Support resources for families dealing with cancer and other serious illnesses

Angela Wright said:Sweetie, I am so incredibly sorry. 😢
It wasn't just something that popped up two weeks ago. The tumor had been there for a while, slowly progressing and spreading, and it only really got a formal diagnosis once the metastases started causing real trouble. Unfortunately, I suspect we're looking at aggressive small cell lung cancer. The statistics are brutal when the disease has spread this far, but stats are just curves—they have two ends and a middle. No one can say for certain where Mom sits on that curve right now. She’s going to start treatment and take whatever shot she gets. There isn't any other choice; you can't just crawl out of your own skin. You need to be her rock and realize that any outbursts of anger or uncharacteristic behavior are just the illness talking. If you want to go see her, go if it’s truly what you want, talk things through, and set expectations, but you have to pace yourself. As much as she is your mom and the most important person in the world, right now, your baby is the priority, and you have to put that first. I'm sure she wants that for you too, so don't make things harder on yourself. Try to get through the rest of this pregnancy in peace, and see if you can organize things so Dad gets some help without placing the entire burden on your shoulders.
Hang in there and stay strong.

Eight days ago, Mom told Dad she didn't want me coming around and causing stress, especially since my pregnancy is considered high-risk. But today, Dad tells me she hasn't even asked about anyone for three days; she just spends her time blaming him for everything. It reached a point where she actually asked him which hospital she was in, or she'd ask for his thermometer and claim she was lying on it (???)... honestly, it sounds like hallucinations. What is happening? And then I remembered—the doctor told Dad today that she might slip into a coma and never wake up (??!!!). Is it because she isn't eating? It's almost like she's made peace with dying, like she's just waiting for it...😢
The other day she asked him to pick up some Radenska (the one with the three hearts), so Dad drove all over town trying to find it. When he finally brought it to her, she snapped that she didn't want it and never even asked for it. She's treating him like a fool, God help him. He's taking it all so hard, and he's already struggling with high blood pressure and heart issues himself..
What's worst of all is they live alone (I'm in a different city), and he's being forced to look for a facility for her because he just can't manage this—especially since she's still immobile—and he doesn't even know how to cook...
I honestly can't believe any of this is happening. Looking back, I'm starting to recognize those "symptoms," but still... how does it all happen so fast? Cancer really is a silent killer.
And thank you for the reply... it means so much...

What’s actually the worst part? It’s this crushing feeling that we’ve somehow let her down... and honestly, half the time we just want to bang our heads against a wall out of pure frustration. But then, she’s all we can think about. We're constantly searching for an answer, some way to fix this, some idea of what comes next or how to help her. Then, when we see she isn't even willing to fight anymore—it just pulls us under even deeper. It feels like she’s just given up and is waiting for the end.
I don't even know who I'm supposed to be crying for right now......

She pushes everyone away. She doesn't ask about any of us... she won't even engage with Dad.

Linda Morales66 said:Just eight days ago, Mom told Dad she didn't want me coming around because it was too stressful—and since I have a high-risk pregnancy, I have to be careful. But today, Dad tells me she hasn't asked about anyone for three days; she just sits there accusing him of everything under the sun. It’s reached the point where she’s asking which hospital she’s in, searching for a thermometer, and insisting she’s lying on top of it (???) ...it's like she's having hallucinations or something. Now, Dad mentioned the doctor said there's a chance she could slip into a coma and never wake up (??!!!)—is that because she isn't eating? It's like she's already made peace with dying, almost like she's just waiting for it to happen...😢
The other day, she asked him to buy her some Dasani (the one with the three hearts), so Dad spent half the city hunting for it, only for her to tell him she doesn't want it and never even asked for it. He's being treated like a total fool, God help him... he's taking all of this incredibly hard, especially since he struggles with high blood pressure and heart issues himself..
To make matters worse, they live alone in their apartment (I'm in a different city), and he's forced to look for a facility for her because he can't handle this on his own—especially since she still can't move! Plus, he doesn't know how to cook...
I honestly can't believe any of this is happening... looking back now, I'm starting to recognize those "symptoms," but still... how can it happen so fast? Cancer really is that silent killer!!!
And thanks for the reply... it means a lot...

Linda Morales66 said:What's even worse is this feeling that we're abandoning her... part of us just wants to bang our heads against a wall, yet Mom is all we can think about. We're constantly searching for a solution, wondering what to do next, how to help her?? But when we see she has no desire to fight, we just sink even deeper... it's like she's surrendered and is just waiting...
I don't even know who I should be crying for more right now......

