Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Jane, please accept my deepest condolences....

....only your hair still held the spark of life..
.....then you whispered, "rest now, for in death, one dreams"....
Arthur Rimbaud

Jane, I am just so incredibly sorry—honestly, believe me when I say that my sister and I both broke down in tears the moment we read this. You aren't walking this path alone, dear; please, stay strong and carry yourself with pride, knowing how much your mother would want you to honor her legacy.😢

Angela Wright - please accept my deepest condolences.

Hopefully, you can find some comfort in knowing they aren't struggling with that illness anymore
and are finally at peace.

Angela Wright said:My mother passed away peacefully this morning.
I want to thank everyone here for the support you've shown me during this incredibly difficult chapter of my life.
Love you all. May God bless you in your own struggles. Keep pushing forward.

My deepest condolences. 😢

Finally, this exhausting day is over. I’m sitting down to get some thoughts out before I try to catch some sleep, and I want to thank everyone again for the kind words. Some of your posts really touched my heart.

The morning kicked off at 5:30 AM with my dad panicking because Mom had choked on some cream of wheat and couldn't breathe. I spent a solid 15 minutes performing CPR; she managed two gasping breaths, vomited once, and then her pulse just vanished. I was massaging her chest while we waited for the paramedics, who arrived almost immediately. They pumped her with adrenaline, cleared her airways, tried everything to resuscitate her... but nothing worked.
Even though deep down I knew the end was near, the sheer speed and violence of how she passed caught me completely off guard. Because things had been dragging on for so long, I expected it to be a slow fade—just one day where she’d gradually drift off and stop breathing.
Maybe this was actually better for everyone involved. It was fast, almost instantaneous, and she took her last breath right in my arms. I was terrified she wouldn't go peacefully in her sleep; I desperately wanted to be there.
I was also struck by this strange numbness that washed over me during the entire resuscitation attempt. Watching her blue lips and dilated pupils... I felt totally numb, stuck in this state of disbelief, like I was watching a movie of someone else's life.
That fog has hung over me all day. I’ve only found myself crying when dear friends stopped by to talk about the woman she was before the illness took hold.
Perhaps I’m feeling this way because I actually mourned her a long time ago. Even while she was still alive, I used to be hit by these terrifying waves of grief—the realization that she was slipping away and my inability to say anything to her, ask her things, or tell her stories and have her answer back.
The hardest part is likely what comes next: being left alone in this house and facing the true void. I think the most brutal transition will be moving from a "normal routine" that has been centered entirely around her for the last two years, to a sudden, jarring reality where I have to focus entirely on myself.
As always, I’m putting my faith in God’s providence to light my path forward.

And one last thing:
I found out today that a close friend of mine—someone who beat Hodgins and was told she’d never be able to conceive—is pregnant again. She’s my mother’s godmother, and I can't help but feel like my mom traded her own life for this pregnancy.
Life is beautiful and bizarre.

Angela Wright said:Finally, this exhausting day is over...

Even without mentioning everything you told us about what went down yesterday morning (honestly, I’m still speechless), everyone knows you’ve been doing incredible things for your mom. I don't think many people would even attempt half of what you do...
And you still managed to end the story on a high note...🙏
Wishing you a super speedy return to your "normal" life!

Angela Wright said:So, this exhausting day is finally over. I’ve sat down to gather my thoughts and write a bit before trying to get some sleep, and I just want to thank you all once more for the kind words. Some of your posts really touched me deeply.

