Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Anonymous said:... taking Biocil..😢

Could you please let me know how much Biocil costs? You can just send me a private message if that's easier. So far, I haven't been able to figure out where to buy it here in the States. Thanks.

Angela Wright, ... I honestly don't have the strength to say anything more than this: please, just stay brave.

Amanda Williams64 said:Could you please let me know how much Biocil costs? You can just send me a private message. I haven't been able to figure out where to buy it here in the States yet. Thanks!

I actually happened to be visiting my aunt in Belgrade when we made the call. He already had someone lined up there who could have it delivered by tomorrow. If I remember right, it was about $160. It’s definitely worth a shot—since he ships to Canada, Germany, and all over abroad, getting it delivered to the US shouldn't be an issue. Good luck!
BIOCIL
Biocil Bijelo Polje - Mexico,
owner Cila Žujović
+381 84 473 900;
+381 69 052 229;
www.biocil.cg.yu

Angela Wright said:Dad just left the hospital after taking Mom’s MRI results over to Dr. Paladin at the Mayo Clinic to see what our next move should be. We were really hoping he could drain that fluid buildup again, thinking maybe she’d feel a bit more like herself if the pressure was relieved. But honestly, the doctor said that isn't even the main issue anymore; the tumor has progressed so much that it's hit the brainstem and the other hemisphere. I think deep down I already knew this was coming—it felt logical in a dark sort of way—but actually hearing it... it just hits you like a physical blow. I'm sitting here crying, feeling completely helpless, just wanting so badly to do something, anything, to help her. It feels like my hope is slowly flickering out, and she’s all I have left. Oh, my sweet Mom, we had so much more life left to live together.🙂 Life can be so cruel.

You are walking through an incredibly heavy season right now. Just try to stay strong. Hang in there. 🙂
Do whatever you can to stay grounded in the present; don't get lost in the past because those moments are gone, and don't let the future overwhelm you since it hasn't arrived yet. All we truly possess is now, which is the space where you can focus on making Mom's final days a little more comfortable.
But listen, both the past and the future live on within us. Even when someone passes, they remain a part of us forever, and my own father stayed with me in that way—he was a man who loved his kids like almost no one else, and he left his mark on us. We are connected. We go through the process of letting go, and we do it together. We're in this alongside you.🙂
When people say "life goes on," they usually don't mean it, and they certainly don't understand the weight of it; their coldness and lack of empathy can hurt, but that is the reality of the message. Sometimes, old wisdom exists for a reason, and it’s worth listening to carefully. All that's asked of us is to find the understanding in it and—well, that's just how this world works—to learn from it.
Your mother is truly blessed to have you by her side, and she has given you something incredibly precious.
May God give you both strength.

I don't post here all that often, but I truly have nothing but wonderful things to say about Angela Wright. Peace will find its way to you in time; please, stay strong. 😘

On a brighter note, I actually have some good news to share. I pray to God that I can carry myself through life with the same fighting spirit my grandfather had. Following his sixth round of chemotherapy, the oncology board decided to grant him a two-month break. Once that period is over, we'll head back for more tests and see where things stand. They made this call because he’s remained remarkably stable and is able to maintain a high quality of life despite the lung tumor. His breathing has improved significantly, and he isn't getting winded nearly as easily as he used to. I really hope they've made the right call; he deserves a chance to step away from the hospital setting for a bit, and honestly, I could use a breather too—away from the endless scramble for referrals, prescriptions, doctor appointments, and that heavy, constant hospital atmosphere.

Keeping my fingers crossed for everyone!

Angela Wright said:Dad just got back from taking Mom's MRI results over to Dr. Paladin at the hospital to see what our next moves should be. We were really holding out hope that he could drain that fluid buildup again, thinking maybe she’d feel a little more like herself if we could just relieve that pressure. But honestly, the doctor told us that the fluid isn't even the main issue anymore—it's that the tumor has progressed so much that it's reached the brainstem and the other hemisphere. I think deep down, in my gut, I already knew this was coming, and it made sense logically, but man, actually hearing it? It hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m just sitting here crying, feeling so incredibly small and helpless because all I want in this world is to fix this for her. It feels like my hope is just slowly flickering out, and she's my whole world. Oh, Mom, we had so many more memories left to make together.🙂 What a cruel twist of fate.