She rejects us all, won't ask about anyone... she just brushes Dad off...

I am so incredibly sorry things are this bad... I fear Mom might have entered the terminal phase where everything starts to fade out. It hurts to tell you this, but it seems to be the reality. I know the diagnosis itself is enough of a shock, let alone finding out she's in the final stages. Please, make sure Dad tries to get her into a decent facility where she can receive proper palliative care. He definitely isn't equipped to handle this alone, and even if you were in the same city, you couldn't be nursing a patient like this given your pregnancy. Just try to spend time with her as much as your health allows. I know how devastating this is; I went through the exact same thing with my mother while dealing with a complicated pregnancy and a premature birth.
For Dad, you might be able to arrange for a meal delivery service to drop food off at the house every day for a small fee. It’s pretty practical and lets him eat a decent meal at home without the stress.
Honey, goodbyes are heartbreaking, especially with parents and especially when it happens so suddenly, but as hard as it is, it's a natural part of life, just like the anticipation of your little one arriving. I hope you can face all of this with peace in your heart. I truly hope your mother lives to see her grandchild born. My mother, unfortunately, didn't get to see that, even though she wanted nothing more in the world.
Be brave and trust that inner strength you carry. You have more power within you than you could ever possibly imagine.

Angela Wright said:I am just so incredibly sorry things are this bad... I’m terrified that Mom has entered the terminal stage where everything starts slowly shutting down. It breaks my heart to have to tell you that, but it looks that way. I know the diagnosis alone is enough of a shock, let alone finding out she’s in her final stages. I really hope Dad can find a decent facility where she can get all the palliative care she needs. He’s definitely not equipped to handle this on his own, and even if you lived in the same city, you certainly couldn't be nursing a patient like this while you're pregnant. Just try to spend as much time with her as your body allows. I know how brutal this is; I went through this with my own mother while dealing with a high-risk pregnancy and premature labor.
For Dad, you might be able to arrange for some meal delivery service—like DoorDash or a local meal prep company—to drop off food at his house for a small fee. It’s pretty practical and lets him eat a decent meal at home without the stress.
Honey, goodbyes are devastating, especially with parents and especially when it happens so suddenly, but as hard as it is, it’s part of life, just like the anticipation of your little one arriving. I hope you can face all of this with peace in your heart. I truly hope your Mom lives to see her grandchild born. My mother didn't get that chance, though she wanted nothing more in the world.
Stay strong and trust your inner resilience. You have more than you realize.

Thank you so much for the comfort and the kind words... So, they called Dad this morning telling him to head to the hospital around 2 p.m. to pick her up and figure out where she was being transferred... He’s been running around since dawn, trying to coordinate a facility and everything, only to get to the hospital and have the nurse tell him to wait because the doctor still needs to talk to him... Basically, since she isn't mobile (they didn't provide those two aides who were supposed to help her stand up), and apparently radiation would "finish her off" because she wouldn't be able to walk at all (meaning—they said she’d likely be completely immobile from then on)—the medical board changed their minds. Now they want to go ahead with surgery (something involving the collarbone??), and after that, maybe some physical therapy to start... I don't have the actual medical diagnosis on paper yet, so I can't be more specific... everything I'm hearing is just what Dad tells me—and they are trying to keep it as simple as possible for him...
After that, she would start radiation...
All this would probably extend her hospital stay by another ten days or so...
Dad has put the nursing home plans on hold for now... and I guess it’s a relief for him too, because it feels like they've offered a glimmer of hope... As for Mom? After she heard the news about the decision, she actually managed to eat a little bit (thank God!!!)... Now I'm wondering if the whole thing was a massive shock to her too... though, I'm trying to be realistic, and it feels like this might just be slightly prolonging the inevitable agony, right?

Oh, and Dad mentioned he saw them marking both hips with arrows; does that mean that's where the radiation goes?? Ugh, this ignorance and having to deal with all this second-hand information is killing me...