The morning kicked off at 5:30 AM with my father panicking because Mom had choked on her cream of wheat and stopped breathing. I spent a good fifteen minutes performing CPR; she managed two gasping breaths, vomited once, and then lost her pulse entirely. I was massaging her heart while we waited for the paramedics, who arrived almost immediately. They administered adrenaline, cleared her airways, tried everything... but nothing worked.
Even though I knew the end was near, the sheer speed and violence of it all left me reeling. Because things had been moving so slowly lately, I somehow expected her to just fade away gradually one day, simply drifting off.
Perhaps this was better for everyone involved. It was swift, almost instantaneous, and she drew her last breath right in my arms. I had been so terrified she wouldn't go peacefully in her sleep; I desperately wanted to be there.
I was also struck by my own numbness during the resuscitation attempt—just staring at her blue lips and dilated pupils... a sense of total dissociation, as if I were watching a movie rather than living it.
That numbness has lingered throughout the entire day. I’ve found myself only breaking down when dear friends visit and reminisce about the woman she was before she fell ill.
Maybe the numbness exists because I mourned her long ago. Even while she was still alive, I would suffer these terrible waves of grief, realizing how much I missed her and how impossible it had become to talk to her, to ask her questions, or to tell her things and actually hear a response.
I suppose the hardest part lies ahead: being alone in this house and feeling the true weight of the void. The most difficult transition will likely be shifting from a "normal routine" that, for the last two years, revolved almost entirely around her, to a new reality where I have to focus on myself.
As always, I am placing my trust in God's providence to light my path again.

And one final thing:
I found out today that a close friend of mine—someone who survived Hodgins and was told she’d never be able to conceive—is pregnant again. She is my mother's godmother, and I can't help but feel as though my mother traded her life for this new beginning.
Life is beautiful and strange.

You wrote that so beautifully...
When things get heavy, remember we are here for you...

Angela Wright said:Well, this exhausting day is finally over. I’m just sitting here trying to get some thoughts down before I crash, and I really wanted to say thanks again to everyone for the kind words. Some of your posts honestly hit me right in the feels.

The morning kicked off at 5:30 AM with my dad freaking out because Mom choked on some grits and stopped breathing. I was doing CPR on her for a solid 15 minutes—she managed two shallow breaths, vomited once, then lost her pulse. I was doing chest compressions while we waited for the paramedics. They rushed in, gave her adrenaline, cleared her airways, tried everything... nothing.
Even though I knew she was close to the end, the sheer speed of it all just floored me. Everything had been moving so slowly lately that I figured she’d just sort of fade away one day, you know? Just stop breathing quietly.
Maybe this was actually better for everyone. It was fast, almost instantaneous, and she took her last breath right in my arms. I was so terrified she wouldn't go peacefully in her sleep—I desperately wanted to be there.
I was also weirded out by how numb I felt during the whole resuscitation attempt—just staring at her blue lips and those fixed pupils... total numbness and disbelief, like I was watching a movie or something.
That fog has lasted pretty much all day. I only really broke down when certain dear people came by and started talking about who she was before she got sick.
Maybe the numbness is because I’ve been mourning her for a long time already. Even while she was still here, I’d get these massive waves of grief just knowing she wasn't going to be able to hear me, talk to me, or answer any of my questions.
I think the hardest part is what comes next—being alone in this house and facing that absolute void. The toughest transition will probably be moving from this "new normal" where the last two years have revolved entirely around her, back to a daily life that's suddenly, sharply focused on just me.
I’m just putting my faith in God's providence to light the way again.

And one more thing:
I found out today that a friend of mine—who beat Hodgins and was told she’d never be able to conceive—is pregnant. She’s my mom’s godmother, and I can’t help but feel like my mom traded her life for this baby's.
Life is beautiful and bizarre.

You are such a strong person.

That emptiness in the house will hang around for a while, but it will pass. The void in your soul, though... that stays forever.

I lost my mom ten years ago. I miss her so much, especially when I have stuff on my mind and nobody to vent to. In those moments, I just wish so badly she was here.

You have to stay brave and strong—for yourself and for your dad. Based on everything you’ve posted, it’s obvious you’ve got this. You really do. 🙂

I don't know your friend, but since we're dealing with the same illness, I am beyond happy for her. I'm sharing in her joy. Sending her all the luck in the world.

Angela Wright, I am sending you my most sincere condolences!
Hang in there... stay strong!

