My dad was on that oxygen dose constantly—and I mean constantly, those last five days right up until he passed. He was hooked to it around the clock; he even slept with it. It made breathing so much easier for him, but when I tried to take it away because I was terrified of what might happen if he struggled, he got so scared. He just kept begging me to leave it on. Even now, I can't shake the sound of that concentrator from my head, especially at night when everything goes quiet... Honestly, it’s probably a good thing I HAD NO CLUE back then that those dosage levels are supposed to be adjusted constantly. If I had known, I would have spiraled into a total panic. Luckily, I just assumed that was all there was to it, especially since he didn't end up suffocating, so we really caught a break with the oxygen.
As for the staff over at the Jordanovac clinic, I don't even want to get into it. There's nothing left to say; everyone's already said it all.
Angela Wright said:Actually, the doctor was right about this one. You have to carefully calibrate the oxygen levels, the water content, the timing... all of it based on his lung capacity and general condition, because if you don't, you end up making things way harder for the patient instead of easier. Also, keeping the nasal passages moist is huge. Pure oxygen absolutely wrecks your tissue and burns like crazy if the dosage isn't spot on. "Fatal" doesn't always mean instant death; sometimes it just means adding unnecessary agony before the end comes. We're all mortal eventually, but quality of life is what actually matters. That said, there’s no excuse for a pulmonologist not suggesting an oxygen concentrator for palliative home care. Palliative medicine is a specialized field you study at Medical School. Having a layperson try to wing it without proper guidance isn't responsible, regardless of the situation. I'm sorry you couldn't get him the exact setup he needed. I just hope you managed to figure out the right doses and intervals somehow.
Someone gave me a rough rundown of how to use the machine, so I wasn't exactly flying blind. It helped him so much—honestly, I don't know what we would've done without it. Okay, fine, I admit she had a point—but the thing is, nobody wanted to help me out, and in the end, nobody seemed to care that he actually needed oxygen. If we had followed her advice to the letter, he wouldn't have even gotten the concentrator because the folks over at Jordanovac decided he didn't need it. And you don't need an MD to realize a man can't function without breathing. Not to mention how much he begged me to get it for him and how terrified he was. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly back then—but when someone you love is practically dying right in front of you, you do whatever feels necessary in that moment. I wish we’d had more time, but we did the best we could with what we had. Anyway, I just meant that the concentrator was a lifesaver. Dad passed away seven days after being discharged from the hospital, but at least he had his oxygen.
So, I managed to scrape together an oxygen concentrator for my dad (who passed away this past summer), mostly because the hospital sent him home to die and I just couldn't sit there watching him suffocate. After that, I reached out to his pulmonologist to see about draining the fluid from his lungs, and let me tell you—this woman literally started screaming at me. She actually had the nerve to yell about how "irresponsible" I was being for giving him oxygen on my own accord, and how dare I even think about getting a machine for home use? She kept going on about whether I "understood the consequences" and how improper use could be fatal for the patient... Look, the man is literally dying. Every single day he has less and less oxygen, and I’m out here trying to give him air because, of course, the hospital wouldn't do a damn thing to help. Fucking unbelievable.
Regarding your question about how much longer it’ll last—honestly, nobody can give you a straight answer. The doctors kept telling me my dad probably had a few more months, maybe six at most. But one doctor looked at the labs and told me it was really just a matter of days. And that’s exactly what happened. I think it was maybe a week after he got discharged from the hospital—if it was even a full week, maybe less—that he was back home with me. For the first two days, he could handle the bathroom by himself and wander around the house and yard. Then, for the next two, he could barely get up without help. Two days before he passed, the trek from his bed to the toilet took him about ten minutes, plus another ten minutes just sitting there because he couldn't catch his breath. He was on oxygen non-stop (home concentrator). On that final evening, we watched a game together, and he actually ate quite a bit and even sang along. As bedtime approached, though, he started getting restless. It drove him crazy when I kept asking him questions—and he wasn't sleeping well anyway, since he couldn't sleep in bed because of the breathing issues; he had to sit in a chair instead. I was an absolute wreck too, terrified of the night because that's when his breathing got worst and he'd struggle for air (nighttime has its own way of being heavy, as they say...). That night, he fell asleep in the chair and then, around 1 AM, he just collapsed onto the floor. We called 911, they rushed him out, we chased after them, and we waited and waited... He passed away during resuscitation efforts; he went into respiratory arrest. He stopped breathing. Was it choking? Cardiac arrest? I'll never know what that actual final minute felt like. That was July 8th. You wouldn't look at me and see how heartbroken I am. Most people would tell you I seem totally fine. Some might even find it weird, I guess. I haven't locked myself away, I haven't stopped going to work, grabbing coffee, or heading out for drinks. It's just that a part of me withered away. I don't cry every single day anymore, maybe every second or third day now. And yeah, it hurts. It fucking hurts. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but not a single day goes by where I don't feel it. But since then, I rarely talk about it. I guess I just needed to vent here... and that's that. Sending big kisses to everyone reading this thread.
