Melissa Parker37 said:Thanks everyone for the support, and seriously, thanks for the advice—I'm gonna need it. It looks like most of you have already been through the absolute ringer that I'm just starting to face. I actually tripped and fell in the hospital today. Now that things are finally starting to make a sick kind of sense, I’m realizing how totally insane this whole thing called cancer is. My dad isn't coming home yet because he threw up some blood today, and his stats are just brutal: his pancreas is basically done for (his blood sugar hit 15, and he can't keep anything down), his liver can't even process meds anymore and it's killing him, and his kidneys are slowly giving out—which, big surprise, is all because of the diabetes. The cancer didn't even spread everywhere; it just slammed into his lungs. Do I have any right to keep the truth from my dad? I've been running through every possible version of what to tell him, weighing every single option... and then today, my old man goes, "Listen, once I get my strength back, they'll start chemo and we can head home." Oh, sure. Brilliant move, Dad. Just brilliant.
Man, I am so sorry...😢
By the way, the kidney failure might be happening because the liver is failing too... That's exactly how it went with my old man... He had HCC, a primary liver tumor that hadn't metastasized anywhere else. He started chemoembolization and things actually looked like they were heading south in a good way—like, the tumor was actually shrinking. But then, about two months after the diagnosis, it just exploded in size and his bilirubin levels spiked. It shot up to 680 (when normal is like 20), and that was the day the doctor sat us down and told us there was no hope and to prepare for the worst. Then she follows it up with, "Now go in there and act happy so he doesn't notice anything..." I mean, WTF?! Is she serious? He's a human being, not a brick wall without feelings. Honestly, that day leading up to losing him was the absolute worst day of my life. Then, the next day when we went to visit, she tells us everything is looking better! Says the bilirubin dropped to 580 and is still falling, implying maybe there's a chance... It was total whiplash. First, they shake you to your core saying there's no hope, then they give you this fake glimmer of light, and in the end, he passes away and that last bit of hope dies with him. Turns out, we were later told the kidneys failed because the liver gave out, which ultimately caused everything to crash. 😢
casualraven24 said:Does anyone have Mr. Domančić's number or any contact info for anything that might actually help? I'm totally lost and don't even know where to start.
Are there any specific details regarding how this sarcoma is treated?
Hang in there, everyone. Wishing you all a speedy recovery.
Here’s the number for Domančić:
1-800-555-0199 1-800-555-0122 555-010-509
Just a heads up though—his schedule is absolutely slammed, so don't expect to get in anytime soon. On top of that, once he sets an appointment, if you call him close to the date to iron out the logistics of your visit, he acts all high and mighty, acting like he has no clue who even gave you his info...
Lisa White54 said:At the last checkup, when he basically said there’s no cancer and the only thing her husband is actually dealing with is PTSD... I mean, seriously? Who wouldn't want that instead!
Ugh, man, that totally hits too close to home. It reminds me of my late grandma back in '99 when she suddenly started fading fast and struggling to catch her breath. They did X-rays of her lungs three separate times at the community health center in Santa Monica, and every single time they told us her lungs looked perfectly fine. She went through every test under the sun and everything came back "just okay," so her primary care doctor just had the nerve to brush her off, telling us she needed to see a psychiatrist because she was just imagining things...
So, we finally decided to bypass them and take her to a private specialist for lung imaging, and the results were absolutely devastating:
Doctor from Smalltown, USA:
Right-sided small cell lung cancer. Metastasis in the right lateral mediastinal lymph nodes.
Diagnosis was made at the end of April, and by May 31st, she was already gone...
brisksurfer said:When I was at the hospital in Jordan with my dad for the first time, there was this stunning young girl sitting right across the hallway from us. She had short hair—just starting to grow back after chemo—and she was in a wheelchair because her right leg had been amputated... she just sat there for so long, and it was obvious all the hospital staff knew her. She’d traveled in from another city for an exam and was stuck waiting because nobody was available to see her, plus the X-ray machine was broken 😠.
