Started by casualpanther1 · · 👁 153 views · 1.9K replies
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Angela Wright;16025110 said:If there aren't any metastases, things look good, so I really don't get what the oncologist is thinking]🤷
I completely agree with everything gentlemoose62 said!👍
Thanks so much for all the support... but honestly, what am I supposed to do when I need an oncologist's referral and they refuse to give one unless I pay out of pocket? $3000 Where would I even get that kind of money... to hell with all this bureaucracy!
Nancy Thomas18 said:
I truly appreciate all the support here... but honestly, what am I supposed to do when the oncologist refuses to provide the recommendation I need unless I pay out of pocket? $3000 Where on earth would I get that kind of money?
To hell with this bureaucracy.
frozencobra25 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Just another wonderful man who was loved by everyone, taken by a glioblastoma that unfairly crashed into our lives on May 9, 2007, changing everything forever.
My father was a hero who fought until his very last breath, and until that final moment, he was surrounded by me and my mother. He finally fell asleep, exhausted and worn out, leaving his struggling body behind. To put it simply—he’s finally free.
Everything still feels a bit surreal. No matter how much I knew how this would end, or how much I mentally prepared myself for this exact moment, it still arrived far too soon.
I am just so incredibly grateful that Mom and I were able to share these past few years living through the most beautiful moments with him. He knew that, too; he was never alone. He was always surrounded by the people he needed most and loved him most.
A massive thank you goes out to Angela Wright, a guide who truly knows how to choose her words, speaking with the empathy of someone who has walked this same difficult path.
Thank you.
frozencobra25;16032173 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
He finally fell asleep, exhausted and worn out, leaving behind a body that had struggled so much. In one word—he's free...
Like you said... he just drifted off and left that tired, hurting body behind. His soul and his memory will stay with you forever...
My deepest condolences.
frozencobra25 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Another incredible man who was loved by everyone succumbed to a glioblastoma—a disease that forced its way into our lives on May 9, 2007, and changed everything forever.
My father was a hero who fought until his very last breath, and he spent those final moments surrounded by me and my mother. He finally fell asleep, exhausted and worn out, leaving behind a body that had been through hell. In a single word: he’s free.
Everything still feels a bit surreal. No matter how much I knew how this would end, or how much I tried to brace myself for the moment, it still arrived far too soon.
I am just so grateful that Mom and I were able to share these past few years making beautiful memories with him. He knew he was never alone; he was always wrapped in the love of the people who mattered most.
I want to send a massive thank you to Angela Wright, a guide who knows exactly how to speak when she’s clearly walked in our shoes.
Thank you.
frozencobra25 said:My father lost the hardest battle of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Another wonderful man, loved by everyone, succumbed to a glioblastoma that unfairly forced its way into our lives on May 9, 2007, changing everything forever.
My father was a hero who fought until his very last breath, and until that moment, he was surrounded by me and my mother. He finally fell asleep, exhausted and worn out, leaving behind a body that had endured so much. In one word—he is free.
Everything still feels somewhat surreal; no matter how much I knew how the fight would end, or how much I prepared myself for this exact moment, it arrived far too soon.
I am just grateful that Mom and I were able to share such beautiful moments with him over this past year. He knew he was never alone; he was always surrounded by the people he needed most and those who loved him most.
A huge thank you goes to Angela Wright, a guide who chose her words with the empathy of someone who has walked this same difficult path.
Thank you.
frozencobra25 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Just another incredible soul who was loved by everyone, taken by a glioblastoma that crashed into our lives back on May 9, 2007, and turned everything upside down.
My father was a true hero who fought until his very last breath, and he spent those final moments surrounded by me and my mom. He finally drifted off, exhausted and worn out, leaving behind a body that had just been through too much. In one word—he’s free.
Everything still feels a bit surreal; no matter how much I knew how this would end, or how much I tried to mentally brace myself for the impact, the moment still hit way too soon.
I’m just so grateful that Mom and I got to share these beautiful moments with him over this past year, and he knew it—he never once felt alone because he was wrapped in the love of the people who mattered most.
A massive thank you goes out to Angela Wright, a guide who truly knows how to say the right things, speaking like someone who has actually walked this heavy path themselves.
Thanks.
frozencobra25 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Everything still feels a little surreal. No matter how much I knew how this was going to end, or how much I braced myself for it, the moment still hit me way too soon.
Grace Fowler said:Hi there!!