Hey everyone. My dad was supposed to head in for his 9th chemo session this Monday, but his blood work came back looking pretty rough, so they told us to check in today. We’ve been trying everything under the sun to help him bounce back, but his numbers just aren't budging. Now, the doctors are saying he needs a blood transfusion. Honestly, I'm freaking out a bit, so I wanted to see if anyone here has gone through this before...🤷Are there any major risks or long-term side effects I should worry about? Or is this just a way to get his levels back where they need to be so he can power through those last four rounds of chemo? Thanks for the help! Hang in there.
Big hugs to Jane,🙂

Dear Angela Wright,

In a moment like this, where you find yourself right now, it’s so important to take all those beautiful, warm thoughts you’ve shared here on the forum and start turning them inward! It isn't always easy to give yourself that same grace and compassion, but reading your last post, I can truly see that you’re already starting to do just that. Hang in there, okay? You gave so much love to your mother, and that matters so much. Sending you a huge hug!🙂

A journalist reached out to me regarding the nightmare of scheduling a CT scan. It all started because my husband needs follow-up screenings after his last round of chemo (October 26th): a chest CT, an echocardiogram, and a PET scan. So far, the one thing we haven't been able to nail down is the CT. I mentioned this on my blog, which is how she found me.

At Mayo Clinic, their CT scanner was broken and they weren't even taking orders at the start of the month (I have no idea if it’s fixed yet; I'll try calling them tomorrow, though they didn't pick up today).

I’ve tried calling General Hospital, Holy Spirit, and Vineyard—and all of them are already booking into December for appointments next year.

I also called Quest Diagnostics and Diagnostic 2000. They are private facilities, but they do accept insurance referrals. There's a predictable pattern there: if you pay out of pocket, you can get seen almost immediately. If we rely on our insurance, Quest Diagnostics has an opening on December 17th, and as for Diagnostic 2000, I have to call back on Monday because they simply couldn't give me an answer right now😕.

The journalist mentioned she wants to write a piece on this, so I wanted to ask: are you or your loved ones, friends, or anyone you know running into these same hurdles when trying to book such critical tests?

How long are you typically waiting for something like a CT?

slyseal28 said:A journalist reached out to me regarding scheduling a CT scan. This whole thing kicked off because after my husband finishes his last round of chemo (October 26th), he needs follow-up testing: a spiral chest CT, an echocardiogram, and a PET scan. The only thing we haven't been able to nail down yet is the CT. I mentioned this on my blog, and that's what prompted her to contact me.

At Mayo Clinic, their CT was out of order and they weren't even taking orders at the start of the month (who knows if it's fixed now; I'll try calling them tomorrow, but they didn't pick up today).

I called General Hospital, Holy Spirit, and Vineyard—and all of them are booking for December for dates way into next year.

I also checked with Quest Diagnostics and Diagnostic 2000. They're private facilities, but they do accept insurance referrals. The rule of thumb with them is that if we pay out of pocket, we can get seen almost immediately. If we use our insurance, Quest Diagnostics has an opening on December 17th, and I have to call Diagnostic 2000 on Monday because they couldn't give me a straight answer right now😕.

The journalist said she’s going to write a piece about this, so I wanted to ask you guys: are you, your loved ones, friends, or acquaintances running into these kinds of issues when trying to schedule such vital tests?

How long are you waiting for something like a CT?

I'm heading over this Friday to book an MRI for my mom at Mayo Clinic, so I'll let you know how it goes and what kind of date they give us.

Jane!!
I just read the news, and I am so, so sorry... I just got back from an appointment at the Mayo Clinic, so I’m a little behind on everything... I just want to say, with everything I've got, please stay strong—keep fighting and hang in there..
We’re all right here for you, just like you’ve always been there for us.
Grace Fowler

slyseal28 said:A journalist reached out to me regarding scheduling a CT scan. It all started because my husband needs follow-up exams after his last chemo cycle (Oct 26th): a spiral chest CT, an echocardiogram, and a PET scan. The only thing we haven't been able to sort out is the CT. I mentioned this on my blog, and that's how she got in touch.