Dear Max, I am so incredibly sorry for what you’re going through 😢 especially since you're still so young, and then there's your brothers, and of course your mom... I'm sending you all the strength in the world to get through this. It's hard, and it’s going to stay hard. Your story really hit me deep.
Grace Stewart6, my dad passed away when he was 72. I actually posted about it here on the forum not too long ago, and everything just moved so, so fast. They kept telling me things would escalate quickly and they told me to pray for it to be over soon—but honestly, I didn't think it would happen quite this fast. I still struggle to even talk about it. I go about my life, I post and chat about other stuff, I keep busy with other things, but the wound is still fucking fresh—it'll be a month this month. Thank God he didn't have to suffer too much (just a little shortness of breath and that was basically it)—he was gone less than a month after the diagnosis. And just like you, I feel like it was way too soon... if I had been 18 back then and he wasn't even fifty... Max, I know exactly what's ahead of you and what to say. Just hang in there, okay? This will eventually pass. Sending you 🙂 and if you ever need to talk, even if it's just virtually, please reach out.
Researchers at the Cancer Research Institute have basically debunked the idea that once you quit smoking, your body just resets to factory settings. It’s not that simple.
Their study shows that even after a decade of being smoke-free, the cells in the respiratory tracts of former smokers still carry the scars. Apparently, the genetic damage is permanent.
On top of that, smoking messes with the genes responsible for synthesizing key proteins. Based on what they found, while quitting definitely saves you from heart disease, it doesn't magically wipe out the risk for other nasty illnesses either.
"Quitting smoking doesn't mean your chances of getting a fatal disease drop to zero, but it certainly helps," said one of the lead researchers, Radz, according to Ria News.
While some genes in former smokers do return to normal, there are about 124 others that are permanently altered. They'll never be the way they were before.
One of the group members, Ven Lem, pointed out that this research definitely isn't suggesting that quitting is a waste of time.
Keeping the habit just causes more damage to the lung tissue cells. Period.
So, yeah, you should quit, but doctors are basically saying it's much better if you never start in the first place.
So, I was reading somewhere that if you manage to kick the habit before you hit 35, it takes about eight years for your lungs to fully clear out and get back to looking ALMOST identical to a non-smoker's. Then today, I hear some other statistic claiming that regardless of how old you are, you actually need twice as many years to recover. Basically, I smoked for about ten years. I'm 31 now and just quit recently. So what's the deal? Am I stuck waiting until I'm 50 just to have clean lungs again? 😢
Anyway, I’m just curious about this one thing (and if someone wants to tell me to go join a philosophy forum, fine, whatever, who cares☕):
So, let's look at someone who died from lung cancer caused strictly by smoking or maybe working in a coal mine—doesn't really matter which. Basically, we have a clear cause for the disease. Let’s assume that, because there was a specific cause, if that person had never smoked (not even secondhand) or hadn't worked near a mine, they would never have gotten lung cancer in the first place.
Does that mean his grandson—say, someone who has never touched a cigarette and has never been near a mine—now carries those genetic predispositions mentioned by JPK or ruggedscout91, or at least has doubled his chances of getting lung cancer?
Nah, I think you were just generalizing there, but whatever. We clearly had a massive misunderstanding. Honestly, it doesn't matter and I really don't have the energy for these debates 😉.
As for the OP—just quit smoking. Seriously. That's priority number one. It's not even just about the cancer stuff; it's everything else too. Once you handle that, then maybe start looking into other areas of life. Put in some work. And if you’re actually serious about this, don't listen to me or Joseph Watson3. Just go read "An Anti-Cancer Lifestyle" by David Servan-Schreiber. He lays it all out perfectly there—it'll be way more useful than anything you'll find on some random forum.
