Wayne Schlicht has shared another update in his cancer treatment journey. Readers can follow Schlicht’s journey and assist with treatment costs at his Go Fund Me entitled “Stage 4 Cancer Took Dad’s Voice, Job and Insurance.” We reproduce the latest update below.

Medical Update and Next Steps
I want to start with a quick treatment update.
The medical team has recommended that I first test my reaction to sulfur, as my chart notes a possible allergy. If that test goes well, the next step is beginning Alpha Lipoic Acid, ALA therapy, which is part of my integrative cancer treatment plan.
Multiple clinical studies are showing that ALA can help reduce chemotherapy induced neuropathy and support nerve repair by improving mitochondrial function, reducing oxidative stress, and improving blood flow to damaged nerves. Given the level of nerve damage I am dealing with from chemotherapy and radiation, this therapy has been recommended as a way to potentially reduce pain, improve sensation, and support long-term nerve healing.
The full ALA treatment protocol costs approximately $5,500, and we are actively working toward it as the next phase of my care.
As always, I am deeply grateful for the support, encouragement, and prayers that continue to make these treatment options possible.
Help Wayne with ALA Treatments.

A Life Built for the Cold
This recent stretch of extreme cold in Minnesota has hit me harder than I expected, and I want to be honest about that.
We just came through temperatures well below zero, with wind chills far colder than the actual air temperature. I have lived in Minnesota for at least fifty years, on and off my entire life. I know this winter. I was built in it. I raised a family here. I have shoveled more driveways than I can count. I grew up snowmobiling, ice fishing, and standing around bonfires in the dead of winter. I was a true Viking in every sense of the word, Minnesota Vikings on Sundays, and a family tree rooted in Scandinavia, England, Ireland, Denmark, and Germany. Cold was never something I avoided; it was something I lived in.
In my twenties, I traveled, lived in Virginia, and spent long stretches in Texas, Arizona, Mississippi, and Alabama. I know what winter feels like in warmer parts of the country too, so this perspective is not new or imagined.

What Has Changed?
What has changed is me.
After everything my body has been through, stage four cancer, seventy radiation treatments, over twenty toxic, DNA altering chemotherapy infusions, a radical neck dissection that involved cutting nerves, losing my jugular vein, and losing shoulder muscle, along with nearly one hundred pounds of body weight, cold does not just feel uncomfortable anymore. It feels relentless. I shiver even indoors. I sleep with two electric blankets, one underneath and one on top, and my feet ache most days as neuropathy flares when temperatures drop. Cold settles into my bones now in a way it never did before.
Dealing with lung cancer adds another layer. Breathing cold air triggers more coughing and irritation than it ever used to, and this winter I was also treated for pneumonia. That experience made it very clear how hard cold, dry air can be on already-compromised lungs.
On some nights, I literally put a cat on me for warmth. We have five cats, three of them rescues, who have found a home they never had, and apparently, they have decided this is a fair trade.
I still snowblow and shovel because movement matters. I do it as therapy, as stubbornness, and as proof to myself that I am still here. But cold tightens everything, especially areas impacted by radiation. What used to be routine now requires intention, pacing, and recovery.
Sunlight matters more to me than it ever has. As part of my ongoing fight with stage four cancer, natural sunlight plays a real role in supporting my health. Minnesota winters make that difficult. I can take supplements, but they do not replace the warmth on your skin or the lift it gives your body and spirit.
I love Minnesota. I always will. Spring, summer, and fall still feel like home in every way that matters. But this winter has been a reminder that my body has changed, and pretending otherwise does not make me stronger.
Right now, I am paying attention. Listening. Adjusting. Learning what this version of me needs to keep healing and moving forward.

God Bless you and your family,
Wayne