Cancer Camp 2026
I got the call three days before camp.
That part still feels wild. Three days before I was supposed to pack up, leave Keuka Park, New York, and head toward something I did not fully understand yet, I got the okay. Then all of a sudden it was real. I was going to cancer camp, put on by YASU and Elephants and Tea, and I was about to spend a few days with people who understood parts of my life without needing a long explanation.
Cancer camp is a strange phrase if you have never been. It sounds heavy, and of course parts of it are. But it is also funny, awkward, loud, quiet, healing, messy, and full of people who can go from deep life talk to a card game in about thirty seconds.
That was the whole weekend for me. Travel, new friends, men actually showing up and talking, pool time, archery, meditation, brain cancer conversations, tie-dye, talent show moments, and a lot of “wait, did that happen before or after lunch?” because chemo brain is real.
Here is what I remember, in the order my brain is giving it to me.
Day one started with a long drive and strangers becoming less strange
The first day was travel day. I drove from Keuka Park to the Pittsburgh airport to pick up my friend Ary. While I was there, I also picked up Mitch, who at the time was a stranger to me and needed a ride to camp.
That is cancer world sometimes. You get a call three days before, you pack fast, then suddenly you are picking up someone you do not know because they are going where you are going. It sounds random, but it felt normal almost right away.
On the ride, I got to catch up with Ary and learn a bit about Mitch before camp. That helped. Walking into a new place can be a lot, especially when the whole reason everyone is there connects back to cancer in some way. Having that time in the car made arrival feel a little less like being dropped into the deep end.
When we got to camp, we checked in, got registered, and headed to our rooms. I found my cabin, found my room, dropped off my stuff, and then went back for dinner.
Dinner was the first real moment of looking around and thinking, “Okay, this is happening.” People were meeting, laughing, figuring out where to sit, trying to remember names, and probably doing the same quiet check-in I was doing inside.
After dinner, I went to the men’s group.
And honestly, that was one of the strongest parts of the weekend for me.
There were maybe 12 of us out of around 100 people at camp. So no, men were not the biggest group in the room. But we had our space, and it mattered. It was great to see men show up. It was great to meet people who were willing to talk, listen, and be real.
A lot of men do not show up for spaces like that. Or they show up physically but never share. That is not good for us. So seeing guys open up, even a little, felt important.
I roomed with Mike and Jas, and that worked out great. We had similar sleeping patterns, which is an underrated camp blessing. When you are away from home, tired, overstimulated, and trying to take everything in, a good roommate fit can make the whole weekend easier.
By the end of day one, I had already met people I knew I would remember. And I had only just put my bag down.
Day two was archery, meditation, pool time, and fast friendships
Day two had a little bit of everything.
I did archery, meditation, and pool time. I also hiked around with David, a new friend who immediately felt like someone I had known forever. Other people even thought we were longtime friends, which made sense because that is how it felt.
Some people just click. You do not need years with them. You get a few conversations, a shared walk, a similar sense of humor, and suddenly it feels like they have been in your life for a long time.
That was one of the gifts of camp. The small talk did not stay small for long. People came in with different stories, different diagnoses, different treatment paths, different grief, and different ways of coping. But there was this shared understanding sitting underneath everything.
At lunch, I sat with people who shared my diagnosis. That was huge.
I got to talk with Exa, Yami, Tatania, Grace, and Dillion about brain cancer issues directly. There is something different about having that conversation with people who get it. You do not have to explain every weird brain thing. You do not have to soften it. You can just say the thing and see heads nodding around the table.
Brain cancer can make life feel confusing in ways that are hard to describe. Memory, energy, speech, feelings, fear, appointments, scans, side effects, identity, independence- all of it gets tangled. Sitting with people who understood that was funny, sad, helpful, and grounding all at once.
It was not a therapy session in the formal sense. It was lunch. But sometimes lunch with the right people can do a lot.
That night, Michaela and Mallory introduced me to The Great Dalmuti.
If you know, you know. If you do not, it is a card game that can take over a table fast. We played a few games that night before I finally retired to bed.
That is another thing I liked about camp. The heavy stuff was there, but it did not fill every second. There was also room to play cards, joke around, swim, wander, sit quietly, or do absolutely nothing for a bit.
Cancer already takes up enough space. Camp made room for the rest of us too.
Day three gave me a new tool and a tie-dye shirt
Day three started with breakfast and the news that canoeing was canceled again.
All good. You cannot control everything at camp, and you definitely cannot control the weather or activity schedule. Ary gave me some advice, and I decided to go to the journaling workshop.
I am glad I did.
The workshop gave us a prompt, and then people connected to it in different ways. That was the part I liked most. One prompt can open ten different doors depending on who is answering it. Some people go serious. Some go funny. Some write directly. Some circle the thing before they can name it.
It was nice to hear those different responses. It also gave me another tool to add to the chest.
I talk a lot. Anyone who knows me knows that. Talking is one way I process things. But journaling is different. It gives thoughts somewhere to land before they come out of your mouth. It lets you say something without needing another person to hold it right away. For me, that felt useful.