Well, here I am after what has been an undeniably frantic week. I have spent my days racing all over town—essentially sprinting from one hospital to another—just to expedite getting these test results back. Thank Bog for the wonderful people who assisted me during my little crusade... So, here is the current state of affairs: the chest X-ray report is finalized, the abdominal ultrasound is also set, and now the gynecological surgeon is leaning toward a supposed "abscess"—which really means they want to attempt an ultrasound-guided biopsy... and then, once that’s done, you simply wait for the surgeon to call you back, which is just lovely...:-(. To make matters worse, my dear abdominal surgeon got stuck in surgery today like some sort of curse and hasn't emerged all day... his assistant finally deigned to speak to me after a few hours only to say: "We will contact you when a slot opens up for the biopsy"... though I can't be entirely certain if even that method will actually detect anything. "Just go home... and wait..." was the gist of it. I left the hospital feeling rather irritated and generally unsettled by the whole ordeal. But as I was walking back to my car, that one furious thought popped into my head again... I CAN'T TURN THIS GOAT INTO A COW, BUT AT LEAST I'M DOING FINE HERE... I sat in the car, put on my favorite CD, and made my way home with much better vibes...
So, my dear friends, WE KEEP MOVING.........
Best regards, From Drag Din :-)
Lisa White54 said:How foolish I was to believe we had actually won, even though I am far too immersed in this disease to be naive about it... But one tends to believe exactly what they want to believe. Perhaps I simply had my reasons; my husband truly seemed to be doing so well.
On Wednesday, he was admitted to the clinic in Jordan. The cancer has returned. It’s back in the exact same spot as it was four years ago. They are scheduled to perform a bronchoscopy on Monday, so we will see where things stand then. Today he'll likely start receiving treatment because of a pleural effusion.
It is just terrible.
It has knocked the wind right out of me once again. Only, it isn't anything like it was four years ago. Not by a long shot. My husband isn't even close to being what he was—physically or mentally—during that previous stretch. I have no idea how he will react when he finds out, since they haven't told him yet.
Nancy Thomas18 said:Hi everyone, I haven't posted in quite a while because my CT scan results were absolutely devastating. Apparently, there aren't any metastases, yet there is fluid in the abdomen and nestled within the coils of the small intestine... everyone just seems to be shrugging their shoulders at me... the surgeon requested a PET scan, but the oncologist doesn't think it's necessary... or rather, they won't recommend it, and my stomach is essentially being squeezed out of place... I truly don't know what to do... I'm losing heart...
frozencobra25;16032173 said:
My dad was a total hero. He fought until his very last breath, and he wasn't alone—he had me and my mom right there by his side through all of it. He finally just drifted off, exhausted and worn out, leaving that struggling body behind. In a word? He’s at peace.
I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.
I was at the hospital with my husband yesterday, and man, I thought my heart was actually going to snap. Seeing him just staring off, looking so scared... it kills you. I’m sitting there acting like I’ve got it all together, trying to be the strong one for him, when honestly? I feel like screaming my head off. I cried all night long. Even the kids were crying, everyone just retreated into their own little corners, lost in their own worlds..
It’s heavy. Like, really heavy. But I’m not folding. I’ve got that grit in me.
The doctor is coming by today, so we'll see what the verdict is. Last week they needed to drain some fluid from his lungs, but they didn't get to it. They’re supposed to do it under ultrasound guidance this time. Who knows what's gonna happen.
frozencobra25 said:My dad lost the hardest fight of his life this morning at 6:10 AM.
Another wonderful man, loved by everyone, succumbed to a glioblastoma that unfairly forced its way into our lives on May 9, 2007, and changed everything forever.
My father was a true hero who fought until his very last breath, and until that final moment, he was surrounded by me and my mother. He finally fell asleep, exhausted and worn out, leaving behind a body that had been through so much. In one word—he is free.
Everything still feels a little surreal; no matter how much I knew how this battle would end, or how much I tried to prepare myself for this specific moment, it still arrived far too soon.
I am just so incredibly grateful that Mom and I were able to share these past few years experiencing the most beautiful moments with him, and he knew it—he was never alone, always surrounded by the people he needed most and those who loved him most deeply.
A huge thank you goes out to Angela Wright, a guide who spoke with such grace, choosing words that felt like they came from someone who truly understood our pain.
Thank you.
Nancy Hernandez43 said:My family and I are going through that same fear right now—wondering if we missed something or if we're just being too optimistic. We have a PET/CT scan scheduled in two days. My dad went over the recent test results, and honestly, it’s so hard watching him act like everything is fine while you can tell he's terrified inside. I totally get that shock and disbelief you're feeling. A couple of days ago, I finally stopped looking through rose-colored glasses and started bracing myself for whatever comes next.
Stay strong!
Nancy Hernandez43 said:My family and I are hitting that same wall right now—that constant, nagging fear that we’re missing something obvious, like we’re just closing our eyes and praying we aren't wrong. We've got a PET/CT scan scheduled for two days from now. My dad finally saw the latest test results, but man, it's rough watching him try to act like he believes everything is fine while you can clearly see the terror in his eyes. So yeah, I totally get that shock and the panic and the "this can't be happening" feeling you're going through. I finally took off the rose-colored glasses a couple of days ago, and now I'm just bracing for impact.
Hang in there, stay strong!