Hey again, I've been a bit MIA lately... So, here's the update: Dad finally made it back home from Washington, D.C., but he wasn't even settled for a week before the ER had to show up five different times—so he ended up being transferred to a hospital in Miami. His blood work was looking pretty rough, which makes sense since he hasn't been eating or drinking anything at home; while he was out in D.C., they were able to keep him on an IV and give him everything he needed. Even so, they sent him home just a month after he was admitted, despite it being less than two weeks since his second amputation.
About that shadow on his lungs—the one they spotted after the pulmonary embolism even though his markers were negative back then—they did a biopsy the day before yesterday. We won't have those results until next week, but he actually developed a pneumothorax, so he's in the ICU right now. Honestly, physically he seems okay while they're running his IV and all that, he's just a little out of it here and there—but he’s on Seroquel, so that’s probably why. I'm really praying that spot on the lung doesn't mean anything bad; he doesn't have a fever or a cough, it just showed up after the embolism when it wasn't there before.

My heart goes out to all of you and your loved ones—hang in there, stay strong, keep the faith, and just be there for them.

God, there are just so many heartbreaking stories here 😢

Dad called me this morning and even swung by my place (after visiting Mom at the hospital). He’s having a really hard time himself... it’s honestly devastating... but we managed to steer the conversation away from Mom's illness for a bit, which gave him a little spark of life again. I’m just so relieved to see him smile, even if briefly..
And yeah,let me correct myself from my previous post—they aren't operating on her collarbone; it's actually that hairline fracture in her left hip. They're moving her from the pulmonary ward over to surgery today, so then comes the whole gauntlet of pre-op testing..
I asked Dad what kind of meds they're giving her, but he's clueless. He just said a nurse comes by, hands out the pills, and leaves. Plus, there isn't any paperwork near the bed for him to read; her entire medical history is tucked away in some thick folder kept by the staff... he's just completely overwhelmed and disoriented, so I worry he might be mishearing or misinterpreting things when he talks to the doctors..
Mom barely ate anything today—literally just a tiny bit of semolina porridge. She even asked him what she signed for the doctors yesterday... Oh God, how much has this illness taken hold if she can't even remember that???! Or is she starting to hallucinate??
Dad also mentioned she has these two patches stuck on her chest; he says they look transparent, but then claims one is red and the other is blue(??) ..honestly, I'm totally lost... 🤷
I'm just feeling so heavy-hearted... it's wild how much everything has shifted in just two weeks... (even though, let's face it, this has clearly been dragging on for a long, long time)

Dad’s calling again... they reached out to him from the hospital because he needs to sign off on her hip surgery since Mom isn't in any state to make decisions for herself right now...
Oh my God, listening to Dad cry over the phone is just... he's looking to me for some kind of reassurance because this whole thing is clearly weighing on him so heavily. He’ll sign the papers, obviously...

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Linda Morales66 said:God, there are just so many heartbreaking stories being shared here. 😢

Dad called me this morning and actually made the trip out to see me after he finished visiting Mom. It’s been incredibly heavy on him lately—he's really struggling, and honestly, it's just heartbreaking to watch. But we managed to steer the conversation away from Mom's illness for a little while, which seemed to lift his spirits just enough to bring some life back into him. I'm so relieved to see that tiny spark again.
And yeah,Let me just correct myself regarding my previous post. They aren't doing the collarbone surgery on my mom after all; they're focusing on that fractured left hip instead. She’s being moved from the pulmonary ward over to surgery today, so now it's just a waiting game while they run all those pre-op tests.
I asked my dad what kind of meds they’re giving her, but he’s completely clueless. He just says a nurse shows up, hands over the pills, and leaves. There isn't even a chart by the bed for him to look at because the hospital keeps all those records tucked away in some massive file somewhere. Honestly, he’s so disoriented and confused right now that I’m worried he’s mishearing the doctors or totally misinterpreting everything they tell him.
Mom basically ate nothing today besides some grits and an egg, and then she had the nerve to ask him what exactly she signed for the doctors yesterday... My God, if she can't even remember that, how bad has this illness actually taken hold? Or are we looking at full-blown hallucinations at this point?
My dad is telling me he’s got two of those patches stuck on his chest—he says they look almost transparent, but then one is red and the other is blue? Honestly, I can’t make heads or tails of any of this... 🤷
Honestly, I’m feeling pretty down about all of this... It feels like everything shifted so abruptly over the last two weeks, though if you really look closely, the rot has clearly been setting in for a long, long time.

Linda Morales66 said:Dad's getting calls again... the hospital reached out to him because he needs to sign off on her hip surgery. Since Mom isn't in any position to make medical decisions on her own right now, the responsibility falls on him.
Oh my God, listening to Dad cry over the phone is just gut-wrenching. He’s practically begging me for confirmation; he's so rattled by this whole situation that he can't think straight. He’ll sign it, of course—he always does—but it's hard to watch him break down like this.

