Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Angela Wright said:That sounds wonderful to me—though, honestly, I have my doubts🤔 about whether my mom would feel comfortable having anyone else, especially a stranger, changing her diapers besides me, my dad, or a home health aide. Plus, we have our own little routine that works for us, even if it wouldn't suit everyone. For instance, I have to head to San Francisco for a couple of days (my best friend is getting married!) and the thought of leaving my dad alone makes me so uneasy😢 . Just to get Mom up and onto her commode requires two people—one has to be strong (a man) because she’s basically a sack of bones right now; she has zero balance, she's totally atrophied, yet weighs 73 kg thanks to those damn Dexedrine pills. And as for needing rest—oh, I need it desperately🙂 . Between lifting her up at 5:30 AM, getting her on the commode, administering the glycerin suppository, waiting for her to go, and then getting her back into bed on the waterproof pad and cleaning her... you have to do it all yourself. You're lifting arms, legs, turning her on her side—you can't exactly put a clean diaper on a body that's still wet from urine. We have to rush through all of this before Dad leaves for work, because once he's gone, there's no one to help me lift her. Our home health aide arrives around 8:30, so she mostly just helps with washing up, brushing teeth, and maybe changing a diaper if Mom hasn't already had to go. We actually tried to lift her together once, and she just slipped right onto the floor. Luckily, my boyfriend was nearby and stepped in to help; the two of us simply couldn't manage it. That is really our biggest hurdle—nothing else involving her care is hard, but the physical lifting is everything.
For those short hour or two gaps when I need to run errands in town, I've managed to find help through a volunteer from a local hospice association, but that's very rare. For now, Dad and I just coordinate and make it work, somehow.

Reading this brings back memories of our days a few months ago.
And do you know what hurts the most?? It's the realization that it was a girl who "never had time" to just sit still for five minutes because she was always so caught up in various activities.
She didn't want a home health aide—not even close. She only wanted Dad and me. Dad handled her pain injections and bandaged the open wound on her hip; I brushed her hair and changed her diapers; my brother would play video games right next to her so she could watch him while he played...

About a week or two before she left us, she looks at me—right through her mask—sticks out her tongue (my sweetest little angel!!) and asks, "What's wrong? Why are you so sad?" I told her I was sad because I was scared for her.
She replied: "What are you afraid of, Mom?? Are you afraid I'm going to die?? Hehe, well, I'm already dead!!!!! I'm wearing diapers, I can't move on my own, I can't go to school, I can't go skiing, I can't go to parties with my friends... I'm already dead!"

Melissa Kim45 said:Hey everyone. 👋

I’d love to hear some perspectives from anyone who has experience caring for those facing serious illnesses—just looking for a little insight.
A suggestion was put forward—and I know several of us dealing with similar struggles at home—that we might try to connect and organize ourselves as much as possible. We already sort of know each other through mutual friends or passing conversations, so why not pull together? The idea—if I’m understanding this correctly—is that if someone can't make it, falls ill themselves, gets overwhelmed by work, or just needs to disappear for a couple of days to sleep and recharge (which, let's be honest, is sometimes desperately needed), those in the "group" could step in. It would be about helping with rides to the doctor, picking up prescriptions, hospital visits, grocery runs, cooking, laundry, or managing medication—basically whatever is needed to bridge the gap.
Even though it might seem like a bad idea at first glance—honestly, maybe it was—the reaction ended up being a total disaster.
Everyone is—well, that's just how it is. 😱 Well, there you have it—I'm right there with you.
Of course, everyone has their own specific needs—but at the end of the day, there are definitely ways we can all lend each other a hand.
What are your thoughts on something like this—just speaking generally, without getting bogged down in the specifics, though you all know exactly what I mean? When it comes to certain things, critically ill patients and their families are essentially in the same boat.

That idea is absolutely fantastic—truly brilliant.

Betty Allen65 said:Reading this brings back everything we went through just a few months ago.
And you want to know what hurts the most? It’s the realization that it was her—the girl who never had "five minutes to sit still" because she was always constantly running around, busy with one thing or another.
She wouldn't let a home health nurse near us. Not even close. It was just her dad and me. Dad was the one handling the pain injections and dressing that open wound on her hip, while I did the hair brushing and diaper changes. My brother would play his video games right next to her so she could at least watch him play...

