Posts by feralsurfer72

An immortal song.
I’ve always found that there’s a certain quiet gravity to the way M. Antić approaches his craft, much like watching a seasoned conductor lead an orchestra through a particularly complex movement—nothing is wasted, yet everything feels profoundly intentional. It reminds me of those slow Sunday mornings in Chicago when the fog rolls off the lake, blurring the edges of the skyline until you're left with nothing but the essential shapes of the city.

If you ever get word that I’ve passed on, just know I died exactly how I lived—unannounced and likely mid-sentence.
I’ve already given you my life story, dear.
Perhaps you’ll find yourself in that same position one day.
Suddenly, things have started to turn gray.

Everything feels like a heavy, sweeping fog clinging to my eyelashes.
There’s a faint, ashen trace lingering on my lip.
Have you ever truly sat back and given it some thought?
What does it actually mean to truly live?

It feels like snow melting in a warm palm—gone before you can even grasp the sensation.
It’s as if you grew up entirely on the open plains.
Don't worry...
Is there really anything to worry about?
It’s heavy, isn't it? Truly heartbreaking.
Is there any room for sorrow here?

Wandering through the wreckage of one's own imagination.
Climb toward your youth with everything you've got.
She’ll be waiting for you right there.
Beautiful, yet deceptively clever.

And so it lives!
It’s absolutely alive!
Don't spend your days nibbling away at life like a mouse.
He’s just blowing hot air.
Let the wind and the birds pass you by.

After all, even an eternity feels like a mere blink of an eye.

All of a sudden, there's a smile on everyone's face.
I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror today, and I must say, the reflection was quite unexpected.
I've ended up with a face that looks like it was assembled from spare parts.

Out of nowhere: in certain corners.
Sometimes, you just need to let a few tears fall.

Trouble has a way of creeping up on you, right at your fingertips.
The years have a way of turning everything gray.

Suddenly, the whole world just shifts beneath your feet while you're mid-stride.
It seems to be getting narrower by the day.
And even the smiles seem to be growing a little more quiet lately.
And quieter, too.
And somewhat distorted, if I'm being honest.

And he’s truly living, quite remarkably so!

That’s exactly how I lived my life for a long time.
It’s been half a century, just like that.
I’ve spent some time traversing the centuries.

I’ll be the first to admit it: I can be a bit of a scatterbrain.
At times, quite the opposite.
And I never could quite find my footing, either.
I felt as though I were walking forever.
He went...

It’s essentially a matter of moving everything out from the front of your aorta.
The expiration date on this thing feels like nothing more than a polite suggestion rather than an actual rule.
And then you went and ruined everything.
What strange little wonders we find ourselves stumbling upon.

And don't you ever dare go imagining what life could be.
It feels like a frightened goodbye.
It feels less like an event and more like a permanent fixture, almost as if we’re living in a perpetual state of welcome.
It feels like a perpetual state of waking up, an endless cycle of just barely surfacing.

2.

And now, let’s finally get serious.
Take a moment to truly contemplate the weight of existence—what it actually means to live, and eventually, what it means to die.
And where, exactly, does a man vanish to?

I wonder what on earth he’s doing that keeps him perpetually distracted like this.

I wouldn't advise making any trips to the cemetery.
You just aren't going to get it.
Cemeteries are easily the most macabre part of any local carnival.
It’s a rather melancholy theater, isn't it?

Playing around with restlessness.
And my own shapelessness, too.
Don't you find yourself feeling that pull sometimes?
Maybe just take a little detour through the back alleys.
Are we truly ascending to new heights of intellect, or just rearranging the furniture in our own delusions?
In the near future?

I'll find a time to walk you through that later on.
If our paths happen to cross out there.

You know exactly what I'm going to do to you:
I might just have to break your toy for you.
What exactly is the name of that pain?
If you actually have the nerve to try.

I'm telling you the truth.
I'm just spinning a yarn here.
What truly matters, at its core, is simply what must be there.
You just haven't caught him in the act yet.
Well, you didn't exactly go looking for it.

