Posts by jadetinker42

Angela Wright said:Welcome to the group. Honestly, thanks for opening up and sharing what you've been going through, even if it’s a total gut punch to read. It’s heavy stuff, really.
Look, if there’s any silver lining here, let it be this: he didn't have to suffer forever. It was bound to happen eventually, but at least he wasn't struggling for an eternity. You guys truly did everything humanly possible—every single thing a family could do to support him. Honestly, it feels like he passed away with a sense of peace and fulfillment, which is everything. I know, I know... it feels like his story was cut short. We all look at it and think, "Man, he still had so much left to give, so much more time to spend with you guys." But he closed his circle. He lived a life surrounded by warmth and genuine love, and honestly, that’s the greatest legacy anyone can leave behind in this world. People raised in homes like yours? They go out and build those same kinds of loving families, passing that light onto the next generation. That kind of ripple effect is what keeps the world spinning.

Thanks, man. And seriously, thanks to everyone else for the condolences too. It really means a lot.

I actually went to pick up the death certificate today, and man, I’m not gonna lie—it took everything I had just to get through the doors. Walking past the ICU where he passed, right by Room 9, then down that long, sterile hospital hallway... it hit me hard. I couldn't even stop myself from breaking down right there. He’s gone. Now, Room 9 is occupied by other patients, probably people fighting their own uphill battles just to see tomorrow. The doctors are still rushing around like headless chickens, exactly like they were when the old man was still here. It feels like this endless, dizzying cycle where one patient leaves and another takes their place, and the machine just keeps grinding on.

Alright, I’m gonna drop my dad's blood work results here because I really need some insight. Specifically, I’m trying to figure out which one of these numbers was actually the dealbreaker for him. I already know his bilirubin, creatinine, and white blood cell count were through the roof, but honestly, looking at the rest of this stuff makes my head spin—I am definitely not an expert on this kind of thing. If anyone here actually knows their way around a lab report and could help me make sense of this, I’d seriously appreciate it.

I can't even begin to explain how much this drives me absolutely insane. It’s like, you think you’re actually getting what you paid for, right? You walk into the store, you see the shiny packaging, you drop your hard-earned cash, and then—BAM—reality hits you in the face. It’s a total joke. It reminds me of that one time I tried to fix my own sink in Chicago—complete disaster, obviously, because I’m not exactly a plumber—but at least with a leaky pipe, you know what you're dealing with. This stuff? It's just deceptive. It feels like every time we get a "new and improved" version of something, it’s really just a way to squeeze more money out of us while providing half the actual value. Honestly, it’s enough to make you want to throw your phone across the room. Is anyone else seeing this pattern, or am I just losing my mind here?

I can't even deal right now. Seriously, someone please tell me I'm not the only one losing my mind over this! It’s like, does anyone actually listen when we talk about these things? It feels like screaming into a void sometimes, honestly. Everything is just... ugh. Just absolute chaos.
Look, I’m no doctor, but staring at these numbers is giving me a massive headache. If you're looking at this lab report, here's the breakdown of what's going on in that bloodwork: Your HGR is sitting at 3.64, which is pretty low—think of it like trying to run a marathon on an empty tank of gas. Your hemoglobin (Hb) is at 111, also dipping below the normal range. Then there's the hematocrit (Htc), which is at 0.321 (basically an iPhone 13 level of outdated if we're talking tech, but in medical terms, it's just low). The rest of the red cell indices—MCV at 88.2, MCH at 30.5, and MCHC at 346—all seem to be hovering in that normal, middle-of-the-road zone. Your platelets (Tr.) are at 182, which is fine, staying within the safe lane. But those white blood cell counts (L) are at 11.6, which is a bit elevated. It’s like your body’s internal security team is on high alert, maybe fighting off a minor glitch or some inflammation. Bottom line? Don't panic, but don't ignore it either. Take this to your actual physician so they can tell you what's really up. Seriously, go talk to a pro!
Alright, let me walk you through these latest lab results because, honestly, looking at this numbers is like watching a chaotic scene from a Michael Bay movie—just total mayhem. I’m sitting here staring at my screen, trying to make sense of this mess, and man, it’s a rollercoaster. First off, let's look at the big picture. My hemoglobin is sitting at 127, which isn't exactly breaking any records, and that hematocrit is at 0.358—basically what you'd see if you were checking an iPhone 14 instead of some outdated tech. The rest of the red blood cell stuff (MCV, MCH, MCHC) looks relatively standard, like a predictable Tuesday morning in Chicago. But then? Then things go completely sideways. It’s like everything was cruising along on a smooth highway and suddenly someone slammed on the brakes in the middle of rush hour. The platelets are dipping down to 139, which is a bit sketchy. And don't even get me started on the glucose—it's sitting at 2.3, which is just... wow. That’s low. Like, "running out of gas on the I-95" low. But the real kicker, the absolute massive red flag that has me losing my mind, is the creatinine. It jumped from 121 to 268. Are you kidding me?! That’s not just a little spike; that’s a vertical climb. It’s like my kidney function decided to take a sudden, unannounced vacation to Florida. Throw in a potassium level of 5.6, and we’ve got ourselves a real situation on our hands. Basically, the vitals are shouting, and I'm just over here trying to figure out why the engine is smoking. This isn't just a minor hiccup; it's a full-blown system error.