My mom is using Duragesic patches to manage her pain. Each patch comes in a different color to signify the specific dosage and how much fentanyl is being released per hour. It’s a bit of a minefield because the side effects can be pretty intense—we're talking everything from disorientation and depression to anxiety and even hallucinations. Honestly, all of that could easily be attributed to the Duragesic itself. It’s a total catch-22; unfortunately, it's just one of those necessary evils you have to deal with.
Mom is going to go through with those palliative procedures—even that palliative radiation meant to slow the disease down. The whole point isn't to cause more harm; it’s about improving her quality of life and making things as easy as possible for her during this stage.
Everyone needs to pull themselves together. I get that this is heavy and you’re all feeling pretty desperate, but what happened, happened—now you just have to deal with the reality of it. Is there anyone who can step up and help Dad out so he isn't stuck dealing with this entirely on his own? It's obvious he’s incredibly emotional and deeply attached to her, and if he hits a breaking point and spirals into depression, we’re going to be facing an even bigger disaster on our hands.

Chloe Gray5 said:Hey again, I’ve been offline for a bit... Here’s the latest: Dad finally made it home from Washington, D.C., but he didn't last even a week before the ER had to show up five different times. Eventually, they sent him over to the hospital in Miami. His blood work was looking pretty rough, which is why he needed inpatient care—he hasn't been able to eat or drink anything at home, whereas while he was in D.C., they were keeping him hydrated with IVs and everything else he needed. Even so, they tried to discharge him just a month after his admission, despite it being less than two weeks since his second amputation..
Regarding that shadow on his lungs that showed up after the pulmonary embolism—even though the markers were negative back then—they performed a puncture the day before yesterday. We won't have the results until next week, but he developed a pneumothorax, so he’s currently in the ICU. Honestly, physically speaking, he seems okay while he's getting his IV fluids and meds, but he’s a bit disoriented; he’s on Seroquel, so that’s likely why. I’m just praying that spot on the lung doesn't mean anything bad; he doesn't have a fever or a cough, it just appeared after the embolism when nothing was there before..

My heart goes out to all of you and your loved ones. Hang in there, stay strong, keep the faith, and just be there for them!

Hang in there, honey. The main thing is that he’s under medical supervision now. They’ll get him patched up and he'll be back home before you know it. How is he handling everything else, specifically the amputation?

Angela Wright said:Hang in there, sweetie. The main thing is he’s in the hospital now. They’ll get him patched up and he’ll be back home before you know it. How's he actually handling everything—you know, the amputation?

It’s hard to tell how he’s doing mentally. He’s been on constant Seroquel for a while, so he hasn't really been himself lately. He gets pretty lost—rambling about stuff from way back, even hallucinating a bit. When he talks, he just stares around the room instead of looking us in the eye... unless I specifically ask him to look at me, then he’ll make eye contact and give me a little wink..

He keeps asking us to bring him crutches so he can walk—even though he knows deep down he's missing a leg—but I guess in his head, he thinks he can manage with those and the one leg he has left. It feels like he still has that spark and wants to find a way through, but they aren't giving him the Seroquel for nothing; he's restless and probably a bit high-strung, so they're just trying to keep him calm.

And since he's dealing with a pressure sore, he's in pain and just wants to move around—he's restless at night, too. Plus, he's got a chest tube right now because of a pneumothorax, so they might have bumped up his dose, and he's restrained again. I get that it's all for his own good, but I really hope they can eventually get him off the Seroquel so he can actually face reality properly and start moving forward.
We keep telling him how much we love him and how grateful we are that he's still here with us—honestly, it's a miracle he survived all that. I think he wants to be here with us too, and he loves us... I just hope that's enough to pull him through.

Chloe Gray5 said:We tell him all the time how much we love him and how lucky we feel to have him by our side. Honestly, considering everything he’s been through, it’s nothing short of a miracle that he survived at all. I truly believe he wants to be part of this family and that he loves us too, so I just hope that connection is enough to carry him through.

That's really what matters most here. 🙂
He'll start tapering off the Seroquel gradually as things stabilize. Since he’s already quite aware of his own limitations, I'm confident he'll handle that transition just fine.

