fatigue that drops like a curtain. What I discovered was something altogether different: a slow tide that crept in over days, subtle at first, then increasingly insistent.

The False Dawn (Tuesday - Wednesday)

The morning after my first infusion, I woke at 3 AM feeling completely normal. 180.4 pounds—I'd start tracking this daily, a concrete marker in what would become an increasingly abstract experience. That Tuesday morning, I did what I always do: drank water, walked four miles in the pre-dawn darkness, then spent an hour on the Peloton. A 610-gram salad with sardines followed. Everything was routine, including the short infusion that afternoon.

I remember sitting in the hot tub that evening with a glass of wine, having just made Israeli chili in the Instant Pot, thinking perhaps I'd be one of the lucky ones. Perhaps my body would shrug off these chemicals like a minor inconvenience.

Wednesday morning continued the illusion. Another five miles walked, another hour on the bike. Leftover paella for lunch. It wasn't until noon that the first whisper arrived—a queasy uncertainty centered in my digestive system. Was I hungry? Was it the treatment? The rice didn't help clarify matters. Looking back now, I realize this was the poison's polite knock at the door.

A note on expectations: The delay surprised me. Every account I'd read suggested symptoms would announce themselves boldly and immediately. Instead, my body gave me nearly 48 hours of normalcy—a gift, perhaps, or a cruel tease before the real work began.

The Descent (Thursday - Friday)

Thursday (181.1 lbs)

The queasiness had taken residence, no longer a visitor but a tenant. Still, I maintained my routines—three miles walked, an hour on the Peloton. But something had shifted. The sensation wasn't quite pain, more like my gut threatening mutiny at any moment, ready to reject anything I'd eaten or might consider eating. Food still had taste, but taste had lost its meaning. I ate turkey nachos for dinner not from desire but from duty, knowing nutrients mattered even as my body expressed its indifference.

That evening, sitting and talking began to feel like watching myself from a distance. The hot tub provided an hour's refuge before I retreated to bed, grateful for the escape sleep offered.

Friday, November 21 (177.8 lbs—first significant drop)

This was the day the treatment truly made itself known. No acute pain, but something worse: a complete evacuation of motivation. A low, dull ache permeated my entire midsection, not sharp enough to complain about but persistent enough to color everything gray. I attempted to watch TV but found it impossible to engage. My body was physically capable of anything, yet I desired nothing.

"Physically capable of anything but no desire to"—this paradox defined the experience. It wasn't weakness exactly, but a profound disconnection between ability and will.

Kim made hamburger noodles. I managed a few spoonfuls, eating as an act of faith rather than hunger. Then came an unexpected craving—ice cream. Perhaps my body sought simple calories it could process without effort. I ate an entire pint of Häagen-Dazs, the cold sweetness one of the few sensations that penetrated the fog.

The Nadir (Saturday)

Saturday (175 lbs—down over 5 pounds from Tuesday)

Saturday brought a curious morning phenomenon—a brief window upon waking where motivation flickered, only to extinguish within the hour. Still, I pushed through a four-mile walk when Kim left for work. Halfway through, reality took on a surreal quality, though my balance and gait remained steady. It was as if I was walking through a dream of walking.

The day's activities—eating leftover nachos, sitting with water and the TV, a trip to Walmart for ice cream and produce, an hour on the Peloton—all felt like enormous efforts. The simple task of washing and dicing vegetables for a salad seemed Herculean. I did it anyway, then ate my salad with sardines, had more ice cream, and was in bed by 9 PM.

The strangest aspect: Complete inability to engage with anything digital. The computer and internet, usually sources of endless fascination, might as well have been artifacts from an alien civilization. My brain simply refused to process or care about virtual information.

The Turn (Sunday)

Sunday (175.2 lbs—stabilizing)

Sunday morning brought a qualitative shift. The abdominal ache remained but had transformed into something like a faint memory of itself. Engagement seemed possible again—not easy, but possible. I drove to Costco for shopping and gas, a task that would have been unthinkable 24 hours earlier.