Dearest Angela Wright, please know that my heart aches for you. I wish more than anything that I could reach out and take even a tiny bit of this pain away, even if just for a second, but I know words often feel so empty when things are this heavy...
I am sending the biggest, tightest hug to both you and your wonderful mother.
Hang in there, sweetie. When everything feels like it's falling apart, try to look deep inside yourself—into that part of you that is overflowing with love. That very love is exactly what is going to give you the strength to keep going.

Angela Wright said:Dad just got back from taking Mom’s MRI results over to Dr. Paladin at the hospital to see what our next steps might be. We were really holding onto this little sliver of hope that he could drain that built-up fluid again, thinking maybe she’d feel even just a tiny bit better. But honestly, the doctor told us that the fluid isn't even the main issue anymore; the tumor has progressed so much that it's moved into the brainstem and the other hemisphere. I think deep down I already sensed it was coming, and it all makes sense logically, but man, it still hits you like a freight train. I’m just sitting here crying, feeling so incredibly helpless because all I want in this world is to fix this for her. It feels like my hope is slowly slipping through my fingers, and she’s my everything. Oh, Mom, we had so many more memories left to make together.🙂It's just such a cruel twist of fate.

Dearest Angela Wright, my heart truly aches for you. I wish more than anything that I could reach out and take even a fraction of this pain away from you, though I know words often feel so small and hollow when things are this heavy...
I am sending the biggest, tightest hug to both you and your wonderful mother.
Please stay strong, sweetheart; even when everything feels darkest, just look deep inside yourself—you are so full of love, and that very love is what will give you the strength to keep going.

Angela Wright said:Dad just got back from taking Mom to see Dr. Paladin at the Mayo Clinic with her latest MRI results to figure out our next move. We were really holding onto this hope that he could drain that built-up fluid again, thinking maybe she’d finally feel a little bit better. But honestly, the doctor said that isn't even the main issue anymore—the tumor has progressed so much that it's spread into the brainstem and the other hemisphere. I think deep down in my gut I already knew this was coming, it felt logical, but man, hearing it out loud just absolutely crushed me. I'm just sitting here crying, feeling so small and helpless when all I want to do is fix this for her. It feels like my hope is just slowly flickering out, and she's my everything. Oh, my sweet Mom, we had so many more years left to share together🙂 Life is just so cruel sometimes

Dearest Angela Wright,

No matter how much you realize how heavy things are getting or how hard you try to face reality, you can never truly prepare yourself for the worst kind of news.
But please, listen to me: you can hold your head high with a completely clear conscience because you have been there for your mother through it all, and I truly believe she is so incredibly proud of you. She did her job perfectly—she raised an amazing person. One day, when she's no longer here, you will carry her eyes, her soul, and her heart within you... and you'll know deep down that she always, always thought the world of you. It is also such a beautiful thing that you are using what you're going through to help others by starting this conversation.
Better days are coming, please don't let this break you!! Sending you the biggest hug ever!😘

My mom went through her first round of chemo yesterday, and honestly, everything was going so smoothly right up until this evening! Then, out of nowhere, the nausea kicked in, and today she’s been vomiting quite a bit. She received some kind of AC therapy, and they gave her an > injection to help with the nausea—apparently, that stuff is supposed to hold you over for seven whole days!! But clearly, it hasn't been a total success for us. Is it actually normal to still be throwing up even after getting an anti-nausea shot? And how long does this phase usually last... is it just a few days, or could it drag on for ten? She can't even handle any food, just sipping on water. Does anyone have advice on what I might be able to give her to eat when everything makes her feel sick? Thanks so much!

Carol Sanchez2 said:My mom had her first round of chemo yesterday, and everything was perfectly fine until evening. Then the nausea hit, and today she’s been vomiting. She received some kind of AC therapy, and they gave her an Aloxyl injection for the nausea which is supposedly supposed to last 7 days!! Clearly, that wasn't a miracle cure. Is it normal to still be vomiting even after getting an anti-nausea shot? And how long does this misery actually last—3 days, 10 days??? She can't handle any food, just sipping water. What can I possibly give her to eat when everything makes her sick? Thanks!

