Posts by Zachary Howard2

Amanda Miller69 said:🙂

Just stay persistent. If you can't catch him in the ambulance bay, try heading over to the 3rd floor surgical ward in the old wing; you can usually track him down there around 8:30 or 9:00 every single day.
It’s been exactly one week since my Mommy passed away, and honestly, the only thing keeping me going is knowing she isn't suffering anymore and that she's back with my Dad. I feel like a puppy that was kicked out of the car and left behind—just abandoned and pathetic—even though my boyfriend and my aunt are absolutely showering me with affection. Once you lose a parent, you just feel like an orphan. I know this feeling will eventually fade, but right now, it’s just heavy.
I also played some Bingo today, so we'll see how that goes. My left palm was itching earlier, which is supposedly a sign that money is coming my way, but knowing my luck... it's unlikely, yet...
Good luck, sending a big hug.

Of course, I didn't win a single cent at Bingo. Maybe I should keep playing... I know it's totally irrelevant to the topic, but anything to take my mind off this sadness for a moment.😉

🙂

shadowmason6 said:First off, Fiza—my heart goes out to you. I’m so sorry you’re losing this battle, but look, maybe this whole thing with Bingo is trying to tell you something after all...
Thank you for helping others despite what I assume is an incredibly difficult time for you right now. You’re a true fighter, much like many others in this group.
I’m heading to see Dr. Majerović this Wednesday with my test results—thanks so much for the recommendation! I'll be prepared to wait all day if necessary just to get a moment with him.
That was the only lead I had, and in the meantime, I’ve been scouring the internet for any useful info, though it’s surprisingly hard to find specific names or reviews on doctors regarding this particular issue. I initially checked the Mayo Clinic website (it seemed highly reputable), but I’m stuck on who to actually ask for and whether a surgeon would even see me without a formal referral... plus, it looks like their surgical waiting lists are miles long.

Just hang in there. If you can't catch him in the outpatient clinic, try heading over to the third-floor surgical ward in the old wing; you can usually corner him there around 9:00 AM most days.
It’s been exactly one week since my Mommy passed away, and the only thing getting me through is knowing she isn't suffering anymore and that she's back with my Dad. Honestly, I feel like a puppy that’s been kicked out of a car and left on the curb—just abandoned and miserable—even though my boyfriend and my aunt are showering me with affection. Once you lose your parents, you basically become an orphan. I know this feeling will eventually fade, but right now, it’s just heavy.
Today is also Bingo day, so we'll see how that plays out. My left palm has been itching, which is supposed to mean money is coming my way, but knowing my luck... it’s a toss-up.
Good luck, sending a big hug.

Grace Fowler said:Hi everyone!!
So, here I am after another round of immunotherapy and ECT from Germany. Everything went better than expected, and my doctor is actually quite pleased with how I'm responding... :-)) . On Monday, I’m heading off to London just for the fun of it. These last few months have been pretty rough, so now it's time for me to finally let loose and enjoy myself...
Dear slyseal28, I was truly saddened to hear your latest news regarding the recurrence. I could try to dwell on all the emotions swirling in my head right now, but based on my own experience, once the initial shock wears off, a certain stubbornness takes over—a renewed strength to fight this damn thing. I'm crossing my fingers for you, but I truly believe you'll come out on top this time too. Sending hugs and plenty of positive energy to everyone feeling stuck right now. Warmly, your Dina :-)

I am honestly so glad to hear everything went well. Have an amazing time in London. My partner and I are getting ready to head to Tenerife on the 28th; I definitely need a proper break after everything that's happened.🙂

My deepest, most sincere condolences. 😢

Sandra Evans13 said:Dear Fiz, please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences....

Thank you, dear.

Karen Fox36 said:Dear Fiza, your post managed to make me laugh and cry all at once.
Things here haven't changed much since day one; my mom is doing relatively well, so I don't have much of an update for you all. We're heading in for an MRI soon, so we'll see what the actual situation looks like then. Wishing everyone lots of luck and strength in the fight. Best regards.

Dear Karen, I'm so glad to hear there's some positive news for a change. I'm really hoping those MRI results come back looking good.
Sending you sooooooo much luck.🙂

Linda Peterson37 said:I am so incredibly sorry about this.. my heart goes out to all of you, and I just want to say please keep fighting. I hope God gives you all the strength you need to push through...
It breaks my heart every single time I read bad news; it honestly just leaves me feeling so heavy and sad.

