Ashley Reed98 said:My boyfriend went through exactly what you guys are going through right now. He passed away three weeks ago... brain tumor. I know this thread exists, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to read it until now. I kept holding onto this tiny shred of hope that he’d pull through. Even with such a brutal diagnosis, seeing how brave he was, how he stayed so positive through all of it... it just made me believe.
Now that he's gone... I'm just taking it one day at a time. But I miss him. So much. Every single day, the ache just gets heavier.
I'm thinking of all of you. 🙂
Please accept my deepest condolences. I am so, so sorry.
I haven't posted much since my mom passed away, but I'm here every day reading everything. To everyone fighting right now: I'm rooting for you. Wishing you strength and success. Just hang in there and stay brave. Best to everyone,
Nancy Hernandez43 said:Angela Wright, honestly, people like you—with this kind of genuine support and the real intention to help—make things so much easier for the rest of us. I'm sure of it.
Ever since I first joined this thread, your advice has been what kept me going. It cheered me up and helped me through. My mom finally closed her eyes and found the peace she deserved after an incredibly long, 8 and a half year battle. Even though we all knew it was coming, her passing was so sudden; it caught us and even the medical staff at the Mayo Clinic completely off guard. It was ovarian cancer, stage IIIc. She went through two grueling surgeries, and they didn't recommend a third. After about 86 rounds of chemo, we actually stopped counting—my dad says she probably cleared more than 90. It felt almost routine for her, checking into the hospital to get a nephrostomy, getting her blood counts up, and prepping her body for the next round of treatment. But things just took a sharp turn for the worse, and there was no coming back from that.
As hard as this is right now, I really want to share some words of strength with everyone here. Don't give up on your loved ones, not even for a second. They told my mom she might get six months of a certain quality of life, but she lived seventeen times longer than that, and she taught us all how to truly live life to the fullest.
(p.s. I'll still be checking in on you guys from time to time)
I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. It feels like another battle has been lost... Just hang in there. Be proud of yourselves, because I know you did everything humanly possible to help your mom. These kinds of losses hit me so hard; they always bring tears to my eyes. It’s devastating, and honestly, I struggle with it too. I lost my own mother back in March to stage IIIc ovarian cancer, and it hadn't even been ten full months since her diagnosis. There isn't much to say other than life can be so unfair and merciless. Stay strong. Sending you a huge virtual hug...
Amanda Miller69 said:It’s over. My father-in-law passed away about an hour and a half ago :-(
Please accept my deepest condolences. I am so incredibly sorry that another battle was lost and that illness has taken a member of your family. I really hope he's in a better place now, somewhere without any pain or suffering. You have some heavy days ahead of you. Just try to do your best to stay calm and avoid too much stress, if only for the sake of your baby...
wanderingtinker81 said:I'm so sorry about your mom. 😢
Thank you, I read up on his surgeries, they sound pretty radical and I don't know how she'd handle them, I'll talk to her.
If anyone else has advice or recommendations, please feel free to share.
Man, you always think these terrible things only happen to other people, then you realize nobody is immune. My mom was only 50, and genetics wasn't even an issue.
Hi everyone! It’s been a while since I posted, but I’m still following along here and praying for everyone who is sick. My mom was diagnosed with Stage IIIC ovarian cancer. Sadly, she didn't even make it ten full months after the diagnosis—surgery, one line of chemotherapy, then a second line of chemo, but unfortunately, nothing worked. The biggest hurdle was that she just didn't respond well to the chemo; her markers would dip slightly and then suddenly spike again. Her CA-125 markers were sitting between 1000 and 1500 back when she was still doing okay, but once she hit the terminal stage, it didn't really matter what the numbers were anymore, there was no point in testing. In my mom's case, it was metastatic (it spread to the omentum, basically the peritoneum), and the main issue was that the pathology report showed it was a mixed epithelial ovarian cancer, which responds very poorly to chemotherapy, which is why those markers stayed so high. The surgeon told us that this specific type is extremely rare, I think he mentioned it accounts for maybe 1% of all ovarian cancers. Mom took so much stuff to boost her immunity, everything from Solgar Beta-glucan, Solgar vitamins, raw propolis, Graviola, honey with pollen, beet juice, aronia juice... we even tried hemp oil. We tried absolutely everything, from alternative remedies to the help of white-coat specialists, but sadly, nothing helped. You all have to believe things will be okay. Fight through it and be there for your moms, because every single day is a new battle, a new start. Don't let her sink into depression; we barely talked to my mom about the illness (I didn't see the point in dwelling on it constantly), we just looked at photo albums and watched old movies together... I know of some really beautiful success stories where people in that same stage managed to get several more good years out of life. Sending love to everyone. Just know that I'm following and reading every day, and I empathize with all of you. My pain from losing my mom grows deeper every day; yesterday marked five months since she passed, but it feels like she was right here just yesterday...