After lunch, we did tie-dye.
I had never done tie-dye before, and I did not expect to enjoy it as much as I did. There is something fun about not fully knowing how it will turn out. You pick colors, twist the shirt, add dye, hope for the best, and wait.
The shirt came out cool. More than that, it gave me a physical thing to bring home from camp. A shirt that says, “This happened. You were there. You made something.”
After tie-dye, another round of The Great Dalmuti broke out, so I played a few hands. Then I met up with Ary and my new friend Mateo at the pool.
I hit the slide, which was fun. Then I people-watched for a while.
That might sound small, but it was actually one of my favorite choices. I talk a lot, and sometimes I need to remind myself that I can just be around people without filling the space. I wanted to listen. I wanted to be near everything without trying to be part of every conversation.
There is comfort in that too. Sitting nearby. Hearing laughter. Watching people move through the day. Letting yourself be present without performing.
Mateo was solid as hell and a ball to be around. Some people bring good energy without trying too hard, and he was one of them.
The men’s group reminded me why showing up matters
Later that day, I had dinner with Dave and Jas. We were just chatting, taking our time, and slowly working our way toward the men’s group.
That second men’s group hit me even more.
We got to hear everyone’s opinions about camp and life, from caregivers to survivors. That mix mattered. Cancer does not only happen to the person with the diagnosis. It hits the people around them too. Caregivers carry things that can be hard to say out loud. Survivors carry things that can be hard to explain. Putting those voices in the same space felt honest.
It also felt good to hear men talk about this stuff like normal human beings.
Not every moment has to be polished. Not every sentence has to be perfect. Sometimes the win is just a man saying what he actually feels in a room where other people will not run away from it.
That matters because silence can get heavy. When people do not talk, the fear and stress do not disappear. They just go underground. They show up somewhere else.
I am not saying everybody needs to share everything with everybody. Boundaries are real. Privacy is real. But having a space where men could be direct, say hard things, laugh, get serious, and be accepted was powerful.
For me, that group was one of the clearest reminders of what camp can do. It gives people permission. Permission to show up messy. Permission to be funny. Permission to not be okay. Permission to be more than a diagnosis.
The talent show proved my new friends had layers
After men’s group, we got ready for the talent show.
This was one of those camp moments where you look around and realize the people you have been eating lunch with, playing cards with, and walking around with have whole worlds inside them.
I learned how poetic my roommate Mike is. I learned how funny Taylor is. I got to hear how great Ary can sing. There were others too, and I am sorry if I forgot names or missed anyone. Chemo brain is real, and this whole weekend may be out of order in my head.
But some moments stuck.
The girl playing violin- you rocked it.
Maddie sang, and all I could think was, “Is this Broadway or what?”
Tom had the jokes.
Ary singing was special to see because there is something different about watching a friend step into that kind of moment. You know them one way, then suddenly they show you another part of themselves.
Talent shows can be cheesy in the best way. At camp, it did not feel like people were trying to impress anyone. It felt like people were sharing pieces of themselves. That is better.
I also need to shout out Denelle for helping me tie the bracelet I made. Small help like that sticks with me.
And Yami, thank you for remembering me as the guy who lost his phone in a creek from a First Descents local hang. That is one way to be remembered, I guess. Not the most graceful legacy, but I will take it.
Also, Tatania’s mom, thank you for taking my jokes well. That is a real skill.
There were so many little moments like that. Quick jokes. Side conversations. Someone helping with something. Someone remembering a random detail. Someone joining a card game. Someone sitting with you at a meal.
Those are the things that make camp feel like camp.
What I took home from cancer camp
I went to camp expecting to meet people. I did not expect to feel connected that fast.
That was the biggest thing I took home. Connection can happen quickly when people are willing to be real. You do not need perfect words. You do not need a perfect memory. You do not even need the schedule to go right. Canoeing can get canceled. Plans can shift. You can forget names. You can need quiet time. It still counts.
My weekend was full of reminders I needed:
Shared diagnosis conversations matter. Talking with other people who understand brain cancer made me feel less alone.
Men need spaces to talk. Seeing men show up, share, and listen was powerful.
Fun is still allowed. Card games, pool slides, tie-dye, jokes, and talent shows all belong in the cancer experience too.
Quiet can be healing. People-watching at the pool gave me a break without making me feel separate.
New friends can feel old fast. David, Mateo, Mike, Jas, Ary, and so many others made that true.
I am grateful to YASU and Elephants and Tea for creating a space where all of that could happen. I am grateful for the ride, the meals, the groups, the games, the workshops, the laughs, and the people who made a few days feel much bigger than a few days.
And yes, because chemo brain is doing its thing, some of this may be out of order. But the feeling is right.
To everyone I met, thank you. To the people I forgot to name, I am sorry, but you were part of it too. To the new friends who already feel like old friends, I hope we get to do it again.
Fuck cancer.
See you all at camp soon.
Jon, aka Wetjacket, aka Waldo
Also, thanks to the two groups of people who combined to put this on; visit them below!
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