Just remember: reality is always more real than anything else.
If you start adding a touch of the surreal to her persona, she becomes something else entirely.

You’ll know it’s me when I stop talking.
The eternal ones simply refuse to engage in conversation.

To outmaneuver wisdom itself...
I’ve always found that if you want to truly dismantle the art of listening, you simply have to master the skill of waiting for your turn to speak instead of actually hearing what's being said.

Grand conclusions.
They practically open themselves up.

After countless births, everything seems to change.
And then there are those quiet, trivial little deaths that just slip by unnoticed.
Once you finally come to terms with it.
Everything you just said was spot on.

One single life doesn't define everything.

Honestly, you should just come find me.
May I bask in your radiance for a moment?
I simply distill everything into a single thought.

And even the furthest reaches of our future.
She’s got a future ahead of her, clearly.
She honestly seems to be living in her own little world, convinced of her own greatness.
It is our own vote that shapes the future we will eventually inhabit.

And besides, there’s no such thing as an empty universe.

What we fail to realize, quite simply, is...
It isn't a matter of nonexistence, really.
The mere fact that the world continues to spin without us is quite a sobering thought.

3.

If you ever get word that I’ve passed away, just know...
I can't help but wonder what exactly this is all going to turn into.

Thousands upon thousands of vibrant, multicolored fish drifting through the water.
I can feel my eyelid twitching incessantly.
And eventually, the earth will claim me as its own.
Even the weeds will eventually swallow me whole.

And as for me, I’ll be busy tending to my own affairs during that interval.
To soar somewhere high above it all.
Just remember: there are no borders.
Let's just stick to discussing the current borders for now.

I’ll be sailing right above you as the dawn breaks.
The wind was slicing through the air, smooth and slick as a sheet of silk.
I shall broaden your horizons.
I suppose one could say that even a simple gesture like this carries its own quiet weight. It’s a polite nod to the passage of time, much like how I always make sure to tip my barista in Seattle before the morning rush truly begins.
And the visions of what lies ahead.
With the grace of invisible wings.

And like a silent pendulum, swinging without a sound.
Lost in a beautiful sort of limbo.
I suppose I shall have to speak for myself.
It’s much like that legendary championship belt everyone obsesses over.

Space is merely the velocity of the mind.
It’s like watching someone slowly unravel their own soul, piece by piece.
I’m essentially hovering in place, yet somehow, I’ll still get where I need to be.
I find myself drifting through the currents of time, lost to the passing years.

I think I’ll take a momentary reprieve from the side quests for a while.
Like a sprawling galaxy of stars drifting through the void.
Which ones have fused through pulsing?
I honestly have no idea what they’re playing at over there.

I think I’ll take a momentary reprieve from the side issues.
It’s much like those vast, endless stretches of old-growth forest you see out in the Pacific Northwest—limitless and overwhelming all at once.
What exactly are we talking about when we say things have "fused branches"? It’s one of those phrases that sounds poetic until you realize how messy the reality can actually be.
into warm embraces.

I shall find rest from the trivialities of this life,
much like those great birds,
whose wings have fused together,
encompassing the entire American sky.

I will take my rest from the secondary things,
like a profound love,
that finds its way to lips
long before the souls have even met.

Do you truly believe that my hand,
my knee,
or my head,
could ever dissolve into mere clay,
the root of a birch tree,
or simple grass?

Or that some tiny little secret,
or a fleeting, trembling fear,
might transform tomorrow into
silence,
darkness,
and dust?

You see, I am quite literally made of starlight.
I am composed entirely of light.

There is nothing within me that will
flicker out or fade away.

I will simply,
as if by chance,
on some random morning,
return to my own distant sun,
with eyes of pure gold.

I am punished for everything I think,
let alone everything I do;
I am suspected of being too tender,
and branded guilty
for refusing to quench love with hatred—instead, I feed it with new, greater love—
and refusing to extinguish life with death,
choosing instead to live in an entirely different way.

The final edges of infinity
are merely the beginning of something even more boundless.

Those who endure longer than the eternal
have no use for shallow knowledge.

Never waste your energy
asking how to survive,
but rather ask how to avoid dying
after all the ways one has already died.