The whole hospital felt so gray and lifeless, and then there she was, looking so beautiful and young, just waiting... that image is burned into my mind forever. For days, I kept telling everyone how we need to be grateful for our health and just happy to be alive, describing that scene over and over... and whenever I think about it, I can't help but wonder if anyone up above is even watching what happens down here?! Why isn't there any justice... because she definitely didn't do anything to deserve this . I don't know if we're talking about the same person, but either way, my heart just breaks for her 😢... I was absolutely livid being in that hospital that day because they couldn't even get her seen, and reading this now just makes me feel just as furious 👎
Yeah, it’s almost certainly the same person, no doubt! I refuse to believe it's a coincidence, and honestly, God help us if there are more cases like this, because what happened to her is basically disease in its most brutal, nightmare form. I mean, look at the timeline: they rushed her to the doctor the second she felt pain in her right knee; despite getting scans in Newport where they suspected something malignant, she was rushed to the specialists in Cleveland to be under the care of Dr. Shante—who everyone raves about. Then came the first round of chemo, then a pathological fracture in the knee, then surgery to remove the affected knee and install a prosthetic, followed by a second cycle of Carboplatin 2000 mg + Vepesid 200 mg. After that, two recurrences forced them to take radical measures—amputating her right leg at the hip, which is already a total tragedy given how young she is—and they did it... only for all that suffering and those massive surgeries to be for nothing, because the cancer spread to her lungs... it just started this destructive, unstoppable path. In November, they operated at the hospital in Jordan to remove the right lung lobe and clear out metastases, and by December, she was scheduled for surgery on the left lung lobe to do the same thing... and in the end, still nothing 😢. And then you have to deal with these government bureaucrats who want to launch investigations just so they can decide whether or not to waive her supplemental health insurance payments... when she's asking the state for $2 million 😠.
Anyway, I'm not sure exactly when you were at the hospital in Jordan or when you saw her, brisksurfer... I do know it was January 15th, and that was the exact day the CT scanner broke, so they couldn't do anything for her until a week later .
Just when you think our bureaucracy couldn't get any more pathetic, they pull another stunt like this.
I’ve been posting here quite a bit lately, asking for advice regarding a 26-year-old girl battling osteosarcoma. Sadly, things have taken a turn for the absolute worst, and there’s just no saving her at this point. Even after having her right leg amputated, the cancer has spread to both lungs and is progressing incredibly fast. Right from the jump—back when she was diagnosed in March 2007—her PhD specialist noted it was a high-grade mesenchymal tumor with destructive growth patterns. Then, in April 2008, just before the amputation, an oncologist over in Germany classified it as Grade III. While osteosarcoma can sometimes be managed relatively well here, this specific bastard was just too aggressive... The poor girl is completely wasted; she hasn't eaten in nearly a month, she’s coughing constantly, the pain is unbearable... it’s just horrific. So, we gathered all the paperwork, the latest scans, and the discharge summary from Jordan, where the diagnoses were listed in a massive, half-page long list of misery. I handed everything over to the CDC, hoping their disability commission would issue a certification so she could be exempt from supplemental health insurance premiums and get a disabled parking permit for the car. I even asked if the paperwork was sufficient, and the clerk at the CDC told me it most likely would be once they saw the discharge papers...
But nope! Out of nowhere, I get a call from the CDC Atlanta disability assessment department telling us she needs to show up in person at the Santa Monica clinic so their commissioner-expert can "verify" exactly what's going on!!!!!😠😠 😠 Can you actually believe this? They don't give a single damn that the disease is in its terminal phase and that she is physically incapable of being transported or dealing with the trauma of trekking through their assessment offices...
It’s just another heartbreaking, soul-crushing story of American bureaucracy.... 😢
I’ve actually been lurking in this thread ever since I signed up (honestly, I wish I’d stumbled onto this sooner because my old man passed away from HCC back in September 2007, and there is some seriously useful advice floating around here) and man, you read about all kinds of crazy fates and experiences on here.
