Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

This thread hits hard. It’s just pure sadness mixed with an endless supply of grit and courage. Sadly, a week ago, doctors told my grandmother there was a 99% chance she has bone sarcoma. They did X-rays on her skull and spine; her spine is in terrible shape, and they saw changes in her head too. Then they did a biopsy to confirm the diagnosis 100%, and casually mentioned it’s already at an advanced stage. I don't even know what to say anymore. The disbelief is overwhelming, even though I know she’s 83. But... I shouldn't go on about it. I think you guys get what I mean. It's a total shock. 😲 😢 🙂

p.s. Brenda Richardson33, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss..

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he's gone...
That's all I can manage to write right now because the pain tearing me apart is just too intense to put anything else into words... such an overwhelming, indescribable agony...🙂 😢 😳

My deepest condolences.

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he's gone...
For now, this is all I can manage to write because the pain tearing through me is just too intense to put anything else into words... such an overwhelming, indescribable agony...🙂 😢 😳

Honey, I am so incredibly sorry... I don't even know what to say, but the Lord has smiled upon his weary body and soul. My dear, he died happy because he had you—because he loved you endlessly, and you loved him right back. Hold your head high and take comfort in knowing you did everything humanly possible for him. I know how heavy this feels right now, but time will pass and eventually the sharp edge of this pain will dull, leaving only the beautiful memories behind. Let yourself feel the grief; let it out and cry for him. Release all that pent-up sorrow so it can drain away... life keeps moving forward, and there is a whole life ahead of you, watched over by a new angel in heaven looking down on you!
My thoughts are with you😘

urbangull25 said:this thread is just heavy... it's pure sadness, mixed with this endless supply of strength, fighting spirit, and sheer courage. Honestly, just a week ago, doctors told my grandmother there was a 99% chance she has bone sarcoma. They ran X-rays on her skull and spine; her spine is in absolute shambles, and they’re seeing changes in her head too. After that, they did a biopsy to get a definitive 100% diagnosis... and then, almost as an afterthought, they mentioned it's already in an advanced stage. I don't even know what else to say. The disbelief is massive, even though I realize—or at least I try to tell myself—that she’s 83. But still... I can't go on writing about this, I think you all understand what I mean. It's a total shock on every level. 😲 😢 🙂

p.s. Brenda Richardson33, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss..

No matter how old someone is, saying goodbye is always gut-wrenching and heavy, especially when they have to go out like this.
My dear, your grandmother is elderly, and with older patients, illnesses often progress differently. She may still have a few more years of quality life left. It’s best to focus on the fact that she’s lived a full life and, eventually, she will pass from old age. Just try your absolute best to maximize her quality of life and give her as much comfort as you possibly can.
Hang in there.😘

Brenda Richardson33, I am so sorry
Please accept my sincere condolences.

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he is gone...
For now, this is all I can manage to write—because the pain tearing through me is just too intense to put anything else into words... such an overwhelming, indescribable agony...🙂 😢 😳

My deepest, most sincere condolences...

I feel for you, dreamers... 😢

Ever since I lost my dad, I’ve always wrestled with this question: would it be worse to watch someone suffer, or to lose someone so close to you just like that—suddenly and shockingly? That’s exactly what happened to my family when I was 16. Just the other night, I actually got into a huge blowout fight with him (over going out, obviously... teen years, right?), said things that no parent should ever have to hear, and stormed out the door—and I never saw him again. Not a single day goes by where I don't think about it with this massive knot in my stomach.
Your dad passed away knowing you loved him, knowing you were right there holding his hand until the very end... Hang in there. 😘

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he's gone...
For now, this is all I can manage to write because the pain tearing through me is just too overwhelming to put anything else into words... such an intense, indescribable ache...🙂 😢 😳

I went through the exact same thing five months ago. My dad fought that terrible disease for two years, but he couldn't beat it. It sounds like a cliché to say you'll get through this, but honestly, the pain doesn't just vanish—you just learn how to live with it. There will always be a void where he used to be, but try to fill it with happy memories and the good times you shared together. That really helped me find my way through.

To those of you currently walking through the valley of losing a loved one, I want to offer a perspective that took me quite some time to embrace: please consider that their departure was ultimately a choice made by their souls. For a long while, this was an impossible truth for me to swallow, and I spent many nights lost in tears. Eventually, during a solemn day of prayer, I poured out every heartfelt petition for the forgiveness of sins for those who have passed. When I returned home, I found myself sitting in the quiet, desperately asking—if there is a higher power—for just one sign, any small indication that they are truly at peace. In that exact moment, I was met with a sign so palpable and profound that no earthly logic could deny its reality. Since that instant, a certain stillness has settled over my heart; it is easier to breathe now, knowing our dear ones are safe and that this transition was a decision born from their own spirits. Death is not an end, but rather a threshold, a continuation of life itself.

When the weight of grief feels unbearable, try to hold onto that thought. Our most cherished ones are watching over us, keeping a silent vigil, and when our own time eventually comes, they will be there to welcome us home.