Joseph Watson3 said:Lung cancer isn't just about how many cigarettes you've burned through; genetics actually plays a massive role in the mix. If you've got a family history of lung cancer, your odds basically double. It's not just about your habits, either—it's written in your DNA. Whether they smoked or not.
I wasn't just talking about smoking—obviously, there are plenty of other triggers out there. Look, if you take two people who both have a father battling cancer, but they live totally different lives... I mean, one might be eating junk while the other follows an anti-cancer lifestyle, or maybe one lives in a coastal town while the other is stuck in a smoggy industrial city. Their mindsets, their diets, even just how they generally "consume" life is completely different. You can't tell me they’d have the same odds when it comes to developing cancer. It's just not that simple.
Anyway, there’s actually scientific research out there regarding cancer and adopted kids—specifically looking at the diseases they develop later on. It turns out most of them actually "picked up" those illnesses from their adoptive parents rather than their biological ones. So, I guess that doesn't exactly play into the whole genetic predisposition argument, does it?
Joseph Watson3 said:If you don't smoke, your chances of lung cancer are roughly 1.3%. If your dad had it, those odds basically double.
And apparently, you think the Sun revolves around a flat Earth, but honestly, who cares? That’s just noise. The numbers don't lie.
That's not really the point. You don't "inherit" cancer; you inherit a predisposition toward it—and that predisposition gets triggered by how you live your life. If he hadn't smoked, he probably wouldn't have even gotten sick. Just an example. We're talking about "smoker's cancer" here—specifically the kind caused by cigarettes.
Joseph Watson3 said:It’s not even hard to crunch those numbers. Smokers face a lifetime risk of lung cancer at about 17.2%. If one of your parents had lung cancer, that risk basically doubles to 34.4%. And if you add a grandfather into the mix who also had it? That risk jumps even higher—probably north of 50%.
The math is mathing, so you decide if you really want to stress over a fifty-percent chance of dying a slow, painful death.
So, what are you trying to tell me here? I had both a father and a grandfather die from cancer (one was definitely a smoker, though for the other, nobody's quite sure), and I quit smoking myself. Are you saying I have a better than 50% chance of getting sick? Or is it only if I smoke? Or if I don't smoke? 😕
In my book, that’s just not how it works. Look, if you're a heavy smoker and you end up with bronchial cancer, and they determine it was caused by the cigarettes, then yeah, logically, you got cancer because of the smoking. But if you aren't a smoker, your chances of getting that specific thing are way lower because you've removed the main trigger. What does heredity even have to do with it if, say, your dad got cancer because he was a chain smoker, but you don't smoke at all? How can we conclude that you can "trigger" a predisposition to "catch" cancer?
I mean, whatever. Numbers and statistics, right? If someone smokes a ton, they’ve got an increased chance of developing cancer or if they just wreck their body or mental health in other ways. If they don't, the odds are lower because those factors aren't in play.
Eric Hall51 said:Yeah, but the thing is, I have absolutely zero willpower or desire to quit smoking... Honestly, I’m just obsessed with the actual probability of getting sick. My biology teacher told me ages ago, but I totally blanked on what she said.
That’s all nonsense. Nobody can sit down and calculate your specific "probability" or odds. The risk is simply higher because you smoke. And regarding genetics—it’s not that cancer itself is hereditary, it's the predisposition to it. It means you need to cut out every possible factor that could trigger it. So, if your dad or granddad passed away from smoking-related illnesses, yeah, you should probably quit. But whether it actually happens to you? Who knows. That doesn't mean it's more likely to hit you than someone whose family has never dealt with cancer. There’s no rulebook, no math equation, no way to calculate the odds. There is only increased risk. That’s it.
Besides, smoking isn't just a trigger for lung, bronchial, or jaw cancer—it's linked to basically any kind of cancer. Breast, prostate, stomach... you name it.
placidorca16 said:Look, it’s pretty much common sense at this point—anyone who smokes is looking at a way higher risk of lung cancer compared to non-smokers. It’s not exactly rocket science.☕ My dad died from lung cancer too. Honestly, that hit me so hard I quit smoking almost immediately after he passed. Fear is actually a pretty damn good motivator when it comes to kicking the habit.😁
Unfortunately, yeah. That’s usually the biggest motivator there is.