Alright, let’s take a look at these lab results, because honestly? This looks like a total mess. If my body were a car, I’d be staring at a smoking engine and a blown transmission right about now. First off, we’ve got glucose sitting at 3.9—not great, but let's look at the bigger picture here. The urea is at 19.7, which is one thing, but that creatinine is sitting at a massive 295. That is a huge red flag for the kidneys. It’s like trying to run a marathon while having sand stuck in your fuel lines. And don't even get me started on the liver stuff. The total bilirubin is through the roof at 576! We're looking at 291 for conjugated and 285 for unconjugated. When you add in an AF of 269, LD of 269, GammaGT at 170, and AST hitting 223 while ALT is at 95... man, that liver is absolutely screaming for help. It’s basically a house on fire at this point. The total protein is low at 49, and the CRP is up to 26.2, which means there's some serious inflammation going on somewhere. Then you see ferritin at 1245—that is sky-high—while iron is down at 9 and TIBC is at 40. It’s such a weird, chaotic imbalance. To top it all off, calcium is at 2.00 and sodium is hanging out at 121, which is definitely low enough to make anyone feel like they're walking through sludge. On the "silver lining" side—if you can even call it that—the serum amylase, CK, uric acid, triglycerides, cholesterol, and UIBC all came back normal. So, everything else is fine, but when the core systems are glitching this hard, those "normal" numbers don't mean much. This is a heavy situation.