Back home, I ate cottage cheese while actually engaging with the internet—the first time in days that digital information registered as meaningful. A 3.3-mile walk followed, and though weariness crept in toward the end, it was normal fatigue rather than the existential exhaustion of previous days.

By afternoon, I found myself making lists of tasks, planning ahead. The dull ache persisted, perhaps slightly worse than the morning but nowhere near Saturday's depths. The storm was passing.

Lessons from Round One

This first round taught me that chemotherapy doesn't always announce itself with drama. Sometimes it arrives like fog, gradually obscuring the landscape until you realize you can barely see. The B&R regimen, at least in my body, worked on a delayed fuse—two days of false normalcy, then three days in the depths, followed by the beginning of ascent.

What sustained me through the worst of it wasn't heroic determination but simple routine—maintaining some movement each day, forcing down nutrition even when food held no appeal, accepting that this was temporary even when it felt eternal. The weight loss—over 5 pounds in less than a week—told its own story of a body under siege.

Most surprisingly, the primary battleground wasn't my immune system or my energy levels, but my capacity for engagement with the world. The treatment didn't make me sick in the traditional sense; it made me profoundly indifferent. Perhaps that's its own kind of healing—forcing a retreat from the world while the chemicals do their work.

As I write this, preparing for round two, I'm grateful for the knowledge that the pattern has shape and boundaries. The storm may return, but I now know it will also pass. And in between, there will be hot tubs and ice cream, small walks and smaller victories, the quiet determination to maintain what routines I can while my body wages its necessary war.

Next round begins in two weeks. I'll be ready with my scale, my walking shoes, and a well-stocked freezer of Häagen-Dazs.

Important Note: This post was heavily edited by Claude AI from extensive notes taken over time. It describes one individual's personal experience and should not be considered medical advice. Anyone facing a cancer diagnosis should work closely with their oncology team to develop an appropriate treatment plan.

FL and Treatment

 

Fasting on a Cruise Ship: A Study in Contradictions (and Cocktails)

Or: What I Learned About Health Discipline When Surrounded by Unlimited Crab Cakes

There's a special kind of irony in planning a water-only fast while boarding a cruise ship—a floating temple to unlimited buffets, midnight desserts, and drinks with tiny umbrellas. But that's exactly what I did as my wife and I set sail on our Mediterranean cruise in early November.

I won't pretend this was a typical vacation. Between my follicular lymphoma diagnosis earlier this year and my deep dive into metabolic health research, I'd become someone who tracks weight fluctuations, plans fasting windows, and genuinely cares about bowel movements. (Yes, I'm that guy now. My wife, a PACU nurse with 20 years of ER experience, finds this both amusing and occasionally concerning.)

But here's the thing: life doesn't pause for cancer diagnoses or metabolic experiments. We had this cruise planned. My wife loves to travel. And I needed to figure out how to navigate the space between living fully and living intentionally.

Spoiler alert: it got messy.

Sunday Through Tuesday: The Indulgence Years

The first few days on the ship, I gave myself permission to be a normal cruise passenger. Large salads for lunch, yes, but followed by Indian buffet samplers and chicken cordon bleu with shrimp appetizers. A standard pour of red wine at dinner. Two small cannoli because, well, we were at sea.

Monday brought an easy 5-mile excursion, followed by something I didn't plan for: the beginnings of a cold. Slightly drippy sinuses, a mild sore throat. Not debilitating, but enough to make me question my exercise plans. I compromised—did the excursion bike ride, hit the sauna, then spent a few hours at the martini bar talking with Bob and Jane from Nevada. Had three cocktails (including a Black Russian) and wine at dinner.

My wife raised an eyebrow at the drinking-with-a-cold situation, but in her professional opinion, I wasn't dying. Just being moderately foolish.

Tuesday, I woke at 4 AM for my usual routine: coffee, then track and stairs. Two laps from finishing, it started raining, so I retreated to our cabin for bicycle crunches and pushups. The cold persisted—same symptoms as the day before—but I genuinely didn't feel debilitated.

