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Rachel Gray21 said:It’s over... he closed his eyes for good. He ended up on a ventilator yesterday and then suffered a heart attack. At least he isn't suffering anymore...
Please accept my sincere condolences. Losing someone you love that much is brutal. My mom and I were incredibly close—we didn't live together, but we talked on the phone constantly. I miss her terribly, and honestly, it hasn't even sunk in yet that she's gone. Just feeling really heavy right now...
Rachel Gray21 said:He finished chemo this past Wednesday. Now his legs are swollen all the way up past his knees. He’s gasping for air—struggling to breathe. He refuses to go to the ER. Just constant wheezing. He’s taking Furosemide, but he isn't even able to urinate. Sometimes he hallucinates seeing bees and stuff... probably just exhaustion from months of zero sleep, or maybe the meds. It's looking really bad, and I think this might be it... Or maybe the chemo was just too much for him to handle.☹️
I feel for you. My mom dealt with the exact same thing—her legs swelled up so badly she couldn't even walk anymore. She ended up needing diapers, taking Furosemide, and having trouble urinating. The pills barely did anything for her. Eventually, her abdomen started swelling, too. I lost her two weeks ago; she was 72 and had papillary carcinoma of the gallbladder. She had that same gasping breath, and by the end, she was babbling. Sending you strength to get through this...
Hey everyone,
My mom was diagnosed with ampullary adenocarcinoma last year. She also beat Non-Hodgkin lymphoma eight years ago, which was a total success.
She’s gone through seven rounds of chemo in total. After the first four cycles, things actually looked stable—even her tumor markers were dropping—so they pushed ahead with three more. But then the latest CT showed the disease is progressing again. To make matters worse, there’s metastasis in her liver. We haven't been able to get her to the oncologist because she's been dealing with diarrhea for four days now; she can barely eat, though she's staying hydrated. I’m at my wit's end here. I don't live with her—I have my own family to look after.
She’s 72, and honestly, I can't help but think she would still be here if this disease hadn't hit her.
I know there isn't a cure, and it kills me to see her looking so frail and in so much pain. She’s dropped 20 pounds. She actually asks me not to come by every single day because she thinks I need to focus on my own family. I feel terrible about it—the stress is overwhelming, and I just want to break down and cry.