Lately, I’ve been digging through the posts to see what people are saying about experiences with Osteosarcomas, because a coworker's daughter—she's only 26—is going through it right now.
It’s gut-wrenching; things are just getting worse for her by the day. Even after they had to amputate her leg, the sarcoma metastasized to her lungs, and I’m honestly terrified that we’ve hit the point where there’s nothing left to be done...
They actually reached out to Mr. Zdenko Domančić over in Kranj, who’s this well-known healer. Actually, they asked me to try and squeeze in an appointment for them about a month and a half ago. I managed to get a hold of them, but they told me their entire schedule is slammed through the end of February because since New Year's, there have been 1,500 patients waiting for an opening from all over Canada and America... So, I ended up finding a clinic in Chicago that uses Mr. Domančić's methods and booked an appointment with them instead. They saw him four times in a row for 25 minutes each during December. And look, at first, it felt like she was actually improving, but now? Everything is just spiraling downhill....😢
Even though I never actually knew her personally—I just followed her fight right up until the end and watched her constant optimism here on this forum—it still hits me hard. I am truly, deeply sorry....
Sending all my love and deepest condolences to her family.😢😢
Angela Wright said:Get in touch with Vedran at the association vedran@zanovidan.hr. He’s doing some serious heavy lifting fighting osteosarcoma. Just log in to the association website and copy-paste whatever is in that PDF about osteosarcomas.
Thanks. I already shot an email over to Vedran, but I haven't heard back yet... so while I'm sitting here waiting for him to reply, can someone please make sense of this latest radiology report for me?
During today's exam, there is still fatty thymic residue visible, along with small bilateral axial lymph nodes, none exceeding 1cm. The nodular lesion in the lower left lobe remains persistent, showing no change in size or morphology. However, during today's exam, two new solid nodules—measuring 0.5cm and 1.5cm—were found subpleurally in the left upper lobe and at the left base. Additionally, in the area of the left upper lobe near the pleura, there is a gas-filled cystic formation with clearly defined edges measuring 1.5cm, as well as one in the right side of the upper lobe with similar characteristics measuring 2cm, which weren't visible on the previous exam; the etiology of these is unclear (differential diagnosis: post-treatment changes?), and there are no associated bronchial changes near them. There are no signs of pleural effusion.
The mediastinal vascular structures, trachea, and main bronchi all look morphologically normal.
It’s about a colleague’s daughter—I think I’ve mentioned her before, she was diagnosed with osteosarcoma of the right femur...
To give you the quick rundown of what’s happened so far:
Back in March of last year (2007), they diagnosed her with that sarcoma in her right knee. According to the pathology report, it was a high-grade malignant mesenchymal tumor with aggressive growth. She started out with chemo (two different types; 6 rounds of ADM/CDDP and 1 round of VP-16/CARBOPLATIN), then in the summer of 2007, she had surgery to remove the affected tissue and bone, and they fitted her with a prosthesis... Recovery was actually going pretty well, and she went through three more rounds of chemo.
But then, in December 2007, a PET scan picked up a new tumor area right around the operated knee. Just there—nowhere else in her body. Everything else looked fine, including her lungs, which is where osteosarcoma usually loves to spread metastases. They kept pushing forward with chemo, but since that wasn't cutting it, they had to amputate her entire leg just to stop the disease from spreading further... The post-op recovery was successful and everything seemed okay until we got this radiology report on July 7, 2008.
I’m going to transcribe it from the discharge papers and I honestly really hope someone can explain exactly what this means:
Chest CT scan performed without contrast on 07/07/2008 at General Hospital 15, referred by Dr. Duke. This is a follow-up exam to compare with the previous CT scan from 09/2007. During today's exam, fatty thymic residuals remain visible, along with small bilateral axial lymph nodes that don't exceed 1cm in size. There is a persistent nodular lesion in the left lower lobe which remains unchanged in size and morphology. However, during today's examination, two new solid nodules measuring 0.5cm and 1.5cm were found subpleurally in the left upper lobe and left base. Additionally, in the left upper lobe near the pleura, there is a gas-filled cystic formation with clearly defined edges measuring 1.5cm, and in the right upper lobe, there are similar characteristics measuring 2cm that weren't visible on the previous scan. The etiology is unclear (differential diagnosis: inflammatory changes?), and there are no associated bronchial changes near them. No signs of pleural effusion. The mediastinal vascular structures, trachea, and main bronchi appear morphologically normal.