About a week or two before she left us, she looks at me—right through her mask—sticks out her tongue (my sweetest little angel!!) and asks, "What's wrong? Why are you so sad?" I told her I was sad because I was scared for her.
She just goes, "What are you afraid of, Mom?? Are you afraid I'm going to die?? Hehe, well, I'm already dead!!!!! I'm wearing diapers, I can't move on my own, I can't eat, I can't go to school, I can't go skiing, I can't go to parties with my friends... I'm already dead!"

I don't know if this offers any comfort, but your precious girl was truly alive; it was just the reality of her condition that was killing her spirit. Her mind stayed vibrant and free until the very end. She remained your little girl through and through.
My mom is lost. She has no sense of time anymore and sometimes slips into complete dementia. Reality and dreams blur together for her; she just can't connect the dots anymore. Still, every once in a while, she has these moments of clarity. They’re getting rarer, but I am so incredibly grateful for them. I pray to God to grant me just one more moment with the true version of my mother, because she isn't really there anymore—not physically, and not mentally. She’s just a shadow, a fragment of the woman she used to be. My beautiful mama...😢

Melissa Kim45 said:Man! 🙏 Respect!🙏

They tried telling me that lifting them was just about having a "good grip." I asked the nurses at the hospital, and they showed me—and honestly, looking at it now, it’s enough to make you want to die—I don't know. I just remember them pointing things out and explaining, "do it like this," accompanied by some vague, blurry descriptions. Things stabilized for a while so we didn't need to do it, but we'll need to again, and I am nowhere near ready. It’s like my brain just wiped the memory to protect itself. You can't lift a completely limp patient; it feels like trying to hoist 550 pounds.

Call me crazy, but I don't care—my brother and I actually started laughing 😲 (we probably just snapped) because we couldn't manage to lift maybe 90 pounds together.

There’s a trick where you use a sheet placed under the patient, lift one side, and use that to roll them onto their side. Usually, in a hospital setting, two nurses or aides always work together to handle immobile patients. When Mom was hospitalized last year, they let me stay by her side all day, so I saw exactly how they handled her and the other women in the room. That’s pretty much how the system works.
To be honest, I actually managed to figure out a way to get a grip and turn her in bed by myself. It’s exhausting, which explains why hospitals always send two people—there are just too many people to move.
I’ve also come up with a workaround for showering (once a week). Since we can't get her into the tub, and because our tub is built into the wall, we can't fit a transverse shower bench, I shower her by putting her on a specialized lift, clearing everything off the bathroom floor, wrapping the washing machine in plastic, positioning her over the drain, and showering her right there. Afterward, I just sweep all the water into the drain with a broom. Still, it’s a world of difference when someone gets a real shower; they feel so much lighter than just wiping them down with cloths or washing them over a basin.
One piece of advice for everyone reading this:
If you don't have a walk-in shower, INSTALL A WALK-IN SHOWER. Don't wait for an emergency or for someone to fall ill! Someone could pull a muscle in their leg and suddenly find themselves unable to get into a tub on their own. We’ve wanted to do this renovation for years, but we kept putting it off, and now here we are, paying the price.

I’m curious—how do you guys actually deal with yourselves? With your own internal crises? Look, we all have those days where everything revolves around the patient. That’s the person you love more than anything, right? It’s easy enough to give up your own wants, skip the nights out, or scrap your plans just to be there for them. But what happens when you just hit a wall? When you’ve had it up to here and everything feels like too much?

mellowlynx8 said:I want to know how you all deal with yourselves. With your own internal crises? Look, when your entire day revolves around a patient—someone you love deeply, someone you’d gladly sacrifice your own hobbies, nights out, or plans for—it’s easy to be selfless. But what do you do when you just hit a wall and feel completely overwhelmed by it all?

Illness becomes this permanent fixture in your life, affecting both the patient and the whole family. That initial phase is brutal, but eventually, you adapt. You accept it because, frankly, there isn't any other option, and that's just how humans are wired. Personally, I try to grab any spare second I can to get some fresh air, walk the dog, catch a movie, or grab a coffee. But honestly? Some days I don't have the energy for "going out." Sometimes, just lying at home and watching a movie while hugging my loved one is enough. Connecting with others here on this forum—people who are in the exact same boat—is also a huge release for me. Being able to offer a bit of advice or comfort to someone else gives me a real sense of peace and fulfillment.
One major thing that happens to the mindset of people dealing with illness, or those tethered to someone who is, is realizing how little you actually need to be happy. You start appreciating those tiny, joyful details you used to overlook. I don't think anyone comes out of a situation like this without that realization.
Do I ever feel like I've had enough? Like I'm totally fed up? It happens multiple times a day. You want to live, you have all this drive for things like your career, but everything is essentially on "pause" indefinitely. Fortunately, that feeling usually passes in a few moments. It’s similar to that heavy feeling you get early in the morning when you have to drag yourself out of bed for work; you're exhausted, you don't want to go, it feels like an uphill battle, but you push through because it's your responsibility. In this case, it's love that pulls you up. And I never, ever show that frustration in front of my mom. I think it would absolutely break her.