Zachary Howard2, you really made my day with the news about your little one on the way. I am just so incredibly happy for you. I think after all these years, it’s still just as hard, isn't it? Missing your parents feels just as heavy as that very first day they left you. I miss my Mom so much, and honestly, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that she's gone. I find myself reaching for the phone constantly, just wanting to call her and check in. Things have been hitting me really hard lately. Over Easter, a colleague of mine passed away—she was born in '70. She fought an autoimmune disease, systemic Lupus, for a month, and it just absolutely destroyed her. In those final days, she was in so much pain; her kidneys failed and she had severe ascites building up in her abdomen. It was so similar to how my Mom spent her last days. One minute, this woman is working, running around, rushing through hallways to get everything done, and the next, she's just gone. And now, I just found out a cousin of my Mom's has uterine cancer and is waiting on surgery. I don't know, maybe it's because my own wounds are still so fresh, but it all just hits harder. Zachary Howard2, I'm so glad to hear your father-in-law is doing okay. I really hope he handles this round of chemo well and gets to stay with you all for a while longer—long enough to meet the new baby joining your family. I can just picture you all taking photos with him alongside the kids' birthday cakes.
To my dear online friends. My Mom passed away just over two weeks ago. Life has dealt me a massive blow. The sadness, the pain, the emptiness... they are indescribably huge. Some people tell me that time heals all wounds, but I’d fix their phrasing—over time, you just learn how to live with that pain, and the feeling of grief and emptiness will always be there. On one hand, I feel hollow, like half of me died along with her, but on the other hand, I have this inner peace because I did everything I possibly could. I know I did my best to help her fight an enemy that was simply much stronger in the end. We tried everything, from expensive alternative treatments to standard medical care. In those final days, I gave whatever I could to try and help, and she knew that too, so I'm at peace with that side of things. Anyway, Mom left behind quite a lot of nutritional supplies, and I would love to give them to someone. I was thinking of taking them to a nursing home or some kind of foster care facility, but I wanted to offer them to you all first. She has some Ensure Plus left: strawberry flavor, 3 units, expiring 12/2015; vanilla, 8 units, expiring 12/2015; and chocolate, 21 units, expiring 02/2016. There's Nutridrink: vanilla, 2 units, one expiring 04/25/2015 and the other 05/24/2015; and chocolate, 2 units, expiring 08/03/2015. Then Supportan: cappuccino, 4 units, expiring 10/2015; tropical fruit, 2 units, expiring 12/2015; and chocolate, 1 unit, expiring 12/2015. And Fresubin: berry flavor, 5 units, expiring 02/2016; vanilla, 1 unit, expiring 10/2015; and apricot/peach, 1 unit, expiring 04/2015.
Also, Mom has an open container of Megestrol, though it's only been opened; its expiration date is 07/2017. I know it's used to stimulate appetite and it's pretty pricey, around $267. I'm not entirely sure what the Social Security Administration guidelines are regarding coverage for it, but if anyone knows an oncologist or needs this medication and can't afford it out of pocket, I'd be happy to give it to you. I'm honestly not sure who qualifies for it under insurance or if everyone who needs it actually gets it. So, if anyone is interested, please reach out. If nobody wants the supplements, I'll take the food to a nursing home or something similar, and I'll take the Megestrol back to the pharmacy. Warm wishes to everyone. Keep fighting, and don't give up. My Mom fought until her very last ounce of strength and she never surrendered, but unfortunately, despite all the effort, she lost the toughest battle of her life—a battle against a much more powerful foe.