Let me offer a bit of solace; my mother just finished her II cycle yesterday.
After the first cycle (each of hers lasts three days), she couldn't even walk out of the hospital on her own by the final day; I had to physically support her. That afternoon, the vomiting started, and she was up all night, which led to brutal cramps and such extreme weakness that I honestly thought she wouldn't make it. Her hair started thinning immediately, too. For the nausea, she was given Zofran and took Reglan, but frankly, none of it seemed to touch the pain. Interestingly enough, popcorn was the only thing that helped settle her stomach.
It wasn't until the 12th day after chemo that her appetite finally began to return. Right now, the priority is keeping her incredibly hydrated—think green tea or various red juices that support blood health, like beet or red/black currant juice. Try preparing light things like rice or vegetable broths that might sit well; most things will be repulsive to her. Let her nibble on small amounts of salty snacks so she can keep drinking fluids. It would also be wise to consult with an oncologist (which is what we did); right after the first cycle, my mother started taking Selenium and certain enzymes, along with a powder called BASENPULVER that our doctor recommended (it's meant to help flush acids from the system). Thank God, she finished the II cycle yesterday without much of a reaction at all. In fact, she's eating much better these days. We even started mistletoe injections today, which I strongly suggest you look into or research online; they go by names like ISCADOR or HELIXOR. Check some German medical sites; there is a wealth of information available there. Hang in there. Best regards.

A little bit of good news: Ladies, my husband finished his last day of radiation at the Institute today! Now comes the gauntlet of testing—everything from blood work and ultrasounds to CT scans and scintigraphy. Over the next couple of weeks, we'll finally know if we’ve truly won this fight against SS-gad.
The professor told the golub that from now on, he should report to the green building for follow-ups. That’s where the oncology clinic is located, specifically because that’s where the cured and healthy patients go to see him.
Does that mean...? I’m almost too afraid to say it out loud. I’m terrified that if we get ahead of ourselves, it might boomerang back and knock us right back to square one. But then again, the optimism, strength, and hope we’ve clung to since the very beginning won't let us keep these happy thoughts to ourselves. Just a little longer...

slyseal28 said:A small glimmer of light in the dark: Ladies, my husband finished his final radiation session at the Medical Center today! Now comes the gauntlet of testing—everything from blood work and ultrasounds to CT scans and scintigraphy. Over the next few weeks, we’ll finally learn if we’ve actually won this fight against SS-gad.
The professor told him that from now on, he should report to the green building for follow-ups, where the oncology outpatient clinic is located, because that's where the professor sees patients who have successfully recovered and are considered healthy.
Does that mean...? I am almost too afraid to say it out loud. I fear that if I speak it into existence, it might boomerang back and knock us right back to square one. And yet, the optimism, strength, and hope we have maintained since day one is simply too powerful to keep to ourselves. Just a little longer...

WONDERFUL NEWS. I am celebrating and rejoicing alongside you, holding onto the hope that we will all experience this moment one day. I actually have goosebumps! Stay strong, fighters!!!!!

Why hasn't she checked in yet, Angela Wright? I really hope her mom is doing better..
Has anyone else here dealt with a family case of Glioblastoma?

Anonymous said:I wonder why we haven't heard from you, Angela Wright... I really hope your mom is doing better.
Has anyone else here dealt with Glioblastoma within their own family?

My mom is the first—and I truly pray she’s the last—person in our family to face this awful disease, especially since she's only 55.
My grandfather had a sarcoma a few years back; he's still holding on, and if God wills it, he'll be turning 85 later this year.
Sending my best to everyone!

Anonymous said:Why haven't you posted, Angela Wright? I really hope her mom is doing better...
Has anyone else here dealt with Glioblastoma in their family?

I'm here.😳
Mom hasn't changed at all. Honestly, I’d give anything just to hear her speak one more time.
In my family, we've dealt with cancer before: my grandfather on my dad's side passed away from melanoma when he was only 45—and that was a type they treat as an outpatient nowadays. Then there was my grandfather on my mom's side who passed at 74 from prostate cancer complications, even though the cancer itself was under control. He had a weak heart and wasn't exactly the most disciplined when it came to taking his meds.