So, can anyone make sense of this radiology report? One doctor is telling us this is extremely serious, while two others aren't interpreting it as quite as alarming...
I wonder if she having a nasty cold might be playing a role in why the lung scan looks like this.
But, if it turns out these are lung metastases, does anyone know what the most successful treatment methods are now, and is there still a chance for recovery? If anyone knows of any medication that has been successful in treating this, please, let me know. We're talking about a person who is only 25 years old!!!!
I'm debating whether I should repost all of this on the "Zanovidan" forums. I read them all the time, but I don't have an account...
Thanks in advance for any advice or help you can give.
Ugh, when is someone actually going to brighten up this thread?😕
Quick question for the group: does anyone here know anything about those Immunomax AHCC supplements, or better yet, is anyone actually using them? How's the experience been?
From what I've been reading online, they're supposed to be incredible. My main gripe is, when is Medicare finally going to add them to their coverage list so we can just get them with a prescription? Right now, the daily dose for people dealing with this stuff is costing a whopping $60, and you have to stick to it for at least three months straight.
As far as I know, they're already approved and covered by prescription over in Mexico and Canada. Why can't we get that same treatment here?
Jeremy Ortiz56 said:Hey Roberto, Look, if you want my two cents, cancer is basically just the body’s desperate, last-ditch effort to quarantine toxins in one spot. It’s like when a circuit breaker trips because you plugged too many high-voltage appliances into one outlet—it's an attempt to stop the whole house from burning down. And let's be real, we're usually the ones who tripped the breaker ourselves. Between eating absolute junk and then following a bunch of total nonsense health trends that actually end up wrecking our systems, we spend half our lives actively sabotaging our own health. We're basically throwing gasoline on the fire and wondering why things are getting hot. First off, maybe your colleague should take a long, hard look in the rearview mirror... like, seriously, go back a few years and think about how things actually used to be.
I honestly can't get behind that logic. It just doesn't track. You see tons of people who live their entire lives being super health-conscious—eating organic, hitting the gym every single day, doing all the right things—and they still end up battling cancer. Meanwhile, you’ve got people who have been chain-smoking for decades without ever touching a lung tumor, or folks who drink like fish every single night and somehow dodge liver cancer entirely. It’s totally inconsistent. Life isn't that predictable, and you can't just say "eat a salad and you'll be fine" when the math clearly doesn't add up.
If everything really boiled down to people just making bad choices with their own bodies like you're claiming, then we wouldn't be seeing one-year-olds or ten-year-old kids getting sick from cancer. I mean, seriously? These toddlers aren't out there smoking cigarettes or living on a diet of junk food for years on end when they've only been on this planet for twelve or twenty-four months. It makes zero sense.
It honestly feels like there are zero rules in this universe. Look, I get it—eating junk, living in crappy conditions, breathing in smog, all that environmental pollution? Sure, that’s part of the problem. It definitely plays a role. But you can't just point at those things and say they're the whole story. They aren't the main culprit behind why cancer happens. Honestly, God only knows what actually triggers the switch that makes cells start dividing like crazy and going totally haywire...
And honestly, this part still makes absolutely zero sense to me: "Cancer is just the body's healthy attempt at isolating toxins..." Seriously? Are we kidding right now? It’s a decent effort, I guess, but let’s be real—in way too many cases, this thing is basically a death sentence from the get-go. It's doomed to fail before you even get started.
