Still Here · Still Mixing · Still Moving · Forward

As I sit here in my outrageously priced, claustrophobic apartment, cut off by ice and cold that make the outside world unreachable, I’ve decided to push forward—despite the constant effort to dress bad news up as hope.

• Fact one: my overall physical abilities are rapidly diminishing, and it’s frightening in ways I didn’t anticipate. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to climb into bed or onto the couch just to eat dinner or watch a movie. I can’t make coffee anymore. I can’t change myself. And worst of all, I can no longer type the way I once could—45 words per minute, clean and controlled. My hands don’t cooperate, my thoughts come out jumbled, and I now rely on ChatGPT to decipher what I meant and clean up what I wrote. That loss cuts deeper than I expected.
• Fact two: despite the army of specialists that comes with home health care, meaningful help remains elusive. The occupational therapist and physical therapist offer little beyond, “Here are some exercises on a sheet of paper. Do these, and I’ll be back in two weeks… maybe.” There’s no follow-through, no adaptation, and no real engagement with the reality of my day-to-day limitations.
• Fact three: this region is saturated with hospital networks, physicians, surgeons, and specialists—some adequate, others exceptional. I’m connected to many of them through referrals. Yet while their systems communicate just enough to appear coordinated, the most critical, granular details consistently fall through the cracks. I sign medical records requests frequently, but red tape and delays continue to block timely treatment I require.

And this is only the tip of the iceberg. There are countless ways this process could be streamlined to make healthcare more efficient. Instead, it often feels intentionally convoluted—allowing hospitals and providers to withhold or delay treatment in order to funnel patients into more costly programs that benefit their bottom line.

In one case, Piedmont kept me hospitalized for eight days and never bothered to perform a full debridement of the initial wound. They did identify an issue with one vein and placed a stent, yet failed to find two additional problem areas nearby. Those missed issues caused pooling in my leg, which directly led to the situation I’m dealing with now.

At this point, I’m working to consolidate all of my care under Emory in one of Atlanta’s wealthier suburbs, gradually dropping older, out-of-network relationships as I find suitable replacements. This is my life, and I’ll be damned if I allow personal relationships to interfere with my recovery.

I do have one final appointment Tuesday with my out-of-network neurologist. I need him once more to adjust my gabapentin, as the current high dose leaves me feeling like one of those inflatable hot-air stick men—flailing wildly in the wind outside grand openings and 24-hour sales. After that, he’s gone.

I was hospitalized again at the end of 2025 and into the first week of 2026 due to yet another infection. I was sent home with outrageously expensive antibiotics that Rick administers daily through a drip. One of them is a compound of two drugs, infused over three to five minutes. There is an insurance program specifically designed to cover the cost of these compound medications, yet nobody—and I mean nobody—can tell me how to apply to recoup the thousands of dollars we’re paying out of pocket each week. It isn’t covered under my primary insurance plan; instead, it exists as a detached subsidiary of the plan, sealed off and unreachable.

The goal is brutally simple: eradicate the infection completely, while preventing the slough from taking hold and stripping my leg down to raw, exposed tissue—reducing it to a clinical specimen and a grim canvas for reconstruction surgeons at Emory in Atlanta.

If we can get through this phase, the surgeon has assured me that multiple Emory plastic surgeons would be more than willing to take my case for reconstruction.

This is only a summary of what’s happening in my life right now. Juggling this many providers, appointments, finances, and daily responsibilities is no easy feat—but I persist.

For anyone wondering if Party Favorz is still going strong—absolutely. I’ve got the next four sets lined up, taking us well into February. First up: Club Fusion—almost done—featuring an emerging house sound that’s got me fired up, alongside Tech House, Bass House, and Melodic House. Then comes the Funky House set—tracks are picked and just need mixing. This one’s heavy on hard-hitting house (my personal favorite), but trust me, there’s plenty of Disco House for those who want to groove. After that, we’ve got Circuit & Anthems—Winter Edition 2026—an absolute Tribal House beast for my Circuit Boys. And finally, by happy accident, the next Chillout Session is ready—long overdue.

Let me tell you, curating multiple sets at once is not for the faint of heart. I spent hundreds of hours listening to new music, new artists, over two intense weeks. Juggling that with everything else is exhausting. Then comes tagging, sorting, and asking: is this as good as I thought? Cutting tracks that don’t fit is the hardest part—but that’s the job.

Behind the scenes, I’ve been busy, too. I’ve fixed the Top 20 layout on mobile, expanded our history section, and finalized the FAQ. So if you’ve got issues downloading, accessing your donor account, or have general donation questions, it’s all there. If something’s missing, email me through the contact section. If it’s a broader question, I’ll add it to the FAQ.

We’re not slowing down—we’re rolling.

Finally, our annual DJ subscription plan renews on February 3rd—$435 for the year. That saves me about $15 a month versus paying monthly—and honestly, it’s a hassle to do it month by month. I rely on this service for 80 to 90% of every set, whether it’s Club Fusion, Funky House, Chillout, or the Diva Hall of Fame. The other 10 to 20% I buy from Beatport, Traxsource, or Bandcamp—especially Circuit & Anthems, which always comes from outside sources. This year, though, that renewal cost is really going to hurt. So if anyone wants to make a one-time donation to help offset that before February 3rd, it’d be really, really appreciated. Not mandatory—just putting it out there! Anyway, we’re all set. Expect the latest Club Fusion—Winter 2026—this weekend. Until the next time… ENJOY!

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