Look, I’m staring at these lab results and honestly? It’s a total mess. My stomach is doing flips just looking at these numbers. We're talking serious red flags here. The glucose is sitting at 3.6, which is low, but that creatinine? 568? That is absolutely terrifying. That's not just "off," that's a massive warning sign for the kidneys. And don't even get me started on the bilirubin levels—the total is 546, with the conjugated part at 303 and unconjugated at 243. It’s like a complete breakdown of how everything is supposed to process. Throw in an ALP of 484, LDH at 469, and those liver enzymes (GamaGT at 213, AST at 337, and ALT at 180) being through the roof, and you've got a recipe for a disaster. To top it all off, the electrolytes are completely out of whack. Sodium is down at 116—which is dangerously low—and Potassium is up at 5.7. This isn't just a minor hiccup; this looks like a full-blown systemic crisis. Seriously, if these aren't being monitored by doctors right this second, someone needs to step up. This is heavy stuff.
Alright, let's take a look at these lab results, because honestly, seeing numbers like this without context is enough to give anyone a headache. Here’s the breakdown of what we're looking at: Total Protein is sitting at 49.0, Albumin is 18.2, Alpha-1 is 1.1, Alpha-2 is 4.9, Beta is 6.5, Gamma is 17.6, and that A/G ratio comes in at 0.60. Now, I’m just a guy on a forum, not your doctor, so please don't go treating this like a medical diagnosis from a specialist at the Mayo Clinic. But looking at these figures? That total protein number seems incredibly low—like, way below the standard range you'd expect to see in a healthy American adult. And when that total protein drops that much, it usually drags the albumin down with it, which we see here. The most glaring thing to me is that Gamma fraction. It's sitting at 17.6, which is quite high relative to everything else. When the Gamma is spiked like that while the Albumin is tanking, it's like trying to run a marathon when your fuel tank is empty but your exhaust pipe is clogged—something is definitely out of balance. Usually, a low A/G ratio like 0.60 suggests there might be an issue with how your immune system is handling things or perhaps some kind of protein loss. Seriously though, don't panic, but *do* talk to your physician. You need to get these results interpreted by someone who actually knows your medical history. This isn't just a "wait and see" situation; you should probably get a follow-up appointment scheduled ASAP.
Alright, let's look at the numbers from the latest checkup: PV is sitting at 0.39, APTV is at 55, which puts the APTV ratio at 1.69, and platelets are hanging in at 100.
Alright, let's talk about the absolute nightmare fuel that is *Proteus mirabilis*. Seriously, if you’ve ever dealt with a nasty UTI, this little bug might just be the villain in your horror movie. It’s one of those bacteria that doesn't just show up to the party; it shows up, kicks the door down, and starts rearranging all your furniture. The main thing you gotta know is how much of a chaotic mess this thing makes. It’s got this crazy ability to move around—it uses flagella like tiny little outboard motors to swim through your system like it's cruising down the Florida Keys. But it isn't just swimming for fun. It’s looking for trouble. It loves to play around with the pH levels in your body. It produces an enzyme called urease, which basically turns your urine into an alkaline playground. This is where things get really gross. When the environment becomes that alkaline, the minerals in your system start clumping together like spilled sugar in a coffee cup. That’s how you end up with kidney stones. You’re sitting there thinking you just have a standard infection, and suddenly you're dealing with literal rocks inside you because this bacterium decided to turn your bladder into a chemistry lab. And don't even get me started on how hard it is to kill once it gets settled. Because it creates those stones, it can actually hide inside them, safe from antibiotics. It’s like a tiny, microscopic fortress. You think you've cleared the infection, then boom—it comes back because the "soldiers" were hiding behind the stone walls the whole time. It’s infuriating! Basically, *Proteus mirabilis* isn't just a germ; it's a tactical genius with a vendetta. If you're fighting this one, you aren't just fighting a bacteria; you're fighting a master architect of chaos. Stay vigilant, folks.
Blood culture results came back clear! Everything looks good.
So, I finally went and got that throat and nose swab done, and honestly? Everything came back totally clean. No issues found.
Look, I’m telling you, it’s getting out of hand. We’ve reached a point in modern culture where the skin's physiological flora is basically just staging a full-blown takeover. It’s like everyone is walking around with their own little ecosystem thriving on them, and honestly? It's wild.

Alright, that’s everything right there. So, can someone please break down these results for me? I’m totally lost. Thanks in advance!

Hey everyone. I’ve gone through almost this entire thread—all 41 pages—and finally decided to jump in, register, and share what we went through with this absolute nightmare of a disease.

On September 26, 2007, my dad passed away from HCC (hepatocellular carcinoma). To put it bluntly: it was hell. He was diagnosed in just five months.

But let me walk you through the timeline, because it’s a mess;

Back in May of last year, he had what seemed like a totally routine surgery for a fistula and hemorrhoids in his colon. By August 2006, he had to go back under the knife because the wound wouldn't stop leaking and needed more cleaning. After that, the doctor put him on Ketorolac for the pain, which he took religiously for eight months straight until March 2007. Then, on March 12, 2007, he ended up at the Mayo Clinic because of some serious internal bleeding—he was dealing with black stools and vomiting blood. He ended up needing five blood transfusions. After all the tests, they told him he had gastritis from the medication and some minor liver damage, but the doctor didn't think much of it since the liver is supposed to regenerate, right? So, he was sent home. Fast forward to May, and he’s back in the hospital, again due to internal bleeding. More tests, and this time they found a thrombosis in the vein leading to his liver. After an MRI and an ultrasound, the doctor said his liver function had plummeted (his ALT and AST were elevated, bilirubin was up to 13, and GGT was around 280). She actually suspected a primary tumor in his colon that had spread to the liver. They did a colonoscopy and checked his bowels, but everything came back fine. His stomach, pancreas, gallbladder, and kidneys were all okay too; only his spleen was enlarged. Finally, the doctor insisted on a liver biopsy, and that’s when the hammer dropped: HCC (primary liver cancer). He was discharged on May 30, 2007, only to be admitted again on June 11 for his first round of chemoembolization plus Lipiodol. It’s basically chemotherapy but way more aggressive because it’s targeted directly at the tumor site instead of traveling through the whole bloodstream. He actually handled the first treatment surprisingly well. He was able to go home and live somewhat normally, though you have to be incredibly strong to carry the weight of a tumor like that on your shoulders. His second treatment was set for July 11, 2007. He took it, but since the dose of the cytostatic was higher, it hit him hard. Nausea, chest pressure, the works... He was sent home to recover with instructions to return for the third round around September 15, 2007. He started recovering again, getting regular blood work done, and things seemed to be stabilizing. He had dealt with severe anemia earlier in the spring—his hemoglobin was below 70 and iron was at a measly 2!!!—but by mid-August, after a blood draw, we noticed his bilirubin starting to climb. It jumped to 110, even though his GGT had dropped below 200.
A few days later, he checked his levels again and the bilirubin had skyrocketed to 280, so he was rushed to the ER in San Francisco to figure out what the hell was happening. They did an ultrasound and couldn't find any sign that the tumor was spreading; if anything, the tumor looked like it had shrunk significantly after those two rounds of chemoembolization. But he was turning yellow. The doctors advised him to stay in the hospital for monitoring, but Dad refused. He insisted he could just monitor his blood and bilirubin levels as an outpatient. (As if he wanted to spend another two weeks just sitting at home). He got home, and four days later, he checked his levels again—bilirubin had only ticked up slightly to 286. He decided to stay home until mid-September when he was supposed to have his third treatment.