Just so we can see some happy endings for once.
ruggednomad182 posted his latest CT scan results on his blog—it's 100% clear.
lepina.blog.hr

ruggednomad182, you absolute legend! 🙏 That man truly blessed you with his kindness! You’ve got nothing but good things coming your way!

So, I’m sitting here right now, chewing on the whole concept of fasting. It’s interesting how so many different cultures approach healing through starvation. Maybe it works because when you deprive the body of food, it starts hunting for anything it can consume—and eventually, it targets the cancer cells. You flush out toxins with fluids and burn through your fat stores, and once those reserves run dry, the body might just identify the tumor as the next available fuel source for energy. Or, perhaps more simply, the body becomes hyper-sensitive, making it easier to distinguish the malignancy from healthy tissue, which triggers the immune system to step up and wipe it out.
What are your thoughts on this?

Angela Wright said:When you're dealing with an illness, it becomes this constant backdrop to everyday life—not just for the patient, but for the whole family too. I think the hardest part is definitely that initial shock. Eventually, you just... adapt. You settle into a new normal and accept things because, well, there isn't really any other choice, and maybe that’s just how we humans are wired. Personally, I try to make the most of whatever free time I can find by getting some fresh air, taking the dog for a walk, catching a movie, or grabbing coffee. But honestly? Some days I don't have the energy for all that. Sometimes, just lying on the couch at home and watching a movie while holding my loved one close is more than enough. Talking to others here who are going through the exact same thing is also a huge lifeline for me. If I can offer even a little bit of advice or comfort to someone else, it brings me such a sense of peace and truly fulfills me.
One major realization that hits people who are sick, or those deeply tied to someone who is, is realizing just how little you actually need to be happy. It’s those tiny, cheerful little things you used to overlook that suddenly mean everything. I don't think anyone comes out of a situation like this without that profound shift in perspective.
Do I ever feel like I've just had it? Like, totally fed up with everything? Yeah, honestly, it happens several times a day. You want to live, you have all this enthusiasm for things like your career or your hobbies, but suddenly everything feels like it's on indefinite hold. Luckily, those heavy moments usually pass pretty quickly (it's kind of like that feeling when your alarm goes off early for work and you just can't face the day—you're exhausted, you're dragging, and you just don't want to move, but you eventually get up because you have to. Except here, it's love that pulls you up). And I never, ever let my mom see that side of me. I think it would absolutely break her heart.

Angela Wright is spot on; she captured exactly what I’ve been feeling! I’ve just accepted that this is how it has to be, and I've reorganized my entire present and future around caring for my husband. It's just the reality now, and you just have to weather the storms and keep moving forward!

A huge thank you to everyone who’s been following my journey. I know several people out there who’ve had happy endings—cases where they were given only a few months to live, but somehow turned that into years. Thank God. As for how this stuff actually works, there are plenty of different theories floating around. But honestly? The most important thing is that it *works*. There’s a little story that sums it up perfectly.
One Sunday, a young housewife was in the kitchen prepping a salad. Her husband walks in, feeling a bit playful, and asks, "So, can you tell me what the pastor preached about this morning?"
"I don't really remember," she replies.
"Well then, why even bother going to church if you aren't going to remember anything?"
"Look, honey," she says, "you see this water I'm using to rinse the lettuce? The water flows in and then it drains away, leaving the bowl empty, but the salad still gets cleaned."

I feel like I’ve completely burned through my reserves, and now I’m just trying to scrape together enough strength to recover, so I guess I’m asking how you guys handle this... Honestly, the fact that I’m basically "waiting" for my mom to pass is throwing me totally off balance. Before, I could just tuck that thought away in a little box and focus on taking care of her like usual, but as her condition gets worse by the day—and as it hits me that I won't be able to look after her much longer—I can't keep up the act anymore. I'm just breaking down.

mellowlynx8 said:I feel like I’ve completely drained my battery and now I’m just trying to recover, so I wanted to ask how you all are handling this... The reality of "waiting" for Mom's death has started throwing me off balance. Before, I could tuck that thought away in a little drawer and just focus on taking care of her normally, but as her condition worsens day by day and I realize that very soon I won't be able to look after her anymore... I can't pretend anymore. I just feel like I'm breaking...

