Support for families dealing with cancer and other serious illnesses (Part II)

Robin Diaz4 said:They’re claiming it feels like someone is literally ripping their organs out. Honestly, if that's how much pain they're actually in, they might as well call it quits. Their motivation has completely hit rock bottom. 😢

What kind of pain meds were they given? They need to get their dosage dialed in properly.

Robin Diaz4 said:He’s describing this sensation like someone is physically ripping his organs out—just a visceral, agonizing pull from the inside. Honestly, he even went as far as saying that if this is what life is supposed to feel like, he’d rather just be dead. It’s heartbreaking to witness; his entire sense of enthusiasm hasn't just dipped—it has completely bottomed out. 😢

:-(
I honestly can't even begin to wrap my head around something like that.

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Angela Wright said:What did they actually give him for the pain? He needs a proper dose.

Well, they bumped up his dosage. And at least when he’s back home, he won't have to deal with the nightmare of waiting in line for his meds—he's always the first one through the door there. 🙂

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Well, my dad had a bit of a "shock" this morning—not from the pain, but because his alarm clock actually managed to wake him up. It’s the first time in months! It looks like the current cocktail of pain meds is finally doing its job. Even though nothing seemed to touch the pain during those first couple of days after chemo, today we’ve actually got a reason to be optimistic again... Honestly, taking things one day at a time remains the smartest advice anyone on this forum has given.

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Robin Diaz4 said:My dad actually had a bit of a "shock" this morning—not from the pain, but because his alarm clock actually woke him up. It’s the first time in months that hasn't happened. It looks like the current cocktail of pain meds is finally doing its job. Even though nothing seemed to touch the pain during those first two days after chemo, we're seeing a glimmer of optimism today... Honestly, just taking things one day at a time is probably the best advice anyone on this forum could give.

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Reddit bad cut! :-)
Did they let him head home yet?

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Something about all of this just doesn't feel right to me. :-/

I’ve grown quite used to his cough, honestly—it’s become part of our daily routine. But today, it feels a bit more intense, and he’s complaining about that suffocating sensation again.

The doctor mentioned that if the illness makes a comeback, we should watch for those same initial red flags. So, I’m keeping a very close eye on everything: his weight, his appetite (since he struggled to eat at first), any shortness of breath (which hasn't happened yet), and that terrible cough—though, thankfully, it isn't quite as severe as it was before..

I’m just stuck in this headspace of not knowing what to think. He’s scheduled for some imaging tomorrow or the day after, and while I keep telling myself that his current struggles might just be his subconscious dwelling on everything—combined with the changing seasons—there's still that nagging doubt in the back of my mind..
Fear really is the worst enemy in situations like this, but then again, I know I have to try and take everything with a grain of salt.

I've started noticing that Dad's condition takes a noticeable dip right before his therapy sessions. It’s pretty obvious that the anxiety and stress levels are taking a massive toll on him...

Robin Diaz4 said:I've noticed that my dad's condition seems to take a turn for the worse right before his therapy sessions. It's pretty obvious that fear and stress play a massive role in how he's doing...

Fear and panic—I know firsthand—can completely shut down the body. For me, it hits my respiratory system (dealing with chronic bronchitis and a mild case of asthma); if I can't find a way to calm down, I struggle just to catch my breath. But with everything he’s going through, I find myself jumping at every little change in his condition. It's hard to stay steady when you're watching someone you love fight this battle.

Tomorrow is the big day—our first scan after finishing the second round of Chemo. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers. :-)

Good luck, ruggedfox11, I'm really pulling for you and hoping everything goes perfectly smoothly... 🙂

Best of luck, ruggedfox11!
We're heading back in for another round of consultations tomorrow...

Sending good vibes to everyone
I just finished watching a documentary called "acceptance of mortality" about people facing terminal illnesses and how they deal with the end. There was one man with a brain tumor that really hit home. It triggered so many flashbacks that my husband and I spent most of the film just crying together. Now, ten years later, everything I went through—all those realizations and deep thoughts—is finally being validated. For me, this isn't a quick fix; it’s a lifelong process that will likely continue until my very last breath.

Thanks, everyone! I'm rooting for the rest of you too!

That documentary sounds interesting enough, though I don't really feel the urge to sit down and watch it. From where I'm standing—in my own little corner of the world—I just don't think true acceptance of mortality is something anyone can actually achieve. Personally, I still find myself half-expecting my grandpa to walk through the front door, even though it’s been fifteen years now.

Angela Wright said:Sending good vibes to everyone.
I just finished watching that documentary "acceptance of mortality" about terminally ill patients and how they face the end. There was one man with a brain tumor that really hit home. I kept having these intense flashbacks, and honestly, my husband and I spent most of the film just weeping together. It’s funny, because ten years later, everything I went through—everything I processed and realized back then—is finally being validated. For me, this is a lifelong journey that will likely continue until my very last breath.