Thank you all so much for the kind words and the encouragement. My Mom has finally found some peace. These last few days have been pure hell—the pain was just unbearable, even with everything they were giving her to keep her calm. She passed away at the hospital; we fought so hard to make sure they wouldn't discharge her before the very end. Mom fought until her very last breath and she never gave up. Just this past Sunday around 8:00, she told me—and they let us stay at the hospital as long as we wanted—that since it was Sunday, I should call her oncologist first thing tomorrow morning to ask why she was feeling so terrible. I told her I’d be there for her, and she just looked at me and said, "You won't forget, will you?" I told her I wouldn't. Then she says, "Don't forget to pick up that referral on March 23rd; I have to see the oncologist for a check-up, which is a week from tomorrow." She didn't even have diapers; they put a catheter in her Sunday morning, and then she passed away after midnight. She stayed so composed right until the finish line. I’ve been reading and following these forums, just like I followed the story of the late Vedran Sabad, and I’ll keep following you guys too. Even though my Mom is gone, you all have really gotten under my skin... My Mom's funeral is tomorrow, so please say a prayer for her soul tonight. Zachary Howard2, I'm so glad your father-in-law is handling the chemo well, and I truly hope the next round goes just as smoothly. goldensailor0, how is your sister doing? There hasn't been any news.
Hey everyone, just wanted to let you all know that my Mom passed away a little while ago, around 12:30 AM. She really wanted us to bring a priest by, so we had one with her today. She’s finally at peace now.
Thank God your father-in-law isn't in pain, that really means a lot. I imagine it feels even tougher when you guys are living so far away from them. I’m honestly just hoping the chemo can buy him some more time to be with you all.
My Mom was just throwing up all day yesterday, barely able to keep a tiny sip of water down before she's forced to vomit again. She's gotten so thin, yet her stomach is swollen from the tumors and the fluid buildup. They tried to drain the fluid yesterday, but they only got about a cup or two out—nothing compared to those liters they were pulling out of her before. The doctor told me that in the terminal stage, it's incredibly hard to puncture because the tumor mass creates these little pockets where the fluid gets trapped, so you can never truly get it all out during a procedure. My dear friends, please keep fighting for any shred of hope. I know there are beautiful cases where people, despite their illness, manage to live many wonderful years with great quality of life, but unfortunately, that won't be the case for my Mom. It hasn't even been ten full months since her diagnosis, and she's already in the terminal phase.
Thanks for the kind words. Yesterday, I ran into the doctor at the hospital—he actually came up to me since he’s been managing her care—and he told me straight out that there isn't much more we can do for Mom, other than managing her pain with meds and keeping her on an IV so she doesn't suffer from hunger or thirst. Mom's abdomen is getting pretty large and hard; you can actually feel exactly where the tumors are just by touching her, and it’s honestly horrific. The doctor mentioned there's some fluid buildup, too, but the tumors are taking up most of the space in her abdominal cavity. They can't even drain the fluid because there's just too much tumor mass in the way. Mom is vomiting a lot, and the doctor thinks the tumors have likely overtaken her digestive organs. He says we're looking at days, maybe even a week, before she leaves us. I pleaded with him to keep her in the hospital as long as possible because I honestly don't know how I'll cope once they discharge her to go home. I'm worried the fluid buildup will "suffocate" her since it keeps accumulating and they can't puncture it. I'm heading back to see her this afternoon, and I'm terrified of what state I'll find her in... . He also told me how sorry he is that the chemo didn't work, mostly because the pathology report shows it's a mixed tumor. I asked him how common that type is, and he said they're incredibly rare and you don't see them often. It really makes you think—what are the odds of getting cancer, and then what are the odds of it being that specific "type" where nothing works... Life is just cruel sometimes, writing these heartbreaking stories. I'm worried because she's sleeping so much. They're giving her Tramal drops for the pain, and she says those drops just knock her out. I just hope there's a quick end to all this misery, the pain, the suffering... watching someone else go through this agony is just devastating. I really hope the chemo helps my father-in-law, you know, extends his life and gives him at least some quality time. What has caused him to lose so much weight? Is he in any pain?