People. I read through these posts every single day, reviewing them and then reading them again, thinking about how incredibly brave you all are to face what you’re going through. My father passed away seven years ago from lung cancer. I fought alongside him until my very last breath, and even now, this subject hits me hard. I can still recall every therapy session, every conversation; it's all etched into my mind. It still hurts. Now, my mother underwent surgery on April 4th due to stomach cancer. They had to remove her entire stomach, along with her gallbladder and spleen. The pathology report indicates that everything else is clear. She was discharged from the hospital ward on April 12th, and by April 13th, all her drains were removed. Thank God, she is recovering remarkably well, especially since she was always in great health and physically fit. When I first heard her diagnosis, I spent the whole day vomiting, dealing with diarrhea and, naturally, my period. The stress was overwhelming. I was dying of fear. Initially, they told us they would only remove part of her stomach because all other tests and tumor markers appeared normal. But once they opened her up, they took everything. I nearly fainted. The doctor simply told us we needed to pray to God. I was completely out of my mind. I found myself reliving a life drama all over again, only this time, the pain is so much, much deeper. I am profoundly attached to my mother. But I am holding onto hope that she will be okay. If anyone here has gone through something similar, or if anyone wants to reach out, please do.

Linda Campbell said:Hey everyone. I read through these posts every single day, just looking them over and over, and I honestly think you are all incredibly brave for what you're going through. My Dad passed away seven years ago from lung cancer, and I fought it with everything I had. It’s still such a heavy subject for me. I can still vividly remember every treatment and every conversation; it’s all burned into my mind, and it still hurts. Now, my Mom is recovering from stomach cancer surgery as of April 4th. They had to remove her entire stomach, gallbladder, and spleen. Thankfully, the pathology report shows everything else is clear. She was discharged from the hospital ward on April 12th, and by the 13th, they had all her drains removed. Thank God, she’s recovering really well, especially since she was always so healthy and fit before this. When I first heard her diagnosis, I was a mess—vomiting all day, stomach issues, and even my period started early. The stress was just overwhelming. I was terrified. Initially, they told us they were only removing part of the stomach because all her other tests and tumor markers looked normal. But once they actually operated, they ended up taking everything. I nearly fainted. The doctor told us we just needed to pray. I was completely out of it, reliving all that trauma all over again. This time, though, it hits so much harder because I am so close to my Mom. I’m just holding onto hope that she’ll be okay. If anyone here has been through something similar or just wants to chat, please reach out.

Try looking through this thread to see if anything helps; there was a discussion about this recently. I'm rooting for you and your mom, hoping for the absolute best outcome. You have to stay strong, though I know you already know exactly how tough this road can be... sending you so much luck. Sometimes life really does work in miracles!!!

Thank you, Amanda Lewis93. I am holding together as tightly as I possibly can, though honestly, I feel like I’m fraying at every single seam—mentally and physically. Between raising a small child, supporting my husband, managing my job, and caring for my sick mother, life feels like a relentless marathon. Every single day, I go straight from the office to the hospital. I honestly don't know where I find the strength to keep going. Life seems to be rushing past me, leaving me behind, but none of that matters. Sometimes, all you truly need for life to feel beautiful again is one tiny thing: just for her to be okay.

Linda Campbell said:Thanks, Amanda Lewis93. I’m hanging in there as hard as I can. Honestly, I feel like I’m bursting at the seams—mentally and physically. Between raising a little one, managing my husband, keeping up with work, and caring for my sick mother, it's constant. Every single day, I’m racing straight from the office to the hospital. I honestly don't know where I find the strength. Life is just flying by right in front of me, but none of that matters. Sometimes, you just need one small thing to make life feel beautiful again. Just to know that she’s okay.

It really doesn't take much to find peace and happiness. Whatever happens with your mom, I truly believe you'll take these lessons to heart and pass them down to your kids. You're going to come out of this much stronger and more fulfilled, that's for sure.😘

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he's gone...
For now, this is all I can manage to write, because the pain tearing through me is just too overwhelming to put anything else into words... such an intense, indescribable agony...🙂 😢 😳

I am so incredibly sorry to hear this. Oh, Brenda Richardson33... the emptiness that remains stays with you forever, I know that feeling all too well....... but eventually, that void begins to fill, little by little, with memories and the realization that everyone who has passed has moved on to another, better, and—let's hope—happier place. They are there, watching over us. And for those of us left here, life continues to move forward. Even when it feels like everything stopped right there at the grave... it hasn't. Now is the time to weep, and you absolutely should. But tomorrow... tomorrow is, believe me, a new day.

Brenda Richardson33 said:My dear dad has closed his eyes forever... he's gone...
For now, this is all I can manage to write—the pain tearing through me is just too intense to put anything else into words... such an overwhelming, indescribable ache...🙂 😢 😳

I don't even know what else to say to you, except "my heart goes out to you."😘

I noticed some people were asking about Beta Glucan. Speaking from our own personal experience with this miracle—it’s nothing but the best. I would recommend it to absolutely everyone. For those who are healthy, it serves as excellent prevention, and for those fighting an illness, it is undeniably effective for boosting the immune system. I actually started giving it to my mother just 10 days before her surgery, and her recovery was incredibly swift.
On April 4th, she underwent the operation, and by the 8th, she was already back in her hospital room. Her incisions healed beautifully, her blood work looked solid, and they had the drains out within just 10 days (they removed her entire stomach, gallbladder, and spleen). She is being discharged this week, and both the doctors and our family are beyond thrilled with how rapidly she is bouncing back. She’s back on it now. If you can afford it, you should definitely give it a try.