Dad got moved to a regular ward today—can't wait to go see him. He wasn't on the Seroquel yesterday, and honestly, he seemed totally himself.
We were just sitting there telling him how much we love him and how pumped we are to get him back home. Then, out of nowhere, he starts spinning this story about some guy who passed away... basically saying his kids didn't realize how much they needed him until it was too late. He even went as far as giving the guy a specific name—he definitely made the whole thing up on the spot.
I can't tell if he’s trying to hint that he’s worried about being a burden to us??
It feels like we haven't spent a single day without running to the hospital for the last few months—usually several times a day.
Between the bathing, the repositioning, the massages, the feeding, and just constant care... we've given him everything we have. It really hurts knowing there isn't anything else left for us to do.
So then, after he tells that little manufactured story, I just told him straight up that it had nothing to do with us and that we love him no matter what. He just kind of dropped it after that..

Angela Wright said:Mom has Fentanyl patches for the pain. Each of those two patches has its own color because they vary by dose and how much fentanyl is released per hour. Side effects include disorientation, depression, anxiety, and even hallucinations. So, all of that could be coming from the Fentanyl patch. Unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil.
Mom is going through palliative procedures now, including that palliative radiation meant to slow the disease down slightly without causing more harm—the goal is just to improve her quality of life and make things as comfortable as possible at this stage.
Everyone needs to try and pull yourselves together. I know it’s incredibly hard and you’re feeling desperate, but this is the reality, and you just have to deal with it. Is there anyone who can step in and spend some time with Dad so he isn't constantly alone? He’s clearly very emotional and deeply attached to her, and if he breaks down and falls into depression, the whole situation is going to get much worse.

John Smith, your words really mean a lot to us, and thank you again for sharing them...
I managed to talk to the doctor over Dad's cell phone (while he was at the hospital signing the consent forms for Mom's procedure)... even though I had a hundred questions, the doctor was very blunt, if realistic, telling us it's lung cancer that has spread throughout her entire body (??)... we know it has metastasized to the bones and looks like it's in the liver too... I don't know if he was confused or if there truly are that many metastases and the prognosis is just that grim that he said "throughout the body"... she still isn't eating and was on an IV... he said her condition is extremely critical...😢😢
I was also browsing some online health forums reading about lung cancer, and my God, there are so many heartbreaking stories.😢
It's tough on Dad, but we call him constantly and visit whenever we can... we're trying to talk to him more realistically, and we're staying strong for his sake because he's such an emotional person and this has been incredibly hard for him to take... we're currently considering whether he should come stay with us or if we should go to him for a while... this all caught us completely off guard.
I wish I could tell you exactly what Mom's diagnosis was, what tests she had done, or what medications she's on (since I see people posting here knowing their exact therapy, the specific stage of carcinoma, etc.), but we don't have any paperwork—Mom has been in the hospital since July 12th when the paramedics took her in... the doctors are curt, very brief, and always seem to be in a massive rush... I don't know... how can we find out all this information?? Is there any kind of supplement or remedy that might ease her pain and suffering? I don't know, maybe it sounds like we're giving up—but based on the diagnosis and the fact that she arrived so late in the process—does it even make sense to look for alternatives or anything else???? We feel like we're walking a path and have no idea where it's leading.

Visited Mom today, and honestly, Dad says there’s been a complete 180 regarding her
condition: 🙂 She actually managed some soup and a bit of lunch (yesterday, she wouldn't touch a thing). She was chatty and in good spirits, too—which is a massive change from yesterday when she was just mumbling under her breath, barely making sense. She even asked why she was moved to a different ward (she knows the surgery is coming up)... Dad mentioned she even went as far as fixing her hair. When Dad left, they had a really sweet goodbye.
The only complaint she had was about the pain. Apparently, since she’s on the surgical floor now, they aren't giving her the same meds she was getting over in Pulmonology???? So Dad had to call the nurse to get her an injection...

Is this a sign things are looking up? We are all so incredibly relieved; it feels like she’s already won before we've even started. It’s like she’s finally decided to fight!
Surgery is tomorrow

Linda Morales66 said:Dad visited Mom today and he said there was a complete 180-degree turn in her
condition: 🙂 She ate a little soup and some lunch (yesterday she had nothing at all), she was talkative and in good spirits (yesterday she was just mumbling briefly and incoherently under her breath), and she even asked why she was moved to a different ward (she knows surgery is coming up)... Dad says she even fixed her hair... When Dad left, they had a really lovely goodbye...
And yeah, her only complaint was that she was in pain (since she's on the surgical floor now, maybe they aren't giving her the same meds she was getting over in pulmonology????), so Dad called the nurse who gave her an injection...