At Mayo Clinic, the CT scanner was broken and they weren't taking orders at the start of the month—not sure if it's fixed yet, I'll try calling them tomorrow, they didn't pick up today.

I called General Hospital, Holy Spirit, and Vineyard—and they are all booking for December for dates sometime next year.

I also called Quest Diagnostics and Diagnostic 2000, which are private facilities that accept insurance referrals. With them, the rule is simple: if we pay out of pocket, we can get it done almost immediately. If we use our insurance, I have an appointment at Quest Diagnostics on Dec 17th, and I have to call Diagnostic 2000 on Monday because they just couldn't give me an answer right now😕.

The journalist said she’s going to write an article about this, so I wanted to ask—are you, your loved ones, friends, or acquaintances having trouble scheduling these kinds of vital tests?

How long are you waiting for something like a CT?

One of the two CT Scanners at Mayo Clinic is still out of order. They won't answer the phone, so you can't even schedule anything that way. Orders are only taken between 1 PM and 2 PM, and you don't get a confirmed slot right away—they just call patients later with a time. You need to bring the specialist's report that ordered the exam, plus any abdominal or ultrasound results. If it's a follow-up CT, you can bring your old scans too.

Private clinics are more than willing to work and make a profit (at least in Quest Diagnostics' case 😉), but they're limited by Medicare, which sets a monthly cap. Unfortunately, that cap gets hit way too fast, leaving the machines sitting idle unless you're willing to pay cash. So, the wait times at private facilities aren't a matter of arrogance—it's just how it is...🤷

Anyway, in America, waiting a month for a CT using insurance is pretty standard.👎

I am truly sorry to hear about your mother's passing.
While there is a small sense of peace in knowing she is finally at rest, I know even those tiny comforts can feel quite heavy during times like this.
The most important thing right now is that you take some time for yourself and focus on your own needs; please give yourself the grace to grieve and the space needed to eventually find your footing again. I imagine an immense wave of exhaustion has hit you after everything you've been through, but you have such a resilient and bright spirit, and I know you will find your strength once more.
Thank you so much for the selfless support you always offer this community. I truly wish there was more I could do to help you through this.

brightgardener8 said:I’m heading in this Friday to get my mom scheduled for an MRI at General Hospital—so I'll let you guys know how it goes and when they actually give us a date.

Don't expect a date right away. They notify you about the appointment later on. And honestly? The wait is... way too long!

Jane 🙂
What can I even say to you???
Please accept my deepest condolences.😢

Ronald Lopez56 said:One of the two CT Scanners at General Hospital is still out of commission. They won't even pick up the phone, which makes scheduling impossible. They only take orders between 1:00 PM and 2:00 PM, and you don't get an appointment right then; they just call you back later with a time. You have to bring a specialist's referral to get the exam, along with abdominal and ultrasound results. If this is for a follow-up CT, you can bring your previous scans.

Private clinics are more than happy to work and turn a profit (at least where Quest Diagnostics is concerned 😉), but they're hamstrung by our beloved Medicare, which sets a monthly cap on coverage. Unfortunately, that budget gets exhausted far too quickly, leaving the equipment sitting idle unless you're willing to pay out of pocket. So, those long wait times at private facilities aren't a matter of arrogance—it's simply the reality of the system...🤷

In the US, it’s pretty standard to wait a month for a CT scan if you're relying on a referral.👎

Tell me, would you be willing to go on the record with this for the press (even anonymously)?

Angela Wright said:My mom passed away peacefully this morning.
Thanks everyone for being there for me during such a rough patch in my life.
Love you all! God bless you in whatever battles you're fighting! Just keep pushing...

Dear Ivanica, please accept my deepest condolences. I'm so sorry. Your mom surely went peacefully because she had an angel right by her side—and honestly, you should be so proud of yourself. You were a true fighter until her very last breath, giving everything you had for that final battle. Now you’ve got an angel watching over you from above, and Mom can finally rest... Don't let it get you down—stay as strong as you've always been. Sending a huge hug, hang in there...🙂