Jeremy Ortiz56 said:Look, let’s get one thing straight: cancer isn't some random bacterium or a sneaky little virus just floating around waiting to strike. It’s not an invader like that. Cancer is a CONSEQUENCE. It’s the end result of something else going wrong deep down in the system. You can't just point at the smoke and say "that's the fire"—the smoke is just what happens when the actual fire is burning somewhere else. Everything has a root cause, and we need to start looking for the trigger, not just staring at the symptoms!
I'm with you on that one. Totally.
Look, I’ve gotta say it... my heart honestly goes out to Amanda Miller69 after losing her mom. I’ve been following her posts closely—and I’ve been keeping an eye on a few other people going through similar struggles too—and honestly? It’s just gut-wrenching. Truly awful. I feel for her.
So, get this—a colleague of mine has a daughter who had to fly out to Vienna last week for some emergency testing. Back home in Chicago, the doctors at Salad wouldn't even touch her with chemotherapy anymore because the sarcoma was just too aggressive. They were basically telling her she needed an amputation to survive. But, look, just so they could sleep better at night and clear their consciences, they sent her off to a specialist clinic in Vienna to get a second opinion, hoping maybe there was a way to save the leg. Well, bad news. The doctors in Vienna looked everything over and just confirmed exactly what the folks in Chicago said. It’s all the same story. There’s no miracle cure here; the leg has to come off, and we’re talking high up near the groin, and it has to happen immediately—we are literally talking about days now. The biopsy results just came back, and it is a nightmare. It's an incredibly aggressive form of sarcoma that keeps coming back no matter what you do. Chemotherapy isn't doing squat, and honestly, there just isn't any other way. It’s brutal.
slyseal28 said:Look, sarcomas are primarily treated with chemo, and Iscadora isn't a chemotherapy drug. My guess is that Iscadora is more of a supportive therapy you take alongside the main treatment. Sarcomas—specifically osteosarcoma—are among the most common cancers seen in kids. It's probably the most well-known type out there.
Nowadays, doctors have gotten pretty good at treating them. That said, some types are just way more aggressive and tend to flare back up, which seems to be what’s happening with this little girl.
You’ve got to realize that sarcomas love to spread to the lungs. If you're dealing with an aggressive strain, you really have to follow every single thing the doctors recommend. No doctor is going to suggest an amputation just for the hell of it. I hope you guys get where I'm coming from.
Dr. Shante is a phenomenal physician and a true expert. Please, just sit down and talk to him, listen to what he has to say... no matter how gut-wrenching the decision might feel...
Apparently, her specific type doesn't spread as much, but it's still a pretty nasty, aggressive sarcoma (at least based on my amateur reading of the medical reports...). Basically, the doctors in Washington, D.C. don't want to continue with the current therapies anymore, and they aren't even considering another surgery unless it's an amputation. Instead, they've referred them to a clinic in Vienna, hoping they can operate on the affected knee and actually save the leg. As it stands, the sarcoma is starting to break through the skin near the knee... and honestly, the whole situation is just horrific. It’s a massive mental toll—it’s devastating both inside the house and out there—but when you see the tumor actually protruding like that, it just knocks the wind out of you...
So, like I mentioned before, my coworker’s daughter (born in '82) is battling osteosarcoma in her right knee. She’s been getting treatment at a major hospital in Washington, D.C. under Dr. Shante. It started with chemo, then she had to go under the knife for a total knee replacement—because the tumor actually caused the bone to fracture—followed by more chemo. Everything seemed to be heading in the right direction, or so we thought. But then, last December, a PET scan came back showing a recurrence of the sarcoma. Now they’re looking at aggressive chemo and radiation, but if that doesn't do the trick, they're talking about amputation. Everyone is absolutely reeling because she's so young; she has her whole life ahead of her. Look, I get that having a healthy mind is the most important thing, but man, it’s just devastating to face the reality that this girl might lose her leg....
On another note, I stumbled upon something called ISCADORA, which is based on ivy. Apparently, it’s supposed to be incredibly effective when dealing with cancerous diseases.
Has anyone here actually tried it? Or does anyone have any general experience or advice regarding this brutal kind of tumor...