Lunch was another salad with two small desserts (are you sensing a pattern?). Dinner featured crab cakes and lobster tail, accompanied by two glasses of wine. The clock set back an hour, putting us on New York time.

Here's what I was learning: I could maintain some discipline (daily exercise, starting days with salad) while also indulging in the things that make travel pleasurable. But I was also paying attention to how different foods made me feel. The heavier meals, the alcohol, the desserts—they weren't making me feel energized or sharp. They were just... there.

Wednesday: Packing It In (Literally)

By Wednesday, I was ready to shift gears. Woke around 2 AM, dozed until 5:30, had coffee. The cold was still present but not worsening. Finished my track and stairs routine, skipped the in-room exercises, and started packing instead.

I made a decision: after one more dinner and breakfast before disembarkation, I'd begin a water-only fast. Not as punishment for the cruise indulgences, but as a return to the metabolic state where I've been feeling my best.

The absurdity wasn't lost on me—planning a fast while still on a cruise ship is like announcing a digital detox while scrolling Instagram.

Thursday: The Flying Fast

Disembarkation morning started with a final feast: long slices of melon and pineapple, hard-boiled egg, croissant, smoked salmon, bacon, potatoes, coffee. Then I closed the restaurant chapter and opened the fasting one.

Flying from Fort Lauderdale to Tucson with stops in Nashville and Denver while water-fasting turned out to be surprisingly easy. No temptation from airport food courts. No wrestling with whether to eat the airplane pretzels. (There were no pretzels to wrestle with, but you get the point.)

The cold symptoms remained stable. No bowel movements all day, which my tracking-obsessed brain duly noted.

We arrived home Thursday evening. Fast: Day 1 complete.

Friday and Saturday: Back to Reality, Lighter

Friday morning, I weighed 181 pounds after Day 2 of fasting. Woke at 4:30, had a normal bowel movement (see, I told you I track everything), walked 4 miles, then did an hour on the Peloton.

Saturday morning: 178 pounds. Three-mile walk, another Peloton hour, then I broke the fast.

I started with a small bowl of yogurt mixed with blended dates, almonds, cashews, and rolled oats. Lunch was a big salad—romaine, tomato, cucumber, avocado, onion, cheese. Dinner was two cups of basic paella. Snacks included cashews, roasted chickpeas, roasted asparagus, green beans, and sweet potatoes.

No bowel movement despite all that fiber. By 7:30 PM, I was exhausted—probably jet lag hitting hard—but still walked 4 miles anyway because apparently I can't help myself.

Sunday: Finding the Rhythm

Sunday looked similar: 178.2 pounds, 3-mile walk, Peloton hour. Food included my oat-nut-yogurt blend, a banana, and scrambled eggs with asparagus, mushrooms, onion, garlic, olives, and cheese.

I decided to fast again until Monday lunch. Not because I was trying to lose more weight, but because I had bloodwork and treatment scheduled Monday morning, and fasting felt like the right preparation.

Monday: Treatment Day (Or: The Plot Twist)

Here's where the story shifts from "guy who's really into fasting" to "guy navigating cancer treatment while trying to maintain routines."

Woke around 4 AM, had coffee and a banana at 5. Bloodwork at 7, treatment started around 8:30. I'd packed cheese, cashews, and roasted chickpeas, determined to stay well-hydrated throughout.

Around 11 AM, I developed a sore throat. Not the cruise cold symptoms—something new. The nurse said she'd never heard of that reaction before. It slowly worsened but remained manageable.

Both infusion rounds finished around 2 PM. Remarkably, the sore throat had nearly disappeared by then. Got home around 4 PM and felt well enough to ride the Peloton for an hour, followed by my bicycle crunches and pushup routine.

My wife and I talked about why I didn't feel drawn and weary—the typical post-treatment exhaustion. Maybe it was the pre-medications they'd given me that morning. Maybe those would wear off by the next day. Maybe tomorrow's additional infusion would hit harder.