But every single day, he got worse. It is gut-wrenching to watch someone waste away like that while you stand there feeling completely powerless to help. Because his liver was failing, fluid started building up in his body, he was nauseous, incredibly weak... he struggled just to move. By September 14, he ended up in the hospital, and he never came home.😢

He managed to limp his way to the hospital, even though it was a massive struggle, but once he was admitted and moved to the gastroenterology ward, he couldn't even stand on his own two feet anymore. It was devastating. When we first heard the word "HCC," we knew what was coming, but we never expected it to move this fast. In the hospital, his bilirubin just kept climbing until it hit a peak of 670 (the upper limit is only 20). That’s when the doctor told us the situation was dire and we should prepare for the worst—she said we likely had about a week left. We were absolutely floored; you can never truly prepare for news like that. After she told us, we had to go into his room and pretend everything was fine right to his face. Can you imagine how agonizing and soul-crushing that is? That day, he still had the willpower to try and get up; he was forcing himself to move because he knew if he let the bed claim him, it was over. He had the fight left in him, but we knew there was no saving him.😢 😢 😢 even if the test results were looking grim. Honestly, I wouldn't wish that nightmare on anyone. We walked out of the hospital and just sobbed all the way home. The next day we went back to see him, and he actually looked a little better—even the doctor mentioned his bilirubin had dropped by 100 mmol, so there might still be a fighting chance. Can you even imagine that kind of emotional rollercoaster? One minute you're crushed, the next you're clinging to hope. For the next two days, things were just... stagnant. Not getting better, but not getting worse either. Then on Sunday, things seemed to pick up slightly. We spent so much time talking to him, making these big plans for what life would look like once he was finally discharged from the hospital, but it was all for nothing. By the next day, his liver just completely gave out, and then his kidneys followed suit. He fell into a coma and they rushed him over to the ICU. He passed away less than two days later, on September 26th, 2007.

😢 😢 😢

On the day they moved him to intensive care, we managed to get to his side while he was still semi-conscious so we could say our goodbyes. My wife and I were both breaking down, crying our eyes out, and the crazy part was that *he* was the one trying to comfort *us*. His last words were, "Don't cry, I'm just a little tired, I stayed up too late last night."😢

Along with the chemoembolization treatments he was receiving, we tried everything to help his liver recover. We got him some honey cream with propolis, dandelion tea, flower pollen, and some homemade apple cider vinegar from a guy we knew back in rural Ohio.

But unfortunately, the tumor was just too strong.

It was absolutely horrific. But honestly, when I read about the suffering some of you guys go through here, it makes me feel like we actually had it easy because everything happened relatively quickly. It sounds terrible to say, but it’s the truth. The worst part is the prolonged suffering where you're totally helpless. You try so hard to stay strong for him, but where are you supposed to find the strength? Every single day you're bracing yourself, wondering if he'll still be awake in that hospital bed when you walk in, or staring at your phone in pure terror, praying it isn't the hospital calling with more devastating news... it's just endless.