I posted a while back about my dad, who’s currently stuck over in Jordan. He’s been there for about two weeks now, maybe even longer. During those first couple of days, they told us he wasn't going to make it—that they found some kind of cancer in his abdomen that had already spread to his lungs. Honestly, I was floored by how fast they slapped a diagnosis on him, though I wasn't the one talking to the doctors; it was just the family members living in Vienna. Eventually, I headed out there to be with him and try to keep his spirits up, but he's just getting more and more anxious and frustrated because nobody is actually telling him anything. I try to hunt down the doctors, but it's like they don't even exist. After a bit, I started calling them. Let me tell you, those phone calls have been incredibly uncomfortable. I've dealt with some real aggression on the other end (not naming names here), all because I asked a simple question about the bronchoscopy procedure. Nothing crazy. So, I just thought to myself, "Fine, don't react." Who knows how much longer Dad will be there or how often we'll need to deal with this same doctor. I just swallow the frustration and move on. And then, suddenly, comes the update: apparently, there were never any metastases in the lungs, and they still don't even know what they're looking at. They aren't sure if it's malignant or benign, where exactly it is, or what's going on. They say they have to wait for more test results. 😲
Long story short—they basically buried him in our minds within the first few days he was there. And now? Now they're saying they don't know anything yet.
I'm not angry, obviously, because hey, they gave us hope. I'm clinging to that hope right now, but honestly, I'd rather not read through everything I wrote before, seeing how many of those hopes were just crushed. It just doesn't make sense... they've been letting him suffer for over two weeks and they still haven't figured things out. 🤷
I reached out to Drag Plecko, and I'm planning to swing by his place in a few days to pick up some of the supplements he’s been recommending. I won't go into a massive essay about it here, but if anyone actually wants the full breakdown, just let me know and I can send over the details. The guy’s got thirty-five years under his belt in this field—he knows his stuff. And honestly? He’s spot on when he says most of what you see advertised is nothing more than pure marketing hype. I mean, damn, I can't help but agree with what was written above: unfortunately, the market is just split between two equally corrupt mobs: Big Pharma and the total charlatans.
Then again, you can never really tell. The real killer is just that there's never enough time. You can always scrape together more money if you have to, but time? That's different. And honestly, I can't exactly go around testing out thousands of different supplements or whatever... my dad isn't exactly in the "early stages" of this, and his prognosis is basically—well, yeah. The end. Right now, my biggest priority is just keeping his head up and trying to boost his immune system somehow. Today, they told him he has some kind of "untraceable tumor," and naturally, he’s spiraling because he can tell they aren't giving him the full story. So there I am, sitting right by his side, listening to him vent and telling him everything is going to be fine—that it's all just mental—while internally I'm dealing with the fucking reality that he's facing two carcinomas and lung metastases.
I honestly can't even deal with typing anymore... just done.
Thanks... everyone's saying it, my whole family is on my case about how I need to be "stronger," just because I'm clearly the one who hit rock bottom the hardest. Honestly, I think the guilt is just suffocating me—how am I supposed to laugh or try to cheer him up or talk to him like everything is totally fine? But apparently, that’s the only way forward, even if it feels pretty damn cruel.
Right now, sitting here at work, typing this out while I'm basically a zombie to everyone around me, he's over there talking to his doctor and listening to his diagnosis.
So, my dad ended up in the hospital two weeks ago. He’d been coughing a lot about a week before that, but everything seemed totally fine two weeks prior to that. Since then, things have just spiraled incredibly fast. We don't have all the test results back yet, but the doctors told us (the family) that they found cancer in his abdomen and, for now, metastases in his lungs—basically, they said there's no point in pursuing any more treatment. That’s how they put it, anyway. By "cancer in the abdomen," I'm assuming they mean stomach cancer 🤷. Dad is pretty depressed, even though he doesn't officially know yet, but he suspects it's cancer... though he probably doesn't realize just how far along it actually is. In three weeks, once all the tests are finalized, they'll discharge him to go home—meaning, to my place, where Mom and I will be looking after him with some help from the rest of the family.
How am I feeling? First off, just massive sadness and shock, followed by this constant fear. It's this daily dread of when they're going to tell him, how he's going to react, and this terrible anxiety that this is just the start of an agonizing struggle that we don't know how long will last, even though we already know how it ends. He's mentally fragile and pretty unstable, so I honestly don't know how he's going to handle this. Am I ready for this? For losing a parent? I'm not exactly old enough for this, but I guess nobody ever truly is. I've been a total wreck, barely functioning for a few days now, even though I know I have to pull it together. I'm terrified, and there's just no getting out of this headspace. And yeah, I'm just... endlessly, endlessly sad.