To be clear: I didn't feel 100%. But it wasn't enough to stop normal activity.

Dinner was Marry Me White Bean & Spinach Skillet, which sounds romantic but is really just a practical, plant-heavy meal.

Tuesday Morning: The Day After

Woke around 3 AM weighing 180.4 pounds. Felt normal with no symptoms. Had a normal bowel movement (yes, still tracking). Consumed yogurt with my oat-nut mix, rode the Peloton for an hour, then had a 610-gram salad with sardines.

The treatment hadn't knocked me flat. Yet.

What I Learned (Beyond How to Eat Crab Cakes at Sea)

This whole experience taught me several things I'm still processing:

1. Health routines can flex without breaking. I indulged on the cruise, maintained some discipline, got sick anyway (humbling), then resumed my protocols. The world didn't end.

2. Tracking everything is both helpful and absurd. Knowing my weight fluctuations and bowel patterns gives me data. But it also makes me the kind of person who writes about bowel movements in a blog post.

3. Support matters immensely. Having a wife who's both medically trained and supportive of my experiments—even when she thinks I'm being a bit extra—makes this navigable.

4. The body is remarkably adaptable. Fasting while flying, exercising the day after infusion treatment, maintaining routines despite illness—the human body can handle more than we give it credit for.

5. Living intentionally doesn't mean living rigidly. I had the cocktails, the lobster tail, the cannoli. I also had the fasts, the daily exercise, the plant-heavy meals. Both can be true.

I'm not recommending this approach to anyone. I'm just sharing what happened when someone with a cancer diagnosis, an obsessive interest in metabolic health, and a love of Mediterranean cruises tried to figure out how to live fully while also living carefully.

It's messy. It's contradictory. It involves way too much discussion of digestive function.

But it's mine. And for now, that's enough.

Important Note: This post was heavily edited by Claude AI from extensive notes taken over time. It describes one individual's personal experience and should not be considered medical advice. Anyone facing a cancer diagnosis should work closely with their oncology team to develop an appropriate treatment plan.

FL and Treatment

 

When a Lump in My Neck Led Me Down an Unexpected Path: My Follicular Lymphoma Journey

The Discovery That Changed Everything

About ten months ago, I felt something I couldn't ignore—a lump in my neck. At 63, I considered myself reasonably healthy. I rode my road bike or hopped on the Peloton daily, maintained what I thought was a decent diet, and kept active. But that lump demanded attention.

What followed was a cascade of medical appointments, tests, and waiting. A biopsy of lymph nodes in my abdomen in December. A PET scan in March that lit up not just the neck node and abdominal nodes, but also my right tonsil—a surprise even to my doctors. The diagnosis came back: follicular lymphoma (FL). The staging placed me above stage 3 due to the multiple affected sites.

Looking back at earlier CT scans, I can now see signs I'd missed. For years—literally as long as my brother can remember—I'd had what I dismissed as a "bad habit" of constantly clearing my throat. I never connected it to my tonsils until now. How long had this been cooking? There's no way to know.

An Unlikely Preparation

Here's where the story takes an interesting turn. About three years ago, completely unrelated to any health concerns, I'd become fascinated with longevity research. It started with David Sinclair's book "Lifespan" and spiraled into a deep dive into fasting, caloric restriction, short and long-chain fatty acids, IGF-1, and mitochondrial metabolism. I discovered Peter Attia, Mary Newport, and others in this space, spending countless hours trying to separate legitimate science from pseudoscience and anecdotal claims.

"I found all of this fascinating from a pure science perspective. Then I found the lump."