I don't even have the energy to type much because I'm emotionally drained—just completely running on empty... my dad isn't doing well, he's doing really, really, really poorly, and I feel totally hollow and desperate. He won't wake up, his breathing is labored.. things are bad, and I am struggling quite badly myself.

Best to everyone.

Hang in there, Linda, you can do this. I know exactly what you're going through; I was right there in the thick of it myself just a week or two ago. May God grant you the strength you need.
To try and cheer you up a little: yesterday and today, there's been this commercial for Bingo playing constantly, and guess who I see in it? My mom (the lady in the black hat). It played four times yesterday and once today. I actually asked my aunt if this might be some kind of sign, or if it's trying to tell us something. So, we weren't exactly lacking motivation—we went out and bought some Bingo tickets today, so we'll see what happens this Saturday. For context, that commercial was filmed a year ago while Mom was in remission, and it hasn't aired since until now. Maybe I'm just being superstitious, or maybe... well, we'll find out during the drawing on Saturday.

Kisses and a big hug🙂

slyseal28 said:We had a follow-up CT scan yesterday covering the chest, abdomen, and pelvis. The results are a total disaster. That damn SS has made a comeback, and it’s showing up in full force at three different locations.

Excerpt from the chest CT report: "On the left, an extremely high rib prominence is visible, and along the lateral thoracic wall, there is a soft tissue expansive round mass measuring 3.7 x 3.3 cm. Near the aortic arch and pulmonary artery, an irregularly shaped soft tissue expansive mass is also visible, while further down and anterior to the cardiac apex, a polycyclic expansive mass measuring 11.8 x 5.7 cm is present. A smaller soft tissue expansive mass is also seen on the left dorsal side in the posterior recess behind the spleen."

Excerpt from the abdomen and pelvis CT report: "Dorsal to the left against the posterior abdominal wall behind the diaphragmatic crus, a larger oval-shaped soft tissue expansive mass measuring 5.6 x 5.0 cm is visible, with another round one located more anteriorly in the area of the diaphragmatic crus latero-aortically, almost inseparable from the existing larger mass."

Basically, the results are abysmal. We weren't expecting this. I’ve been dwelling on the idea of a recurrence, but I truly didn't expect it to hit this hard or this fast. And in three places, no less... We went straight to our professor to hammer out a treatment plan:
Third-line chemotherapy is proposed: Gemcitabine and Docetaxel. On Monday, we have to submit an application for insurance approval because, naturally, these drugs aren't standard coverage for soft tissue sarcomas. We’re planning for a second cycle, followed by another CT scan. If the therapy doesn't work, we move to Yondelis. Yondelis is that drug that isn't officially approved here in the States, and the monthly treatment costs about $11,000.

Surgery is also being planned—possibly even two separate procedures. We need to consult with a thoracic surgeon, Professor Slobodnjak, and likely an abdominal surgeon as well. But we'll deal with that when the time comes.

How have we taken this? It’s been rough. We’re back on the front lines, right in the thick of it. We need to pull ourselves together, find some peace, and adjust to this reality. *Sigh*...
Our fight continues. We will keep fighting for the approval of Yondelis. We will keep fighting for life. This time, we’re going to need the help of friends and good people. Please stay with us.

I am so incredibly sorry; it seems I'm reading nothing but bad news today. I want to send you all the strength in the world so you can push through this time too. If there is any way I can help, please let me know.
Hang in there.👍

shadowmason6 said:It was a difficult decision to actually start reading through this thread (and for good reason, because I’d probably end up in tears seeing everything so many of you are going through)... Unfortunately, there are just too many pages, so I've only managed to get through a portion of it. Honestly, I have so much respect for Angela Wright for starting this thread, and for all of you who are bravely facing illnesses and the loss of your loved ones.
Yesterday, my Mommy was diagnosed with colon cancer. If the CT scans aren't misleading me, they show that the lymph nodes and surrounding organs haven't been affected yet. Surgery should be scheduled once they get the biopsy results from tomorrow's colonoscopy.
In the face of such a shocking diagnosis, I'm trying my best to focus on those relatively positive details. Forgive me if I seem overly optimistic; I think I’d lose my mind if I approached this any other way. I’m just trying to keep a cool head and figure out exactly what I can do to help during this stage.
Still, doubts creep in—did the doctors sugarcoat things a little? (Would it be easier to accept the bad news later if they did?) How reliable is a CT scan, really? Could they truly have seen everything?...
I'm hoping you might have some advice, as I'm not entirely sure what steps I can take right now to ensure Mommy gets the best possible care. A friend of mine (an internist at a hospital in Canada) believes the most critical factor is finding an exceptional surgeon. Mom is currently at a hospital in Karlovac. While I have absolutely nothing against her current medical team, I can't help but feel that a local hospital might not have the reputation we need, and perhaps it would be better to have the surgery performed at a major hospital in Chicago instead.???
Can anyone recommend a skilled surgeon—or perhaps suggest if I should at least seek a second opinion???