Maybe you're just having a delayed reaction. When my mom first got sick, I was bracing for her death every single day. Eventually, I realized there's zero point in just sitting around waiting for it to happen. While I was stuck in that cycle of waiting, other people in my family passed away when I least expected it. Death is unpredictable; it hits everyone at different times, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to control that. You know that old saying: "God, give me the strength to change the things I can, but above all, give me the wisdom to distinguish what I can change from what I cannot."
The truth is, death is inevitable for everyone, and you don't need a PhD to understand that. The only thing we actually have control over is making the process easier—for ourselves and for them. We can aim to make it as painless and dignified as possible. That is our job, and it is what we must do.
Saying goodbye to a parent is brutal, but it's a milestone we all eventually face, whether we're 20, 30, 40, or 50. All we can really do is be grateful that when we needed them most as kids, God kept them by our side to watch us grow and raise us. That's why losing parents early in life is so much harder than it is for us. For us, there's just grief; for those who lose them young, there's a void in their heart that no one else can ever fill. That space is reserved strictly for Mom and Dad. I am incredibly thankful that Mom has been here for me all these years, and that brings me a lot of peace. Is it hard? Yeah, it's incredibly hard, just like it is for everyone else. But death is a natural part of life, and we will eventually adjust when the time comes. Again, when the time comes, we can't know anything in advance. Just take things one step at a time.

mellowlynx8 said:I'm curious—how do you handle being alone with yourselves? With those internal crises? When a day is entirely dedicated to a patient—someone you love so deeply that giving up your own desires, nights out, or plans feels easy because they come first—what do you do when you just hit a wall and feel completely overwhelmed by it all?

I’ll answer you from the perspective of a mother who lost her daughter.
My dearest little girl was 15 when she moved on to paradise, on December 3rd, 2006.
From September through December, my husband and I slept in the ground-floor living room because we had set up a "hospital corner" there: my darling had her hospital bed, a TV, video games, a PlayStation, a side chair... everything.
At first, the two of us slept in armchairs, but eventually, we just made ourselves comfortable on the floor.
Nothing felt like a burden because our girl was our whole world; she was woven into every single one of our plans and hopes... Going out never even crossed our minds because... well, she couldn't go with us. Even her brother, who is 17 months older than her, didn't want to leave the house during those months. He just couldn't. Not without her.
We didn't have "crises"—we only had hope. A massive, endless kind of hope. Just imagine how powerful that hope was when, despite every expert telling us there was no help left (or very little), we still believed she would pull through.
For us, that feeling of being "overwhelmed by everything" only came when she passed, because now she's gone. We were just so happy to care for her, simply to have her near us... to look at us, touch us, and in those rare moments of strength, even smile or crack a joke...
So, dear, for us, the weight of it all is heavy now—it's pain, sadness, and anger all at once...
And we would give anything—literally everything, our entire life's savings, any night out, any future plan... just to have our little bird back.

There are moments in life where all you want is to be held tight by your loved ones, and right now, we are missing 1/4 of our heart.

What happened to you tough guys? I hope nothing bad is going on and you’re all just buried deep in your own little battles and drama.
I’ve been looking into some things myself lately—you might have noticed I started a new thread about that aqua detox device. If you have questions, head over there, otherwise the admin is going to ban you faster than you can blink😬 . It's a body detoxification tool, and I’m currently waiting for the official presentation so I can grab some water samples and run them through a lab for biochemical analysis. I need to see if this thing is a legitimate breakthrough or just a massive scam. My mom is really struggling with swelling in her hands and feet. Her arm can be swollen like a damn sausage in the morning, and even a light touch hurts like hell. She’s urinating constantly—this morning her diaper had to weigh at least two pounds—but the swelling just won't budge. Apparently, it’s all due to the dexamethasone, and those side effects are notoriously hard to neutralize. Now, if this aqua detox could help flush out even a fraction of that swelling, who cares about that $400 price tag they're asking for the MV? It would be worth every penny.
Kisses to everyone😘

This is an incredibly important topic. Cancer runs deep in my family. My mom has already battled two different cancers within just six years. Every single checkup is a nerve-wracking ordeal for both me and my dad. It’s gotten so intense that, for a while, I was actually experiencing pains identical to hers. We are just that closely bonded.