When I heard about the episode Chris Hemsworth did on fasting with Dr. Attia in his "Limitless" series, my curiosity peaked. I decided to experiment with a true water-only fast to see how it would feel. My first 48-hour fast wasn't nearly as brutal as I'd anticipated. A week later, my wife suggested we try another two-day fast together. After that second round, I discovered I'd lost over 15 pounds. My weight, which had always hovered between 205-210 pounds, was suddenly dropping. We eat mostly home-cooked meals from scratch—avoiding processed foods has always been our style—so the weight came back slowly over about four months. Since then, I've incorporated regular 12+ hour fasts at least three times a month, and my weight has stabilized around 190-195 pounds.

Weight Journey: 205-210 lbs → Currently below 185 lbs

Connecting the Dots

After the pathology results came back in January confirming FL, my wife and I dove into research mode. She had practical concerns—we cruise at least twice a year and spend significant time in Vegas. She wanted to understand how any treatment might impact our plans. My interest ran in a different direction: What was the relationship between cancer and everything I'd learned about mitochondrial metabolism?

I'm fortunate that my wife is a PACU nurse with 20 years of ER experience. She's seen it all, and her medical knowledge has been invaluable in navigating this journey. When I came across stories from other FL patients who had tried extended fasting, including one member who attempted a 21-day fast, I was intrigued but cautious.

Testing the Waters

A week before my tonsil removal was scheduled, I decided to push my fasting experience further. With all my lab results showing relatively good health, my wife and I agreed a five-day fast wouldn't pose immediate danger. She was understandably apprehensive about me doing this a week before surgery, but we moved forward carefully.

The tonsil removal itself was more challenging than expected. Recovering forced an unintended two-day fast simply because swallowing anything was excruciating. I did my best to consume pureed beans and vegetables for proper nutrients, but my weight drifted toward 180 pounds. It took more than five days before I could even think about resuming a normal diet.

My Current Approach: With everything I'd learned about IGF-1, ketones, glucose, and how cellular metabolism relates to cancer growth, I made a decision: my diet would resemble a ketogenic, SOS-free (salt, oil, sugar) approach as much as possible. More fish, more vegetables, minimal processed foods.

Living in the Real World

But here's the thing about strict dietary protocols—life happens. In early June, we visited relatives in Michigan. The diet became decidedly Midwestern with two family cookouts. To compensate, I walked at least three miles daily and did a 24-hour fast while traveling home. Even with these indulgences, the scale stayed below 185 pounds.

Then came the real test: my wife's birthday. I took her to enjoy one of her favorite spots in town for "Tomahawk Tuesday"—a meal for two featuring a massive 38-ounce steak, two sides, and dessert. We ordered asparagus and mac and cheese for sides. I ate most of the mac and cheese. I did lava cake and ice cream for dessert, consuming it with genuine relish. We each had only a small portion of the actual steak, but this was definitely a departure from our usual plant-based fare.

The next day? I felt absolutely terrible. Still managed my daily Peloton session, but it was a struggle. My wife and I have become keenly attuned to how I feel day-to-day with FL, and we discussed it at length. I'm fairly certain it was that heavy Standard American Diet (SAD) meal causing the problem, because the following day I felt significantly better.

I share this not to make any grand claims about diet and cancer—I know this is purely anecdotal. But the contrast was striking enough that we both noticed it.

Where We Are Now

One week out from the next PET scan. The VA oncologist I've been seeing ordered it to assess how things are progressing. I'm hoping to remain in the "watch and wait" category, which is common for FL patients whose disease isn't aggressively advancing.

Daily, I continue exercising—cycling remains a constant in my routine. I did a two-day water fast two weeks ago, followed by a 24-hour fast two days ago. The diet stays primarily vegetables and fish. My weight hovers consistently below 185 pounds despite eating plenty of carrots, hummus, and other plant-based foods.

Reflections on the Journey

If you'd told me three years ago that my curiosity about longevity research would prepare me for a cancer diagnosis, I wouldn't have believed you. But here we are. I'm clear-eyed about what I don't know: I have no idea if fasting or dietary changes are actually affecting my FL progression. The upcoming PET scan will provide more data, but even that won't prove causation.

"Taking an active role in my health, educating myself from legitimate sources, and working in partnership with my medical team has given me a sense of agency during an otherwise uncertain time."