You could try in Chicago, specifically at the Mayo Clinic, with Dr. Majerović. He holds clinic hours on Wednesdays from 12:00 to 3:00 PM. He operated on my mother; he's an outstanding abdominal surgeon. Sadly, my mother's case was too severe, and she was simply too weak after two years of illness and chemotherapy to recover, so she passed away on Saturday. However, I believe he could save your mother; regarding my mom, he mentioned that if she had come in at the very beginning of the illness (nearly two years ago), he might have been able to save her. Wishing you all the best of luck.🙂

Thanks again, everyone. My only solace is knowing she isn’t struggling or in pain anymore; she passed away peacefully in her sleep, just as she always wanted. If she were here, she’d probably tell us that when her time comes, she just wants to drift off quietly.
Wishing you all strength in your own battles.

While chatting about my Mom during these heavy days, my brother and I realized she passed away on the exact day that would have been her and Dad's 39th wedding anniversary. Coincidence, or...

I'm giving away some Megamin tablets and Royal Jelly tablets. If anyone could use them, just let me know—feel free to shoot me a private message.

Thank you, everyone. You all have been an incredible support system through everything, and regardless of what happens, I’ll be keeping an eye on this group and trying to help out however I can. My Mommy is an angel now and has finally found her peace. Early this morning, I dreamed of her and Dad together; I truly hope that’s how it is up there...

Another fighter lost her battle this morning. My mother passed away at 7:00 AM, peacefully in her sleep.🙂🙂

slyseal28 said:Fiza, I’ve been following your story for a while now, and I can't help but feel you might be reaching some rather flawed conclusions. Your mother underwent surgery, which undoubtedly gave her a fighting chance at more time. No doctor would even touch her if her condition were as dire as you're making it out to be. Honestly, I get the impression that ever since you read that PhD report, you've completely misinterpreted the situation. You mentioned metastatic ovarian cancer and that everything was involved... but that is precisely why such a radical surgery was performed. Right now, your mother needs to recover. What you're doing right now feels, in my honest opinion, entirely misplaced. I might sound harsh—and please believe me, I have no intention of offending you—but it seems to me like you're essentially giving up on her prematurely.

Furthermore, you say she’s withdrawing... Well, your mother was fitted with a colostomy bag. Frankly, if it were me, I’d shut myself away because of that too, at least for a while. Try to understand that everyone needs time to process a shock like this. She has to adapt to this new reality, and by acting this way, you're only making things harder for her. Forgive me again if I'm being too blunt, but I truly think you're overreacting. I think you need to pull yourself together and focus more on her right now. If I were in your shoes, I would have brought her home regardless of how difficult it was. If it is her fate to pass within two, three, or even seven days, then let her spend those days in her own home.

Fiza, please take this in the spirit it's intended. I'm not trying to attack you; I'm just trying to point out where I think your perspective is skewed.

My dear,
if things were actually going the way you suggest, I would be the happiest person alive. I spoke with the doctor in Springfield today, and he made it very clear that we have to accept that this is reaching its natural end and there is nothing left to be done. He reviewed all the clinical findings, and it isn't a matter of me misinterpreting anything. These medical teams deal with dozens of cases like this every single day. A close friend of my mother’s, who is also a diagnostic specialist and someone she trusts implicitly, told me the same thing—and he wouldn't lie to me, especially not as her child. Her entire abdomen is involved; the peritoneum, the liver, the bladder, the intestines, the stomach. They didn't touch the liver or the stomach because she wouldn't have survived the procedure. The metastases are systemic. Do you really think I wouldn't give anything for her to get better or for some miracle to happen?
It felt as though they used her at the hospital as a "test case" to see how much could be done, and afterward, they practically avoided us. Even Dr. Smith told us he was hesitant about whether to operate at all, mentioning before the surgery that, in principle, this wasn't considered operable.
Please forgive me, and forgive everyone else too; I am at my wit's end and I know I'm being abrasive.🙂

Linda Peterson37 said:It breaks my heart to read through all these heavy updates... I truly feel for everyone here. I can sense the weight of everything you're going through and the sheer intensity of the emotions sitting in your hearts. It sounds incredibly painful.
My dad isn't doing great lately, but I try to frame it in my mind as just another phase—like the ones he's navigated before—and that things will eventually take a turn for the better.
Amanda Miller69, please don't let the medical prognoses get under your skin. Try to tune them out as much as possible; they can be so counterproductive that you might not even realize how much they're affecting you. For your mom's sake, you can't afford to lose hope. She's still here, and she needs you.