First of all, my deepest condolences Brenda Richardson33.
northernfox9—you asked what exactly my father's diagnosis was, so here it is: lung cancer, affecting the bronchi, and it has spread to the adrenal gland (that was the report before chemotherapy; whether things have improved, we won't know until after the fourth round). And yes, there are metastases. The report is... oh goodness, God help us, but thank God we are staying hopeful.

Anyway, I am with my father every single day (thankfully I live nearby), and I bring my girlfriend along, so he takes her for walks until he gets tired. He is quite mentally strong when it comes to this illness; he truly believes in a positive outcome. There is always someone by his side, and so many relatives come to visit him.
Someone mentioned earlier that I should talk to him about his fears regarding death and all that, but unfortunately, I just can't bring that subject up. I talk about the illness as if it were just a common flu, but I can't touch upon his fears... I suppose I just don't know how... I'm afraid... I think it would be incredibly painful and might create a negative effect, please correct me if I'm wrong.😕
Linda Campbelldid your father pass away from lung cancer? If it isn't too painful for you to remember right now, would you mind telling me where he was diagnosed, and how long he lived with it?

I honestly can't tell if I’m more furious or just completely broken—maybe it's both.
It just hit me like a freight train that the doctors have been keeping us in the dark about my dad's actual condition this entire time.
When he went in for the tumor removal surgery, we were told everything was clear—that his lungs were totally clean and there was no spread to other organs—even though they still had the nerve to throw these tragic prognoses our way.
After that, we fought through the brain metastases, and things actually started looking much, much better. At least, that's how optimistic we felt until this morning...
And then—don't ask me how I found out, but it happened by chance—I discover (and this was from Dad's own physician, the same one who insisted on the first version!) that the tumor wasn't fully removed because not everything was operable, and we are actually dealing with stage IV Glioblastoma multiforme............😲 😕 😠
I am devastated. I feel lost. And I am so incredibly angry.

northernfox9 said:I can't tell if I'm angrier or just more heartbroken, maybe both.
I was just blindsided by the realization that doctors have been hiding the actual truth about my dad's condition from us this whole time.
When he went in for the tumor removal surgery, we were told afterward that, lung-wise, he was completely clear, and that it hadn't spread to other organs—even though they still had the nerve to throw tragic prognoses our way.
After that, we fought through brain metastases, and things are looking so much, much better now. At least, that’s how optimistic we felt until this morning...
And then (don't ask me how or through what channels, it just happened) I find out (from my dad's own physician who insisted on the version mentioned above) that the tumor actually wasn't fully removed because not everything was operable, and that we're dealing with stage IV carcinoma............😲 😕 😠
I am desperate. Lost. And furious.

God, that’s awful.😠

Just ignore them; there's nothing but hearsay floating around here. You said he's recovering well... focus on that, because that's what matters most! As far as I know regarding medical terminology, the "terminal phase" for any cancer is generally considered the moment metastases are diagnosed. Still, there have been people in that exact same terminal phase who made a comeback—look at ruggednomad182, for example. Don't let this weigh you down too heavily, because your dad's condition is exactly what it was yesterday and the day before; the nonsense they spout doesn't change his reality. Let it go; you don't need that negative energy right now.

And what about the fact that in America, they blatantly lie to every patient with a brain tumor, telling them their recurrences can't be treated with Temodal (which is what happens everywhere globally)? They claim Temodal won't work on a recurrence simply because Medicare doesn't want to foot the bill, since Glioblastoma is deemed incurable. Who gives a damn about that when it means a person could get more precious time left in this world with their loved ones?
This whole system is an absolute joke.👎

Nicole Edwards76 said:Look, slymoose4,
I don't doubt you mean well, and honestly, thanks for wanting to help—every bit of info helps. But you have to understand something. Most of us here—whether we’re fighting cancer ourselves, watching a family member struggle, or already mourning someone we lost to this disease—have poured through hundreds of pages on alternative treatments. Many of us have actually tried these methods, only to end up realizing exactly what was said from the start: there is NO CURE FOR CANCER!!! That's why we get so sick of these massive advertisements claiming 90% cure rates. Which patients are they talking about? What kind of cancer? Where are the actual, documented clinical trials? It always boils down to some story like, "John S., a plumber from Berlin, managed to cure himself," and so on... When he supposedly cured himself, what was the actual medical status during the process? It's all just noise...

Just so you know: Dr. Johanna Budwig's book, *Cancer: Problem and Solution* (translated from German and English), is in print. You can check out more details here:
http://www.johanna-budwig.de/_litera...ie_loesung.htm
http://www.nexus-book.com/html/the_book1.html

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