What keeps me going is the thought that back in 1956, people were dying from things that are completely curable today. We'll likely see the same thing happen with Glioblastoma. Research is moving toward developing a vaccine that could turn Glioblastoma into a manageable chronic condition—something you just live with and get booster shots for whenever symptoms flare up. Unlike other cancers, Glioblastoma is actually the perfect candidate for this kind of therapy because it doesn't metastasize to other organs, which usually makes treatment such a nightmare.

Angela Wright said:I'm still here.😳
My mom hasn't changed at all. Honestly, I’d give anything just to hear her speak one more time.
In my family, we’ve dealt with cancer before—my paternal grandfather passed away from melanoma at just 45, even though it's the kind of thing treated in an outpatient clinic nowadays. Then there was my maternal grandfather who passed at 74 from complications related to prostate cancer. He had heart issues too, and he wasn't exactly the type to stay on top of his medication.

What gives me some hope is thinking about how back in the '50s, people were dying from things that are totally curable now. Maybe we'll see the same thing happen with Glioblastoma. Research is moving toward developing a vaccine that could turn Glioblastoma into something manageable—more like a chronic condition you live with and just get boosters for when symptoms flare up. Unlike other cancers, Glioblastoma is actually a perfect candidate for this kind of approach because it doesn't spread to other organs, which usually makes treatment way more complicated.

But since she's at stage IV, 😢I was reading online that the outlook is pretty grim.😢 Even if they head in that direction with the research, I’m terrified that by the time a vaccine actually hits the market, it might be too late.😢

Amanda Williams64 said:I’m really hoping Mom is the first and last person in our family to deal with this awful disease, especially since she’s only 55.
My grandfather had sarcoma a few years back—he’s still doing well and, God willing, will hit 85 this year.
Sending love to everyone!

My aunt is also 55. How is your mom holding up? Did she have surgery?

Anonymous said:But hers is Grade IV. 😢I read online that the outlook is incredibly grim 😢 if things continue in this direction, and if they ever actually develop a treatment, I’m terrified it’ll take forever to hit the market.😢

Glioblastoma is Grade IV—the absolute worst kind of brain cancer out there. There is also Grade III, like astrocytoma, and the distinction really comes down to the specific types of nerve cells being hijacked.
Right now, the reality is brutal. The prognosis is terrible, and the odds of getting clinical trials finished in time to actually help our loved ones are slim to none. But looking at the long game? We are going to beat this disease. When I talk about being optimistic, I’m talking about the future—about making sure that when this demon strikes again, we'll have the tools to save them. I view my fight against this cancer as a lifelong mission, just like I've said here before. Even after my mom is gone, I will do everything in my power to do my part in wiping this rot off the face of the earth.😠

Anonymous said:My aunt is 55, too. How is your mom holding up? Did she have surgery?

😲 my mom fell ill at 55, too...
I’ve already laid out my mother's psychological profile once before. Maybe someone else will find a connection in there. Honestly, a few people dealing with Glioblastoma told me they felt a chill down their spine reading her profile because it felt like they were reading about their own loved ones.

Anonymous said:My aunt is 55. How is your mom holding up? Did she have surgery?

Yes, she had her surgery on April 11th. Let's just say my mom is doing okay for now—she's handling the treatments well, which I think is the most important thing at this stage. She still struggles quite a bit with concentration, especially when it comes to reading. It happens where she’ll read the same paragraph several times, and once she hits the end, she just starts over again without even realizing she already went through it. Still, I feel like things are improving slightly. She’s still pretty disoriented, though; sometimes she'll turn right when she meant to go left, or vice versa. And as a lingering effect of the illness, half of her visual field is gone, so she can't see anything on her left side (even though the tumor was actually on the right side, just above her ear). Because of that, she has a hard time noticing things to her left—especially parked cars. She keeps bumping into their side mirrors quite regularly.😳
I really hope medical science advances enough to finally put an end to this monster once and for all. 🙏
Best regards!