I actually did some digging online for my coworker, looking up this specific type of sarcoma, and everywhere I looked, it said a full recovery (with the prosthetic) is possible in over 80% of cases. But then you see how harsh and unforgiving the actual reality can be....
Hang in there, everyone. Wishing you all the absolute best in your own battles against these nasty illnesses...
Thanks in advance for any insight you can share...
Hey everyone, sending nothing but strength and the absolute best vibes to anyone out there fighting any kind of cancer right now;
I’ve got a question for the group, if anyone here has dealt with something similar;
A coworker’s daughter (born in '82) was diagnosed last year with this specific type of cancer:
Osteosarcoma of the right femur, lateral side. Pathological fracture of the distal part of the right femur. Pathology report: High-grade malignant mesenchymal tumor with destructive growth. Differential diagnosis includes osteosarcoma with elements suggesting malignant fibrous histiocytoma.
Basically, about two months into last year, they found a tumor in her right knee. She started off with three rounds of chemo (doxorubicin at 40+30+30mg, plus 120mg of CDPP), and after that, the knee was pretty much shot, so they had to go in and install a prosthetic joint. Following that, she did another three rounds of chemo just to try and wipe out any lingering micro-tumor cells. Everything seemed to be heading in the right direction, until they ran a PET scan at the 12-month mark, which showed this:
Whole-body imaging performed. In the neck and shoulder girdle area, there's some slightly increased FDG uptake due to mildly elevated metabolism. There is also more intense FDG accumulation, measuring 7mm, in the right inguinal lymph node area. Most concerningly, in the distal part of the right thigh—specifically in the soft tissue near the prosthesis—there is a very intense pathological accumulation of FDG, measuring 43x45mm, with an SUV max of 16.8. Additionally, there is increased FDG uptake noted in the abdominal region. All other parts of the body appeared normal. FINDINGS: The PET findings indicate a recurrence of the tumor process with ill-defined margins. It is necessary to refer the patient for further chemotherapy under the care of Dr. Šantek at the Mayo Clinic. A follow-up PET SCAN will be required; if the results remain positive, radical surgical intervention will be considered.
So, yeah, that’s the short version. Look, we all know that once a tumor is back in the picture, things get heavy, but my colleague (and I) are trying to wrap our heads around just how serious this recurrence actually is. If anyone has any insight or advice, I am all ears. Seriously, anything helps.
Hey everyone, and my sincere condolences to anyone who’s lost someone recently.🤷
I’m looking for some info—I swear I read it somewhere on this Reddit thread before, but now I can't for the life of me find where it was buried.
Someone mentioned there's this amazing medication you take after chemo that actually prevents those nasty mouth sores and ulcers from popping up. You know, those miserable little things that seem to be a guaranteed side effect once the chemo kicks in. If anyone remembers the name of that stuff, please let me know.
Megan Lewis said:He was basically discharged just like your mom was—they didn't even bother sending him to an oncologist! I actually took his test results directly to the doctor myself, and only then did the guy finally agree to start him on treatment.
Back in 1999, my grandma was diagnosed with lung and bronchial tumors in Smalltown, USA.
Diagnosis: Ca planocellulare pulm. dex. Meta lyphonodorum mediastini lat. dex. St. post mammectomiam dex. a.a. XII
Even though the discharge papers don't spell it out clearly, I looked up this diagnosis online and found out it’s a lung tumor (stage 3b) that had already spread to the mediastinal lymph nodes. The doctor straight-up told us he wouldn't even recommend any kind of therapy because there was no hope left, and honestly, treating something at that stage might just speed up the whole process. As horrible and cold-hearted as that sounds to a regular person—like they're just tossing a patient aside—I have to assume these doctors know best since they deal with this nightmare every single day. He even mentioned that Grandma probably shouldn't have gone through with the bronchoscopy and tissue biopsy, because those procedures can aggressively jumpstart the malignant process. Without them, she might have squeezed out another year or so, especially since her type of carcinoma wasn't quite as aggressive as something like small cell lung cancer.