4.

If word reaches you that I am gone,
do not fret. In every passing century,
someone accidentally mistakes me
for someone old and weary.

There is nowhere that holds as many people
as the depths of a single human soul.

There is nothing quite as different
as the things we consider the same.

If you search through the vast spaces,
you will find me unearthed from the wind.
I am in the water.
In the stones.
In every twilight and every dawn.

To be multifaceted as a human
does not mean to be fragmented.

I am shared with everything,
yet I am never torn apart.

And all these miraculous states,
these constant renewals of my being,
are nothing more than a vortex—
singular,
persistent,
and long.

Do you know what prophecies actually are?
They are merely the molds of past events,
the breathless repetition
of the same thing spinning in circles.

So why should we say goodbye?
What is there to regret?
If they tell you I have died,
you know better—I don't know how to do that.

Love is the only air
I have ever breathed.
And a smile is the only language
I understand in this world.

I only stopped by this earth
to give you a little wink.
To leave behind something behind me,
like a shimmering, fleeting trail.

Please, don't be sad.

I care so deeply
about remaining within you,
as something silly,
and strangely dear.

On nights when you gaze up at the sky,
give me a wink in return.

Let that be our little secret.

Despite the gray, heavy days,
whenever you see a comet
glow with a golden hue,
remember: that is still me,
flying and living wildly.

Linda Patel21 said:@feralsurfer72/">@@feralsurfer72, how is your dad doing? I really hope he's feeling even just a little bit better.

Angela Wright said:The lovely lady doctor from the local health clinic should really come by for a home visit to set up home health care and nursing services—that’s literally what she's there for. Given this diagnosis, he’s entitled to daily nursing care for up to 45 minutes. It might be a bit less since he can still move around, but having someone stop by for ten minutes a day just for dressing changes, plus once a week to help with washing, makes a world of difference.
Similarly, the doctor can write prescriptions for all the bandages and necessary medical supplies.

Instead of relying solely on diapers, try picking up those disposable underpads used for babies at Target. They work similarly to diapers in terms of absorption. Just make sure to use sterile gauze against the skin first; these are mainly to prevent leaks.

Angela Wright said:I don't think they're strictly required, but I can certainly try to help if you ask. In my case, they provided me with a home prescription for other reasons since I was discharged this past Friday. Beyond that, if you have your discharge papers, local 24-hour pharmacies can usually issue a prescription based on those; you just pay upfront and get reimbursed once you bring in the official script from his attending physician (either the primary doctor or whoever is covering for him, typically someone from the opposite shift).

Linda Patel21 said:Dear feralsurfer72, I know this is incredibly heavy for everyone involved, but I can only imagine how much harder it is on Dad. Please try to be his anchor, just as you have been up until now; I know he’ll likely drive you all up the wall a hundred more times, but do try to bear with him, as he's simply desperate to reclaim the life he had before all this. Tell him to take care, but if he insists on a little walk, let him go—I don't think it will do much harm to his condition, and honestly, the movement might actually help his spirits. It’s certainly better than letting him sink into depression. Wishing you strength.

wanderingcobra76 said:Liver punctures or biopsies—or any other organ biopsy within the abdominal cavity performed under ultrasound or CT guidance—aren't handled as outpatient procedures.
Because of that, you can't simply book one through a referral using an insurance card.
The patient actually needs to be admitted to the hospital—whether that’s oncology, surgery, or gastroenterology, depending on who is managing their care—and then the attending physician coordinates directly with an interventional radiologist to schedule the procedure.
Afterward, the patient stays overnight for observation to ensure everything is stable.

Amanda Anderson87 said:Is there any news on your end?

@feralsurfer72/">@@feralsurfer72, how did the MRI go? How is your dad holding up?

My father is finishing his final round of Xeloda tonight, and we have a follow-up appointment next Wednesday to figure out our next steps.

In case it helps anyone else, we’ve been managing his nausea with ginger—basically a mixture of 200 grams of grated ginger and a kilogram of honey, though sometimes just tea made from fresh ginger and chamomile works. For him, the pure ginger was by far the most effective remedy.

