Posts by wiredbear81

It’s with a heavy heart that I’m writing to say my mother has passed away—her lungs finally gave out. It’s been about a year since the initial diagnosis, and honestly, she went through so much during chemo. She didn't deal with the kind of pain others usually describe, but those last three days... it was just terrible listening to her struggle to breathe.

Has anyone here actually used mistletoe injections? I’m looking for any info at all—anything really. I have to wait until Tuesday for my oncologist to get back in, and then I’ll have to try and talk him into writing a prescription. Once we have that, I’ll need to fax it over to a specialty pharmacy in Chicago so they can order it and ship it directly to my mom's house. In Germany, they call them mistletoe injections—I know you can't just pick them up off a shelf without a script, and they seem pretty pricey, though I don't have an exact price yet. One more thing—if my oncologist refuses to sign off on this, who else can I turn to? I wonder if a primary care doctor could handle it...?

Hi everyone—I’ve been reading through these posts for about six months now, ever since I found out my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. She’s finished three rounds of chemo, but things have taken a turn for the worse; the cancer has metastasized to her brain, and she’s lost strength on one side of her body. I sat down with the doctors, and honestly, they basically told me it’s just a matter of time. They want to move forward with radiation, but she keeps waiting for it—it's like she's stuck in limbo. The doctor mentioned they might call her in, though there's a catch: if they suspect any brain bleeding, they won't proceed with the radiation at all. It’s just... heavy. I have three kids, including a baby, and every time I visit Mom, I have to leave her behind, never knowing if it’ll be the last time we see each other. There aren't really words for what it feels like to watch someone fade away like this. I tell myself I'm preparing, but the truth is, I'm not ready. I constantly wonder how she’s feeling—if she’s sad or scared—because even now, she always greets us with a smile. I know death is coming, but she's only 56. Sorry for the venting, it’s just all hitting me at once.