Anyway, my heart goes out to Jane and Nema for their loss. It feels like, unfortunately, no matter how much heart you put into it or how strong your will is, this disease still wins in the end. When people do make it through, it's like they go to Vatican City to light a candle and feel like they've been reborn...
shadowheron4 said:Hey there, you absolute warriors and fighters out there. I just joined this forum recently and stumbled upon this thread. Back when I was 27, about three years ago, I had surgery for breast cancer that had already spread to my armpit lymph nodes... (
My late grandma went through the exact same thing you're dealing with. Back in '85, they diagnosed her with breast cancer that had hit the lymph nodes in her armpit at MD Anderson Cancer Center. She went under the knife and then did radiation—I can't recall the exact number of sessions off the top of my head, but man, she went through so much that the skin was basically suffering from third-degree burns. But hey, that’s standard procedure, right? You gotta blast those malignant cells to make sure nothing survives. She didn't do chemo back then. After that, she’d get her markers checked every six months, and everything looked golden until March of '99 (so, 14 years after that first diagnosis). That's when they found a tumor in her bronchial tubes and lungs, and it was moving so fast it was like a runaway freight train; a month later, it was all over. Sadly. We moved her over to Manhattan, where she got her first round of chemo, but the doctors could see right away it wasn't going to work. Honestly, that chemo felt more like a psychological move just so the patient wouldn't feel like they'd been written off prematurely.
But look, don't let the second half of my story drag you down too much, because that lung tumor from '99 had absolutely zero connection to what happened in '85. So, if we're looking at the facts, we can pretty much say that first tumor (which is the same beast you're fighting) was defeated with a 100% success rate.
Lawrence Rogers56 said:Respect and my deepest condolences.
I also laid my dad to rest this past Tuesday, October 9th, 2007. He had lung cancer that spread to his liver, and the whole thing just went south incredibly fast—everything wrapped up within three months of the diagnosis. He was 64.
Look, I’m no medical expert or anything, and until pretty recently, cancer was just this distant, terrifying concept to me that I didn't really wrap my head around. If it helps at all, my dad had those same sky-high bilirubin levels because his liver function was starting to tank. High bilirubin isn't necessarily a death sentence on its own, but it causes that mild jaundice look and is a massive red flag that the liver is struggling. Because his liver wasn't functioning right, they couldn't even go through with the chemo. But despite all that, the actual cause of death was fluid buildup in the lungs—some technical term in Latin, I think.
That's all from me. Take care!
Hey, my condolences to you too regarding your father.
Yeah, I've read about this and heard it before—high bilirubin doesn't have to be the end of the road. But let's be real, once you hit 670 mmol/L when the normal range is only around 20? Yeah, any hope is basically gone at that point... In the hospital, his levels actually started dropping, hitting 540 mmol/L after three days, but then his creatinine spiked, his kidneys failed, and that was it...
But there's one thing about my old man's illness that I just can't wrap my brain around.
I don't get how the liver tumor (a primary HCC, not a metastasis, mind you) seemed to be shrinking so well after the chemoembolization treatments—you can clearly see it in the discharge papers from months 6 and 7. Plus, his ALT, AST, and GGT weren't nearly as astronomical as the bilirubin. One doctor at the local university hospital explained to us that ALT and AST show liver function, while GGT indicates necrosis, or basically the amount of dying cells. His ALT and AST were under 200, and GGT was around 300, which is still way above normal, but I know people who live with much higher numbers without their liver failing completely...
Maybe I should have pushed the doctor who treated him since the diagnosis to explain things better, but honestly, I could barely find the strength to even walk into the hospital to grab the discharge papers. Having to ride that same elevator we spent so many hours in over the last year, walking down that same hallway past the ICU where he passed, passing room 9 where he stayed every single time he was admitted and where he spent his final days... It's just brutal. I grabbed the paperwork and practically ran out of that hospital in tears, praying I'd never have to step foot in that place again...