Rachel Wood27 said:I would suggest heading to a major medical center like Mayo Clinic or Johns Hopkins; I know it’s quite a trek for you, but honestly, that’s likely where you’ll find the best answers.
It might also help if you have an acquaintance who knows a specialist in a big city like Chicago or Boston who can give you a nudge or expedite things—you can always request a second opinion at any hospital, but the wait times are endless, and in your situation, waiting isn't really an option.
The absolute priority right now should be getting a biopsy (whether it's liver metastases or pancreatic, it doesn't matter) just to identify the specific type of tumor we are dealing with.

To give you some context, my father had elevated Ca 19-9 and CYFRA markers, which led doctors to believe the primary issue was his pancreas even though scans showed nothing there, until a biopsy finally revealed it was actually small cell carcinoma.
My dad has lung cancer with metastases in his liver and bones, yet every CT scan shows his lungs haven't changed much. No lymph nodes are enlarged either, despite how widespread the disease actually is.

We just got his CT results this past Friday, and they showed significant regression in the liver metastases, while the bone metastases remain unchanged.

I am keeping my fingers crossed that you finally connect with someone who can perform the biopsy and map out a treatment plan; I'm not sure if you saw my previous post, but I reached out because your father's story mirrors mine so closely—his first oncologist actually refused to treat him and only suggested symptomatic care, though he couldn't even prescribe anything meaningful without proper pathology results.

Everything finally started moving forward once we took my dad to a major metropolitan hospital and got that biopsy done.

Again, I'm rooting for you—don't lose hope!

Why don't you try getting your dad to a major hub like New York or Houston so everything can be handled strictly by the book? Even Rachel Wood27 is suggesting it. Try calling ahead to arrange things first, and if that fails, look into private specialists; maybe make the trip to a big city. At least they can redo that one pathology test.
She mentioned home health visits and family practitioners... forget about it. They simply didn't want the headache of dealing with him. This needs to be handled in a major medical center somehow.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if we're looking at a rare tumor like a sarcoma, which they often struggle to identify accurately.

Angela Wright said:Wait, where was her father being treated? My apologies to everyone, but there are just so many of you here that I honestly can't keep track of who is related to whom or what specific illness they're dealing with.

In any case, the standard procedure involves requesting the tissue or puncture samples—specifically those slides—from the hospital's pathology department via a release form, then seeking a repeat biopsy analysis at a different major medical center. You really need to aim for a large university hospital system, because local community hospitals usually just send their specimens to the nearest big teaching hospital anyway, which means you might end up circling right back to the exact same pathology lab that did the first one. I believe you might even be able to get a referral from the primary care physician for this purpose. As for the department holding the original sample, all you need to do is submit a formal written request stating that the samples are being released specifically for a second opinion and a repeat biopsy.
I know Mayo Clinic has some excellent pathologists. If things don't pan out there, you should look for an outside opinion, perhaps somewhere like Johns Hopkins or even sending it abroad. Most of this can be coordinated through email and sent by mail; there’s absolutely no need to travel.

Regarding the oncologist's opinion, Dr. Miller is a private practitioner who does quite good work, but I would still try to connect with a different hospital system if possible. Once you have a repeated biopsy in hand, he’ll find it much easier to accept the patient, since hospitals are often hesitant to take on cases diagnosed elsewhere—mostly due to budget constraints and insurance complexities.

Linda Patel21 said:Dear feralsurfer72, I am truly sorry to hear that the results weren't more encouraging. My own father went through a similar battle with bile duct cancer, which had unfortunately spread to his liver and duodenum—and likely his pancreas as well. We were told the same thing: that chemotherapy just wasn't an option anymore. I ended up seeking a second opinion from a specialist, Dr. Miller, at a top-tier clinic in Boston; he shared that same grim outlook, though he did suggest we might attempt a much milder course of treatment. Sadly, my father's condition declined so rapidly that we never even reached that stage. He was a brilliant oncologist, though I must admit his services come with a rather steep price tag. I am sending all my strength and best wishes to your father as he fights this beast.