Whenever we visit my dad, we just talk about the usual everyday stuff (even if he doesn't say much back to us lately; he’s been getting quieter). We joke around, tickle him, and keep things light. My brother will actually climb into the hospital bed with him just to chat about anything and everything. Even though we’re all adults now, we’ve always been that close, so we act like we’re just hanging out in our living room, catching up and laughing. I make sure to tell him constantly that he’s the most loved man in the world. We stay affectionate, and honestly, it makes us feel better too. We focus entirely on projecting positive energy toward him.
Don't get me wrong, we aren't delusional. We aren't ignoring the reality of the situation or the medical facts. We've simply made a conscious choice within our own reality to fight this illness alongside him and help him heal.
Of course, that’s easier said than done. There are moments when I feel like I want to scream from the pure exhaustion of it all, or just smash everything in sight. But I really don't have a choice. Because of my dad, I can't just let go of the wheel and give up; I have to stay in the fight right there with him.

My mother has stopped communicating effectively. Her voice is so weak now, and all she repeats is that she wants us to take her home. Sadly, for her, there isn't any hope left. This isn't just a passing phase; it's more a question of how much longer she can hold on. Mom is resentful toward all of us right now (I don't blame her, though I find myself hating myself for the whole situation), and the doctors advised us to visit less frequently so we don't agitate her further. I'm currently trying to find a facility where I can at least ensure she has a dignified transition.😢

Grace Fowler said:Hi there!
I don't really have any good news to share :-( . My lab results were quite poor, so we had to push things back with the German doctor by a week to see if her condition might improve somehow... (her markers, sedimentation, and CRP levels spiked, but we aren't even sure why???) Still, I suppose patience is a virtue.
Dear Fiza, I am so incredibly sorry to hear that the latest updates regarding your mother are so discouraging. Please, try not to take it personally if she says anything harsh; it’s just not her true self speaking. Any irritability she shows is likely just a reflection of the grief and frustration over everything she's going through right now.
Sandra Evans13, I am keeping your mother in my thoughts, along with you and your sister. I hope you all find the strength needed to navigate this. I truly understand what you're feeling, as I went through something very similar two years ago when I had to say my final goodbye to my father...
Best, Grace

My dear,
I am so deeply sorry about those bad test results; reading your message truly saddened me. 😢
If there is anything at all I can do to help, please let me know.
I am an absolute wreck right now, just constantly worrying about Mom. Yesterday, I found out from the doctors in Springfield that they haven't even done a brain CT scan—it was never performed. The abdominal ultrasound report was sloppily written, and the discharge summary felt more like a dismissal than actual medical care. My aunt went to the hospital yesterday to get a signature for some intestinal procedure, and the head nurse told her that Mom had already been aggressive there. It wasn't that IV bags were bursting, but rather that she was tearing them apart; she refused to walk entirely. And that part about her losing consciousness when they lifted her? That wasn't true—she actually fell out of bed, and my aunt realized then that there was no hope left. What absolute hacks. To whom were they lying for three or four years? Honestly, it would have been better if they hadn't operated at all; they would have spared her all this further misery and pain. It feels as though she was merely a textbook case for them to practice on. That explains why they weren't properly attending to her, and I honestly suspect someone gave her the bad news prematurely, because she went from talking about everything she wanted to do once she got home to suddenly becoming completely apathetic. Her friend told me yesterday that she can't even walk anymore.
The poor woman is struggling so much that she turned off her phone just to shut everyone out. I can't even blame her; I'm just endlessly heartbroken.😢
Hang in there and stay strong, just as you have been so far.👍
Pusa and a big hug🙂