I talked to the doctor yesterday and she told me that the issue with Mom was based on the pathology report—the tumor was mixed, made up of different types of cells. No matter how many times they swapped out the chemo, they just couldn't get her into remission. It’s because certain chemo drugs only target specific types of cancer cells. I asked her if that was because it was caught at stage IIIIC, which might be why remission was out of reach, and she said while the stage matters, the way the chemo interacts with the cells is just as critical. Usually, the standard practice is surgery, then chemo, and once you hit remission, you go back in for a second surgery to clear out whatever is left, maybe some remaining spots. She mentioned there are beautiful cases where women in this stage still get to live a good quality life for a while, but unfortunately, that won't be the case for my Mom . I have to say, things really started heading downhill once she stopped the IV chemo and started taking Endoxan (that's the oral chemo pill). While she was on the IV stuff, the CT scans were always consistent, showing two spots on the liver—one at 1 cm and one at 3 cm—and it stayed like that for about six months. Her last chemo was on December 17th, and the CT scan on January 22nd already showed a ton of secondary growths on the liver; everything else seemed okay. Mom had surgery on May 22nd of last year, and now she's already in the terminal phase. Everything just happened way too fast. She said to me yesterday, maybe it feels worse for her because she's taking these pills every single morning and night, whereas when she was doing the IV chemo, she actually had some downtime to recover. I told her, well, maybe it's because it’s like being on constant chemo (I know I'm lying). Then she asks me why this fluid keeps building up, if it’s going to keep accumulating forever... I tell her they said there's a possibility (but I know it will). Then she asks *why* it happens, and I tell her I have no clue. She says she'll look it up on the internet, but I told her I already looked and couldn't find any real explanation, just something about blood pressure imbalances. I can't bring myself to tell her that her liver and kidneys are failing and it’s basically "total systemic failure." She also mentioned she has an appointment with the oncologist on March 23rd. I think once she sees those markers—which are bound to be sky-high—and if the oncologist tells her there's nothing more they can do, she’s going to completely fall apart. Part of me wants to tell her we don't need to check the markers anymore and we don't even need to drive her to see the specialist in the city, but I just can't say it. I simply can't voice it. It feels pointless to keep running these tests and driving to appointments when she's in the final stages. I can't believe how quickly it all unfolded. Just at the beginning of February, she was making sure I followed my diet and she said it wasn't even hard; she actually enjoyed it. She used to make noodles and homemade dough because she insisted kids should eat as little processed stuff as possible—too many preservatives and additives in store-bought food—so she’d make it from scratch for them. And don't even get me started on how much she did, from tending the garden to working in the woods. She and Dad would split wood, sometimes cutting 50 feet of wood for the winter just so we'd all be set. She could go out and pick up 20 pounds of porcini mushrooms in one go. We’d harvest two tons of potatoes and pass them out down the street because she always found a reason to give to someone. There was the guy on a tiny pension, the one who lost his job, the one whose wife left him, the one with three kids, the misunderstood gay man, the guy on social security... she had empathy for everyone. I used to tell her, "Mom, don't work so hard, if we run out of something we'll buy it," and she’d just say, "What's going to happen to this land if I leave it empty? You have to tend to it regardless, so it might as well grow something." And oh, the amount of baking she did for Christmas with everything she grew in the garden and fields... she used to say what kind of Christmas is it without cookies? She truly didn't deserve this, but God knows why. God takes His angels first. I just can't believe she's this sick. I keep hoping I'll wake up and it was all just a bad dream. Sometimes I dream that Nora (my daughter) and I come over to Mom's, and we're climbing the stairs—I'm carrying Nora—and Mom is clearing the hallway, smiling and happy just like she used to be. In the dream, she looks exactly like she did when she was healthy. It’s such a beautiful feeling, a wonderful dream, but unfortunately, it’s just a dream... So, I guess I kind of "suffocated" you all there—thanks to everyone who actually took the time to read my post. I just needed to get some things off my chest, and honestly, I feel a little lighter now.
I've been heading over to Mom's every single day. I'm spending as much time with her as humanly possible, even though I'd stay right there by her side just watching her sleep if I could...
Mom has been back in the hospital since Saturday. She was home for three days, from Tuesday until then, but things took a turn for the worse—fluid buildup again. They haven't had to do a puncture yet, so they’re saying it isn't critical just yet. She's on IV fluids and blood transfusions now. Her appetite is basically non-existent; she can barely eat anything. Her stomach is having a really hard time processing whatever she does manage to swallow, too much burping and frequent vomiting. I honestly don't know if that's from the fluid accumulation messing with her digestion or if it's the tumors themselves. Mom is in quite a bit of pain, but they have her on an IV and likely some pain meds because she says she’s just drifting off all day. Is this already reaching the terminal stage, or not quite there? Her mind is still sharp, though. Oops, I just hope this phase of suffering doesn't drag on for too long. Zachary Howard2, how is your father-in-law doing? goldensailor0, how's your sister doing?
