Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Linda Campbell said:I fought by her side until the very end and tried absolutely everything we could. I was at the hospital visiting her two or three times every single day. I made sure to keep her spirits up and cheer her on—I even made sure she had the cutest pajamas in the entire ward and the prettiest wig, which I picked out myself. She was an incredible woman throughout her whole life, and even in those final moments. .

My heart truly goes out to you.

wickedangel;10085626 said:

Christian Wood63 said:Maybe it's just easier for me because of my line of work,
but I’d suggest doing this at home without needing any intense training with those tiny needles. You'll run into way fewer headaches, and trust me, once you get the hang of it, you won't even think about the nausea while taking Temozolomide.

We're using Ondansetron—and we're going to try flaxseeds too, thanks!! What works for constipation during treatment?

Glycerin suppositories. For my mom, sometimes just smearing a little liquid glycerin right there is enough to get things moving immediately.

Linda Campbell, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.🙂

Linda Campbell, my heart truly goes out to you 🙂

Linda Campbell, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.

Dear Linda Campbell, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss... just try to remember that they’re in a much better place now, and your angel will be right there by your side through it all...

Linda Campbell, I honestly don't even know what to say—it’s just pure heartbreak. There aren't even enough words in the dictionary to describe how you must be feeling right now...
Grace Fowler

None of us here are fighting cancer personally, but my house is honestly full of other incurable illnesses...
That’s why I find myself following your stories so closely, and I just want you to know how much I truly empathize with every single one of you...

Dear anaxy...

I am sending you my most sincere and deepest condolences..
I honestly can't even begin to wrap my head around the kind of pain you must be feeling right now after losing your mother...😘

Anonymous said:Angela, do you have any info on this new drug?
Where did you read that?

Like I mentioned over in the glioblastoma thread, I heard this through Vpava, who got the scoop from a doctor at the Mayo Clinic. We actually spoke just a few days ago specifically about this; she couldn't get a hold of the physician because they're currently on vacation, but as soon as they're back, she's going to call again to get the official name of the medication and all the specifics. Sadly, Vpava only heard this news right after her husband passed away, so she might have missed some of the finer details in the heat of the moment.
Don't worry, everyone—as soon as we have more concrete information, either she or I will post everything right here on the forum.👍
From what I recall the doctor saying, the drug is expected to enter clinical trials here in the States by the end of the year, it will likely be covered by insurance, and apparently, it's already being used in clinical settings overseas.

Linda Campbell said:She passed away tonight at 10:30 PM. She fought until her very last breath. We were by her side all day today—kissing her, holding her hands, kissing her face. She knew she wasn't alone.
Don't you ever give up, people. The two of us sat down last night and finalized everything; we were supposed to start the new treatment this morning, and she was actually quite optimistic about it.
I feel an incredible sense of peace right now because she has finally found hers. Personally, I have nothing to reproach myself for; I fought until the end and tried absolutely everything. I was over at the Mayo Clinic with her two or three times every single day. I was always there to cheer her up and lift her spirits. Honestly, she had the most beautiful pajamas in the entire hospital and the loveliest wig, which I personally picked out for her. She was an exceptional woman throughout her whole life, including this final day. Coincidentally, today is the feast day of Mother Teresa, and she truly embodied that same spirit.
My greetings to you all. And please, do not be afraid.

Dear Linda Campbell, please accept my deepest condolences. I truly admire your courage and the serenity you are showing.