What really helped me get through this was focusing on small, manageable goals. Whenever Mom was hospitalized, I took care of her in my own specific way. I started bringing massage treatments into the entire room. Every day, every woman staying in that ward would get a massage. It provided relief for me and for them. These patients are so deeply connected to one another; when one person’s mental state hits rock bottom, everyone else feels that drain on their strength too.

I truly believe my approach made a difference, because people always greeted me with a smile and seemed genuinely uplifted by it. Our favorite conversations were always about which massage cream we should buy the next day. We even introduced "fake" coffee breaks and little social gatherings, making the hospital room feel more like a normal lounge for women. That is something neither medications, doctors, nor nurses can provide to a patient.

During the periods when Mom was doing poorly, I was constantly crying. My husband had to be more than patient with me. I am lucky, though, that my friends stepped up whenever I needed to step away—which happened often. Even now, we know the illness is still there, but we aren't letting it win. We plan concerts, trips, and little shopping outings. It helps her, and it helps me.

Everyone seems to be talking about cancer lately, yet there’s absolutely no funding to be found. Mas was reading an article this morning about my mother's doctor.
Dr. Pavicevic from Jordan.

When Kda organized a charity concert at the Lisinski Hall back on January 30th, 2007, to support his lab, barely 100 people showed up. I was there with my mom and her friends. Now, we
are left wondering if we, as the family of a patient, did enough to help improve the conditions
for this medical team. Read that article. In reality, it looks like the drugs exist, but there is neither the money nor the will to upgrade the diagnostic labs.

Dr. Pavicevic even went as far as organizing a benefit concert, and nobody came. Valjad, my family, was there, acting as the biggest sponsors by buying four tickets. We saw it as a way to repay the doctor and as a lovely way to gather together. For us, as a family, these kinds of gatherings actually boost our immunity. Perhaps others could benefit from reflecting on this as well.

boldjackal70 said:There’s a ton of talk about cancer lately, but where's the funding? Mas was reading a morning article yesterday about my mom's doctor.
Dr. Pavicevic from Jordan.

When Kda organized a charity concert at the Lisinski Hall back on January 30th, 2007, to fund his lab, barely 100 people showed up! My mom, her friends, and I were there. And now, we're
left wondering if we, as the family of a patient, did enough to actually help improve the working conditions
for these medical teams. Read this article. The reality is, the medicine exists, but there's zero money or willpower to upgrade the diagnostic labs.

Dr. Pavicevic even went out on a limb to organize a benefit concert, and nobody came. Valjad was there with my family, acting as the biggest sponsor by grabbing four tickets. We saw it as a way to pay back the doctor and just have a nice night out together. For families like ours, these community events keep our spirits up. Maybe others should take a moment to reflect on that too.

😲 Man, wasn't someone on TV recently talking about breast cancer and launching an association for psychological support for patients? They mentioned the families, too. I caught the end of the segment, so I missed some of the details.
I feel terrible about the concert, but look—as just one among thousands of average citizens, I didn't hear a single thing about any upcoming event. There needed to be way more media buzz. It’s such a shame; if I had known, I definitely would have sent a whole crowd to support the project, despite everything going on at home. What a waste! People really need to connect and get organized better.

Angela Wright,

I just wanted to reach out and say thank you so much for recommending that native propolis. 😘
Maybe it’s just my Grandpa and me being overly optimistic, but he’s definitely feeling stronger, and honestly, I feel like my mood has brightened up too. Plus, we haven't had any more high fevers!! 👍

Taking things one small step at a time really is the way to go!! 😍

Carol Ramirez said:Angela Wright,

I just wanted to reach out and say thanks for recommending that native propolis. 😘
Maybe it’s just in my head, or maybe Grandpa’s, but he’s feeling stronger, and I honestly feel like my mood has lifted too. Plus, that high fever is finally gone!! 👍

Taking small wins is the way to go!! 😍

Don't worry about thanking me; the only thing that matters is that he's improving.👍 He just needs to stay consistent with it, using those higher doses, at least while he's undergoing chemo.
It truly warms my heart to hear he's doing better. I’ve suggested Native propolis to everyone who reached out, but you're the first one to give me actual feedback. Since my own mother is taking both Nonii and propolis simultaneously, I wasn't entirely sure which one was doing the heavy lifting, or if they were working in tandem. Personally, I lean toward propolis because it’s what our ancestors always relied on—it feels right. It also helps that there’s an actual study behind it; I’m the type of skeptic who needs scientific backing before I fully buy into any "cure."