Mom was finally discharged today. According to her discharge papers, they drained about 6 liters of fluid and she received some blood transfusions and IV fluids. So, there's this specific line in the report that says: Ultrasound via probe: abundant free fluid with significant carcinosis. Does that mean the cancer has spread throughout the entire abdomen?
Angela Wright said:Maya and I dealt with that exact same fear. Honestly, what really gets to you is when your sister starts telling you how my kids might lose me too soon... and believe me, that feeling? It’s way worse. 😢
I truly believe it’s awful when that feeling starts to "haunt" you. But honestly? I think it only happens because you're on this forum every single day. You're constantly facing people who are battling illness or dealing with their families, and you end up living through everyone else's pain and suffering day after day.
Thank you all so much for the kind words and all the replies. I spoke with the doctor yesterday, and she told me that the fluid is going to start building up again. She basically said we have to accept the reality that Mom’s hospital stays are going to happen more and more often. Apparently, her liver function is failing—which explains why her skin is already looking a bit yellow—and her kidneys are struggling too. To me, "weakened function" just sounds like a nicer way of saying things are slowly shutting down. When I asked if there was anything else we could actually do, she just said no, unfortunately. I mentioned that Mom has her follow-up with the oncologist on March 23rd, and the doctor just shrugged her shoulders, almost like she was implying it doesn't really matter anymore. She said they’ve stabilized Mom for now and provided the best care possible, but also noted that Mom is incredibly depressed. She warned me not to keep asking her how she’s feeling, because she isn't doing well and won't be getting better. She suggested we stop talking about the illness altogether and stick to brighter topics instead. Maybe bring a friend over that she loves chatting with. I also asked if we could bring the grandkids to the hospital—my sister's little one is almost two, and mine is 16 months—since seeing them brings her so much joy, and the doctor said yes. Usually, they don't allow kids that small during visits. She also mentioned that Mom isn't eating or drinking nearly enough. We haven't told Mom the whole truth. We just told her the doctor said she’s stable for now, but that the fluid will likely build up again (she needs to know that part) and that she needs to eat more. At certain moments, I think she’s aware of what’s happening, but then a moment later, it’s like she truly believes she’s going to get well. I mean, she told me yesterday that her glasses are weak, but once she gets through this and the disease goes into remission, she’ll probably need to get a new pair made. I am so proud of my mother. I feel so lucky and thankful to God that He gave her to me, but somehow, I’ve always lived with this fear that she would leave us too soon. I don't know where that fear came from, but it's just been there with me for a long, long time.
Amanda Miller69 said:With my Mom (same cancer and stage), it started building up again, really fast. They told me either fluid would fill her lungs and she’d suffocate, or her liver would fail and she’d just drift off... and that's exactly what happened. She just fell asleep. I know exactly how you feel. It was the same for me. You know deep down it's the end and there's no help coming, yet at the exact same time, you feel totally helpless because there isn't a single thing you can do to make it easier on her. To be honest, I actually prayed to God to just take her, so she wouldn't have to suffer. And when it finally happened, as much as it hurt, I felt such a massive sense of relief knowing she wasn't in pain anymore.
So, how long did your Mom live after the fluid started building up? I just can't wrap my head around the fact that she won't be here much longer. I'm still holding out for a miracle. I guess there's some truth to that saying that hope is the last thing to die. My Mom is still so young—way too young to go this December (right around Christmas Eve). She just turned 57, and I'm only 31. There was so much more I wanted to learn from her (making traditional dumplings, sewing, crocheting...), so many things left unsaid hanging in the air. She had such big plans, like teaching her grandkids the language, taking them to folk dancing, watching them grow, playing with them... just enjoying them... 🙂
Angela Wright said:After years of fighting a brutal battle against colon cancer, we lost one of our own yesterday. Our friend Vedran passed away. He was truly one of a kind... I’ve been following his fight since day one. He shared everything with us—the whole journey, every single fear, every realization, all that pain he went through. He’d come to us looking for a little support, but man, he gave back so much more than anyone could ask for in return. He wanted to live so badly, but in the end, all he really wanted was to pass away peacefully... and they say he did. He left happy, they say... he left at peace. Heaven gained an incredible soul, and we lost our biggest advocate. Vedran, thank you for touching my life, too. Rest in peace, buddy. May the earth rest lightly upon you. 😢
News like this just hits me hard. The tears start flowing before I can even process it... Rest in peace...