I truly admire the courage you all show; I feel like I'm losing my own... I don't know if it's just one of those days... or perhaps... my dad's condition has taken a turn for the worse. He’s in excruciating pain, he has no strength left, he's become completely frail, and it feels as though he's simply given up. Yesterday, he fought with everything he had just to come visit me. Usually, even though he lost his right leg eight years ago and uses a wheelchair, nothing could stop him from living life to the fullest—he went everywhere and did everything, sometimes more than people who can walk perfectly fine. But yesterday, he was so weak he actually had to use a prosthesis just to navigate the few steps leading up to my apartment, and he pushed himself to the absolute limit to do it. Sadly, I have a feeling that was his final visit. Today, despite being on 50 mcg of Durogesic, several doses of Anacin, and Lumidol, the pain still ravages him. He just stares blankly at a single point, barely uttering a word, and my heart is just breaking. My mother and I try to act as if everything is fine, but the second I leave the room, I break down crying... because he was never the weak or sickly type. I want to pull him close and tell him I love him, even though he already knows; I'm just terrified that doing so would only upset him more, because he'd realize I'm saying goodbye.
I find myself talking to all of you here more than anyone else, and THANK YOU for that. You are constantly in my thoughts, and you provide me with strength. Kisses.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:I honestly admire the courage you all show; I feel like I’m losing mine... I don't know if it's just one of those days... or maybe it's because my dad's condition has taken such a sharp turn for the worse. He's in agony, he's completely drained of strength, and he seems so weak—it almost feels like he’s given up. Yesterday, he fought with everything he had left just to come visit me. Usually, he uses a wheelchair since he lost his right leg eight years ago, but even then, nothing ever stopped him from living life to the fullest; he went everywhere and did everything, sometimes even more than people who can walk perfectly fine. But yesterday, he was so frail he actually had to use a cane just to navigate the few steps into my apartment, and he pushed himself to the absolute limit to get there. To be honest, I have this sinking feeling that was his final visit. Today, he’s on 50 mcg of Durogesic, along with several doses of Anacin and Lumidol, and yet the pain still ravages him. He just stares blankly at one spot, barely saying a word, and it absolutely breaks my heart. My mom and I try to act like everything is fine, but the second I leave the room, I break down crying... because he was never the weak or sickly type. I just want to pull him close and tell him I love him, even though he already knows, but I’m terrified that doing so would just devastate him because he'd realize I'm saying goodbye.
I talk to everyone here more than anyone else, and THANK YOU for that. I think of you all, and you give me strength. Sending love.

My mom had two episodes today where she was gasping for air, like a fish out of water, just struggling and moaning. It was horrific. Then, once the weather cleared up this afternoon, she seemed to settle immediately. She's incredibly sensitive to changes in the weather. We turned her onto her side, and she fell asleep like a baby. Her breathing is steady and deep now. We’re just taking it one day at a time.
Hang in there, because things don't always have to be as grim as they seem.😘

Linda Campbell, I am just so incredibly sorry about what you're going through...

Just remember, your mom is always going to be right there by your side, watching over you.😘

Angela Wright said:My mother experienced two separate episodes today where she was gasping for air—literally clutching at nothing like a fish out of water. She was moaning in distress. It was horrific. Then, as the weather began to turn this afternoon, she seemed to settle instantly. Is it even possible to be that sensitive to a change in the atmosphere? We turned her onto her side, and she finally drifted off like a baby. Her breathing is deep and steady now. Onward to another day.
Hang in there; things aren't always as they appear to be.😘

I truly appreciate your immense support. You’re absolutely right. Yesterday, they slept continuously from three in the afternoon until morning, and today seems slightly better. Though, I can't help but wonder—is this improvement just the result of that heavy dose of Durogesic? They seem almost euphoric... but regardless, we simply take it one day at a time. Thank you once again. Sending big hugs to all the "fighters" out there, wherever they may be.