I couldn't even bring myself to watch it; I started tearing up just reading the description...
Dad's pain is just relentless today. I'm heading back to the doctor later to see if we can bump up his dosage or something, because when he's hurting like this, I can't find any peace either. I haven't managed more than thirty minutes of sleep at a stretch for two days now.
Things haven't been this brutal since before he started chemo...

Honestly, this documentary is incredibly well-done. What hit me hard was how much we still lack when it comes to palliative care—specifically that transparent communication with doctors. Ten years ago, I had to Google everything myself just to make sense of things, and frankly, nothing has changed since then.
There’s a man in the film who takes a completely rational approach to his acceptance of mortality. He made the choice to pass away at home on his farm. He actually sat down with his grandson and asked him straight up if he wanted to talk about death or if it was too heavy for him. The kid admitted it was tough, so the grandfather kept it simple: he just wanted the boy to understand that he isn't afraid. He explained that death is just a natural process, that he’s lived a full, rich life, and that working the land taught him to accept death as just another part of the natural cycle. The kid handled that conversation remarkably well.
Toward the end, just hours before he passed, the man said he had never been happier. Sure, his mental state took a bit of a hit because of the pain and the confusion that comes with those final days, but overall, he felt these last moments were the best of his life. He spent them surrounded by the people he loved most, in the place he loved most.
Do yourself a favor and watch it. From my perspective, seeing it might give you some personal peace, regardless of what you're currently facing. We are all mortal. Shifting your mindset like this can really help you navigate everything and finally get rid of that knot in your stomach. For me, it was cathartic.
You can find it on the HBO Max platform.

Robin Diaz4 said:I just couldn't sit through watching that, I started tearing up just from the announcement alone...
My dad's pain just won't let up today, so I'm heading back to the doctor again to see if they can bump up his dosage or something, because honestly, when he's hurting this much, I can't even get a decent night's sleep myself... I haven't managed more than thirty minutes of actual rest at a time for two days straight now.
It hasn't been nearly this brutal before he started chemo...

My dad also went through those intense pains, especially in his bones and shoulders after his chemo sessions, but those Transtec patches actually helped him out quite a bit! The pain would usually start creeping up around the third day, right before it was time to swap out the patch for a new one...

stormyfalcon68 said:My dad also dealt with intense pain, specifically in his bones and shoulders after Chemo, and those Transtec patches actually helped him quite a bit. The pain would usually kick in around the third day, right before it was time to swap out the patch.

Exactly, yesterday marked the third day of his current patch.
Today, I applied a fresh one, gave him a pill, and he’s practically a new man. Yesterday, however, was just brutal. Our doctor did a home visit; Dad’s breathing is still steady, and there’s no tenderness or enlargement in his liver upon palpation. Honestly, I’m starting to think everything somehow aligned perfectly so that all those major symptoms just... vanished. Aside from the pain, they’re simply gone.

Maybe I could find a day when he isn't home and take a look—even though, if I'm being honest, I’ve never been one to dwell on the whole concept of mortality. It's just... well, I'm the type of person who ends up in tears over those nature documentaries about animals, so I can only imagine how much harder this will hit me. 🙂
Vedran went in for his X-ray this morning. Comparing it to his old scans—those first ones from before the diagnosis—that swollen lymph node situated between his heart and lungs has almost completely vanished. At least, that’s how it looks to my untrained eye; on that initial image, it was totally obscuring the heart, but now you can see everything clearly. We just have to wait until Thursday for the doctor to confirm the details and tell us exactly how much it has actually shrunk—assuming it really has. I seem to recall reading somewhere that if the swollen lymph node is shrinking, then the beast itself is shrinking too. So, we’re sitting here today in this strange headspace—somewhere between genuine relief and that heavy, lingering tension as we wait for the doctor's word the day after tomorrow.
On top of everything else, we finally figured out what was causing his cough—it turns out the little guy has laryngitis. Honestly, it’s just one thing after another. I really thought I had seen it all with my two older kids—I felt like I’d navigated every childhood illness under the sun—but then this one comes along, something completely new that none of them ever even caught. It feels like there's always a new hurdle waiting around the corner.

Please, do yourself a favor and watch this documentary. It’s definitely going to make you cry, but honestly, I would have given anything to have seen it while my husband was still alive. It would have cleared up so many fears, feelings, and uncertainties. I would’ve felt more confident instead of just relying on my gut and feeling totally alone in everything. Some things would have gone differently, too.
It shows you how things *should* work versus how they unfortunately actually work here in the States.

ruggedfox11, that’s fantastic news if the beast is actually shrinking. I’m really crossing my fingers that the doctor confirms the same thing during the next checkup!