Is this a sign things will get better? We are so happy, it’s like she pulled through before things even truly started... it's like she's decided to fight!!!!
The surgery is tomorrow

Of course it's an improvement—it's obvious they haven't given up on her since they're actually taking action.
Listen, regarding your first post about tonics and alternative stuff, I wouldn't advise anything right now, except maybe some supplements like beta glucan or native propolis. Honestly, I think most of that stuff causes more suffering than actual benefit. You guys are in such a vulnerable stage where you can easily be hooked by all sorts of sugary sales pitches full of pseudo-scientific jargon designed to sound heavy and serious, just so you'll buy some encapsulated "miracle" junk... believe me, I've been exactly where you are. If someone told me that feeding my mom crap would help, I'd probably shove it down their throat myself. But it doesn't work that simply. What Mom needs most right now is solid palliative care. That doesn't mean they've stopped fighting; it just means she isn't currently stable enough for curative medicine, making palliative care the best choice for her at this moment. If her condition stabilizes, she might become a candidate for other therapies.
I don't want to give you false hope; you have to realize what this disease is, and at this stage, talking about remission is incredibly difficult. This is a disease that spreads fast, and when the doctor said it's throughout the body, he meant it—especially with those major secondary masses on the liver and bones.
But let's take it one step at a time. First, get through the surgery, then we see how things go.
Hang in there.

Chloe Gray5 said:They moved Dad to a regular ward today, and I’m dying to see him. He wasn't on Seroquel yesterday, and he seemed completely himself.
We were sitting there telling him how much we love him and how badly we're looking forward to having him back home. Then, out of nowhere, he starts spinning this story about some guy who passed away—how his kids finally realized they actually needed him, whereas before, they didn't. He even went as far as giving the guy a specific name in his little made-up tale.
I can't help but wonder if he's trying to say he's afraid he's become a burden to us??
For the last few months, there hasn't been a single day where we didn't make trips to the hospital, usually several times a day.
We've done everything—bathing him, turning him, massaging him, feeding him, caring for him, loving him. It hurts knowing there isn't anything else we can do.
And then he drops that story on us yesterday, totally making it up on the spot. I just told him straight up that I didn't see what that had to do with us or the fact that we love him. After that, he just dropped the subject..

Poor man. He probably just needed some reassurance from you all that you aren't doing this because you have to, but strictly because you love him. I'm certain that's what it was.

Unfortunately, I find myself in this situation too. My dad was diagnosed with throat cancer that has already spread to his lymph nodes. Right now, radiation therapy is our only option, and we’re scheduled to start at the end of August. I lost so many tears trying to wrap my head around the fact that this could actually happen to my own father. I’m doing a bit better now, though I suppose that's mostly because he's holding up so incredibly well. You honestly wouldn't even realize he's sick.
Now we just have to gear up for the fight and figure out how to live with this reality for years to come. Maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I don't want to be anything else, and frankly, I can't afford to be. 🙂

Lisa Ward52 said:I’m stuck in this nightmare too, unfortunately. My dad was diagnosed with throat cancer that has already spread to his lymph nodes. Radiation is our only real option right now, but we aren't scheduled until late August. I spent so many nights crying before I finally had to face the reality that my dad could actually get sick. I'm doing better now, though part of that is just because he's holding up incredibly well. You wouldn't even know he was battling something.
Now we're gearing up for the fight and trying to figure out how to live with this for years to come. Maybe I'm being way too optimistic, but I don't have any other choice, and I refuse to try. 🙂

I don't want to nag you, but waiting for radiation without having surgery to address those metastases sounds like a dangerous amount of lost time.
Do everything in your power to get him seen by a specialist sooner!
And don't listen to anyone saying chemo isn't an option—ask the oncologist specifically about Erbitux!

Angela Wright said:I don't mean to nag you, but if he hasn't had surgery to address the metastases, I'm worried waiting for radiation might take too long.
Try everything in your power to get him scheduled for surgery sooner!
And it’s definitely not true that chemo isn't an option. Ask the oncologist about Erbitux!

We're trying to pull some strings here. We already handed his findings over to two other doctors, and now we're just waiting to see if they think surgery is even back on the table. The worst part is that everyone is on summer vacation right now, so getting hold of the right people is a nightmare. I guess I'm feeling a bit relieved that they actually ordered the radiation—it means there's at least some hope. My biggest fear was that they'd just say there's nothing left to do and tell us to prepare for the worst.