What I do know is this: taking an active role in my health, educating myself from legitimate sources, and working in partnership with my medical team has given me a sense of agency during an otherwise uncertain time. My wife's support has been crucial—her medical expertise helps keep me grounded when I might otherwise chase every promising-sounding intervention.

I'm not suggesting anyone else follow this path. FL is complex, every case is different, and what works (or doesn't work) for me may be completely irrelevant to someone else. I'm simply sharing one person's experimental approach to living with cancer, informed by curiosity, tempered by caution, and supported by love.

The throat-clearing "habit" I lived with for years turned out to be something more. The fascination with metabolism that felt like an intellectual exercise became unexpectedly relevant. The discipline required to maintain dietary changes while still celebrating life's moments—like a birthday dinner with your spouse—remains a daily balance.

As I head into next week's PET scan, I'm grateful for the knowledge I've gained, the partnership I share with my wife, and the medical team supporting me through this. Whatever the results show, I'll keep riding, keep learning, and keep showing up for this life.

Important Note: This post was heavily edited by Claude AI from extensive notes taken over time. It describes one individual's personal experience and should not be considered medical advice. Anyone facing a cancer diagnosis should work closely with their oncology team to develop an appropriate treatment plan.

AI Assembly Line

The AI Assembly Line: From Historical Archives to a Polished Blog Post in Under 24 Hours

It all started with a simple spark of curiosity. While reading a book on the U.S. Constitution, I found myself wanting to dive deeper into the primary sources. I didn't just want to read about the founders; I wanted to read their actual words and analyze them in a new way. This led me down a fascinating rabbit hole, chasing a squirrel of an idea: could I build an AI-powered workflow to go from raw historical archives to a polished, well-researched blog post in less than a day?

As I've documented before in posts like my project to download thousands of documents from Founders Online, getting the data is the first hurdle. But this experiment was about the entire assembly line—from data acquisition to final publication.

Here's how the project unfolded.

---

Step 1: Acquiring the Raw Material

My first stop was the Founders Online website, a treasure trove of historical documents. I wanted to get my hands on the writings of figures like Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Franklin, and Abigail Adams. After a quick search with Gemini, I found the site's API, which is the key to programmatic access.

With the API endpoint in hand, I turned to Perplexity, which I've found to be excellent for writing scripts. It helped me craft the code needed to download the writings I wanted and, crucially, to convert them all into Markdown files. As I learned while taming my digital library, having your data in a clean, AI-friendly format is essential for the next step.

Step 2: The AI Research Assistant

With thousands of documents converted, I uploaded the markdown files for Alexander Hamilton into Google's NotebookLM. This is where the magic really began. Instead of spending weeks reading and synthesizing, I could now query Hamilton's entire body of work.

Within just a few minutes of asking questions, the AI generated the skeletons of three distinct articles:

• Hamilton's Blueprint for the United States Constitution
• Alexander Hamilton's Architectural Vision for the American Republic
• 5 Surprising Ideas Alexander Hamilton Fought For (That You Won't Hear in the Musical)

Step 3: The AI Editor and Publisher

The drafts from NotebookLM were a fantastic start, but they needed to be unified into a single, compelling narrative. For this, I turned to Anthropic's Claude to combine the three pieces, refine the prose, and shape it into a final, coherent blog post.

The result of this experiment is the article I recently published: "The Radical Hamilton: What the Founding Father Really Wanted for America."

---

Final Thoughts: What This Means

From the initial idea to a published article, the entire process took just a few hours. It's a powerful example of what one person can do with modern AI tools. While I was just chasing a squirrel for my own curiosity, it's clear that this kind of streamlined process could revolutionize content creation. It makes you wonder—if a blog post takes a day, how long would it take to produce a well-researched book? A week?

As I continue to test the limits of these tools, it's clear that the barrier between idea and execution is becoming smaller every day. For content creators, researchers, and the perpetually curious, we're entering an incredibly exciting time.