I just wanted to check in and let you know that I’m still standing, even though it feels like things will never truly settle. The sheer ordeal and the crushing pressure I endured are things I can't possibly describe to anyone who hasn't walked that same dark path. But here I am, finding my footing and trying to push forward. Sadly, I’m navigating this without my mother; I feel as isolated as a single finger, though I have my husband and child by my side, thank God.
Between managing my career, tending to my family, battling a devastating illness, enduring grueling treatments, and facing the heavy psychological toll of being around such patients hour after hour, day after day, the weight was immense. To make matters worse, I had the added stress of my sister-in-law, who made every agonizing moment—even those final precious hours with my mother—infinitely more difficult. It makes me wonder, God, do You see all of this?
Then, just a day after the funeral, my other sister-in-law kicked me out of her house. We got into a heated argument over my "behavior" leading up to the funeral; essentially, I reached my breaking point and spoke my truth, which clearly didn't sit well with her. It turned into a complete disaster. Not a single thing I did or said should ever be questioned. My husband and I gave everything we had—more than we were capable of giving—for my mother. Her own sons certainly didn't step up, and her daughters-in-law were even further from it.
So now, acting as both a sister and a sister-in-law, I find myself cast aside like trash after they all fail to face what's coming. They couldn't handle a fraction of this fight; they simply don't possess that kind of strength. Instead, I’m left grieving my mother and feeling alienated from both my brothers. I find myself asking: how much longer can this go on? Where am I supposed to find the strength to move forward? How am I expected to take my child to preschool tomorrow, show up for work, or even just manage to cook a meal? On top of it all, I’ve been dealing with gynecological issues these past few months and just started a course of antibiotics today. Honestly, I think I might end up in a psychiatric ward at this rate. This is the reality of it—this struggle, this sickness, this life. I’m sitting here alone, crying over my circumstances, writing to you because you are the only ones who truly understand. Sending love to you all.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:I truly admire the courage you all show; I feel as though I am losing my own... I cannot tell if today is simply one of those days, or if... my father’s condition has taken a drastic turn for the worse. He is enduring excruciating pain, his strength has vanished, he has become so frail, and it feels to me as if he has finally surrendered. Yesterday, he exerted every ounce of energy just to come visit me. He has been using a wheelchair since he lost his right leg eight years ago, yet despite that, nothing ever stopped him from living life to the fullest—he went everywhere and did everything, sometimes even more than those who walk without assistance. But yesterday, he was so utterly weak that he had to rely on a prosthesis just to navigate the few steps leading up to my apartment, an effort he made with everything he had left. Sadly, I fear that was his final visit. Today, he is on 50 mcg of Durogesic, along with several doses of Anacin and Lumidol, and yet the pain persists. He just stares blankly at a single point, barely speaking, and my heart is simply breaking. My mother and I pretend everything is fine, but the moment I leave the room, I break down in tears... because he was never a weak or sickly man. I want nothing more than to pull him close and tell him I love him, even though he already knows; I am just terrified that doing so would only devastate him, as he might sense I am saying goodbye.
I find myself talking to all of you here more than anyone else, and THANK YOU for that. I think of you all, and you provide me with strength. Kisses.

It is profoundly difficult to witness a parent—a father—who served as an authority figure, suffering through such a debilitating illness. You remember him as a pillar of strength, a protector, a role model, and so much more, only to reach a stage in life where you must watch that parent and somehow act as the caregiver to someone who now seems as helpless as a child. The roles are reversed. You begin to see them through many different dimensions of life simultaneously. It is an immense burden. Some people are naturally mature enough to handle these moments and maintain their composure, some are simply carried by the momentum of the situation, and others find themselves forced to grow up entirely within these very moments.
You are stepping into his role now; you must remain strong for his sake, and you must do so until the very end, as well as for your mother's sake. Whatever you can do, let it out. Fight until the very last moment, just as I have fought—literally until my final breath. Because as long as there is life, there is always something new to try. Hang in there.

Linda Campbell said:Just checking in to say that everything finally cleared up for me, even though I was convinced it never would.

Linda Campbell, hang in there! I think we all here have a pretty good idea of what you're going through right now. There aren't really any magic words I can throw at you that'll actually help, but this too shall pass. That's the one thing I know for sure.😳

Linda Campbell said:... sister-in-laws...

Honey, sometimes sisters-in-law can be the absolute worst people you'll ever deal with. Don't let them get to you—stand your ground and give it right back to them. You know exactly how to handle it.
Sending love.

bluewalker30 said:I don't have an answer. I just know that if this comes back, I'm not giving up. If things go south, I don't want anyone pitying me or crying along with me while waiting for the end. I want to leave with a smile. Full of love and good memories, no tears. I want to be remembered for who I really am...
I truly believe that staying positive helps you heal and can even slow down the disease. There isn't just one path; everyone’s journey is different, and we get to choose our own.
Feed your body so it stays strong enough to fight through the treatments and the illness; feed your soul with love from the people you care about...😘

Maybe reach out to Washington, D.C., specifically Dr. Ratimir Šimetin at 01-48-19-346 to see what steps to take right now. He actually beat cancer himself when he was younger, so he definitely gets it... especially for those who need a second opinion. Plus, since he went on to finish medical school after his recovery, he can offer some really solid advice. 😎