Good evening, everyone.
I’ve read through this entire thread from the very first page, and I finally reached a breaking point where I just had to share what I’m going through with people who actually understand. I can't hold it in anymore.
My dad was diagnosed with a throat tumor. He underwent surgery on October 27th, where they had to remove his larynx, vocal cords, thyroid, all the lymph nodes on the right side of his neck, and several on the left. Recovery was actually going incredibly well. Once he was discharged from the hospital, he started breathing and speech exercises with a specialist because he really isn't a fan of the idea of using speech prosthetics; he’s been putting all his energy into mastering esophageal speech instead. He felt pretty good—his trademark optimism and upbeat attitude never wavered—but then complications hit right before Christmas. He developed a high fever and redness around the tracheostomy site on his neck, which turned out to be scarlet fever. He was seeing doctors every day to have the wound dressed and treated, and after a week of antibiotics, things seemed to be improving. Then, last Thursday, he started his first round of radiation, and that’s when the new nightmare began. Small lumps appeared around the wound, and his left neck became swollen with a noticeable mass. A few days later, his entire head swelled up; he looks like he did immediately after the initial surgery, like his skin is about to burst. They told us it’s a reaction to the radiation, but the real issue is that mass, which isn't shrinking—it's growing. He saw his oncologist today, who ordered blood work and decided that on January 20th, Dad will start his first round of chemotherapy (he’s scheduled for 32 radiation sessions and 2-3 rounds of chemo interspersed), and they will target the radiation specifically at that lump. Today just hit me like a physical blow; it feels like we're back at square one. It’s unbelievable—for every single step forward, something happens that drags us two steps back. I find myself wondering how much longer we can endure this. The most heartbreaking part of this whole ordeal is that it could have all been prevented. We wouldn't be facing such a radical surgery if the very first doctor he saw—back in 2013 and again last spring—had actually taken him seriously. Dad had been complaining for ages about pain, burning in his throat, and difficulty swallowing, but that doctor just told him to chew Orbit gum. So, Dad switched doctors and went to a specialist who sent him for sinus imaging and insisted the throat irritation was just acid reflux. That went on all last summer until Dad finally went to Mercy Hospital, where they sent him for a puncture, a biopsy, and five different CT scans, which finally revealed the truth.
I am sorry for the massive wall of text, but I’ve been trying so hard to stay strong, and today just slapped the strength right out of me. I feel like we are spinning in a closed loop with no way out.
I’ve read through this entire thread from the very first page, and I finally reached a breaking point where I just had to share what I’m going through with people who actually understand. I can't hold it in anymore.
My dad was diagnosed with a throat tumor. He underwent surgery on October 27th, where they had to remove his larynx, vocal cords, thyroid, all the lymph nodes on the right side of his neck, and several on the left. Recovery was actually going incredibly well. Once he was discharged from the hospital, he started breathing and speech exercises with a specialist because he really isn't a fan of the idea of using speech prosthetics; he’s been putting all his energy into mastering esophageal speech instead. He felt pretty good—his trademark optimism and upbeat attitude never wavered—but then complications hit right before Christmas. He developed a high fever and redness around the tracheostomy site on his neck, which turned out to be scarlet fever. He was seeing doctors every day to have the wound dressed and treated, and after a week of antibiotics, things seemed to be improving. Then, last Thursday, he started his first round of radiation, and that’s when the new nightmare began. Small lumps appeared around the wound, and his left neck became swollen with a noticeable mass. A few days later, his entire head swelled up; he looks like he did immediately after the initial surgery, like his skin is about to burst. They told us it’s a reaction to the radiation, but the real issue is that mass, which isn't shrinking—it's growing. He saw his oncologist today, who ordered blood work and decided that on January 20th, Dad will start his first round of chemotherapy (he’s scheduled for 32 radiation sessions and 2-3 rounds of chemo interspersed), and they will target the radiation specifically at that lump. Today just hit me like a physical blow; it feels like we're back at square one. It’s unbelievable—for every single step forward, something happens that drags us two steps back. I find myself wondering how much longer we can endure this. The most heartbreaking part of this whole ordeal is that it could have all been prevented. We wouldn't be facing such a radical surgery if the very first doctor he saw—back in 2013 and again last spring—had actually taken him seriously. Dad had been complaining for ages about pain, burning in his throat, and difficulty swallowing, but that doctor just told him to chew Orbit gum. So, Dad switched doctors and went to a specialist who sent him for sinus imaging and insisted the throat irritation was just acid reflux. That went on all last summer until Dad finally went to Mercy Hospital, where they sent him for a puncture, a biopsy, and five different CT scans, which finally revealed the truth.
I am sorry for the massive wall of text, but I’ve been trying so hard to stay strong, and today just slapped the strength right out of me. I feel like we are spinning in a closed loop with no way out.