Sandra Evans13 said:After endless soul-searching, consulting experts, asking everyone we could, and scouring every possible avenue—trying to grab onto even the tiniest shred of hope for our mother (since my sister and I are complete laypeople when it comes to medicine)—I think we’ve finally reached a breaking point. After speaking with the specialist today, who essentially told us there's nothing left to be done, we’ve had to accept the reality that we can't cure her. Our focus now has to shift toward making her remaining time as comfortable and painless as possible... It is incredibly painful to admit, but we are stepping back from the fight. We just want to surround her with the love we feel for her. Honestly, as I type this, the tears are flowing so hard I can barely see the screen. My heart is just breaking from the sheer helplessness of it all...
Please don't judge me for being a wreck right now, but I truly believe we have done everything humanly possible for Mom...
Unfortunately, we found out about the extent of it too late (a tumor in the small intestine and abdominal wall that has already spread to the lungs, liver, kidneys, and likely everywhere else...)
Her overall condition is quite poor; she has lost her will to fight, and advanced osteoporosis has left her weighing only about 105 pounds...
How am I supposed to help her if all I can do is love her?
I could write a whole novel about how she sacrificed her entire life for my sister and me, but I suppose that’s cliché—though she really was one of a kind. Even now, her only thought is how to make things easier for us... Forgive me, I’m choking up so much I can't even finish this sentence...
Good luck to everyone still holding onto hope. Mine has gone out... Sis, I'm so sorry...

My dear,
I understand you completely because I am standing in the exact same place. I held onto hope until last Friday, right up until I saw the discharge papers confirming the metastatic carcinoma—basically, everything is affected. We have her settled in a facility near Springfield. She’s in pain, and they’re giving her 10mg of Tramadol twice a day (a doctor friend of hers mentioned that’s a massive dose). She can't eat, she has no appetite, and she can't even manage a decent cup of coffee...
On top of that, she’s incontinent, frail, and looks terribly ill. We are just praying to God to take her soon so she doesn't have to suffer. The doctors in Springfield say it could be three days, a few weeks, or even months. Based on her experience losing many relatives to cancer, my sister-in-law thinks it might only be 10 to 15 days. Meanwhile, Mom's doctor friend suggests it might stretch to a couple of weeks. Beyond the physical toll, Mom is depressed; she drifts in and out of lucidity, and when she does come to, she gets agitated and insists on going home. Most of the time, she can barely speak. If I knew this would only last a day or two, I’d bring her home so she could pass away in peace, but I simply cannot afford 24-hour nursing care, and I wouldn't be able to handle watching her die right in front of me. My dad passed away three years ago from a heart attack, and my brother has his own family to look after, so my boyfriend and my aunt are my only sources of support right now. My brother is actually struggling even more than I am. Hang in there; this is the hardest season of our lives, and we just have to push through it. Pusa and a biiiiiiiig hug🙂

Nancy Hernandez43 said:No matter how tough it feels because Springfield is such a trek... if you've noticed for yourself that things just feel fundamentally different, then everything will turn out okay.

If we had just surrendered to those initial findings, who knows where we would be today. In two days, it will be exactly one year since Mom was discharged from the hospital with a discharge summary stating: advanced ovarian cancer that had spread to surrounding organs, including the lungs. She’s doing well today, despite how grim those forecasts looked at the time. I am so incredibly grateful to everyone—but mostly to her and Dad—for never wavering for even a single moment.

Our fight continues, and we rely solely on our own strength.

Sometimes doctors simply don't know how to break the news of a diagnosis. Regardless, I strongly recommend that you don't live in denial; instead, just try to take it one day at a time. Hang in there. Kisses.

It wasn't actually the doctor saying it, but rather what was written in the discharge papers. Afterwards, we called the clinic in Springfield to ask the doctor how she seemed (since he had seen and spoken with her), and he said she was stable, but things weren't looking good. I also reached out to a friend of Mom's who is a diagnostician; he told me quite bluntly that it was a heavy and very serious prognosis. He mentioned wanting to visit her there, but since he doesn't have a car, he just said he'd come by when he gets home—if he makes it back, which was clearly an accidental slip of the tongue.

We finally got Mom settled into her facility in Springfield, and honestly, seeing it was heartbreaking. There were eight or nine people packed into one room. But what’s even more devastating is the discharge summary—the pathology report reads *carcinosa metastaticum*. It states that everything has been hit: the liver, intestines, gallbladder, spleen... basically the entire peritoneum. Meanwhile, those people over at Rebro act like they're doing us a favor by being vague, treating us like we aren't capable of understanding the gravity of the situation. The doctor I cornered today about an abdominal ultrasound just mumbled something incoherent and practically bolted from the room to avoid me. Compared to that, the staff here in Springfield is night and day. The doctor actually took the time to read the discharge papers, quietly and compassionately asked if we understood the diagnosis, and seemed genuinely relieved when we told him we did. I cried the entire drive from Springfield back to Washington, D.C., and the tears just won't stop. The deception is over. That pathology report told us everything we needed to know.🙂