Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Melissa Kim45 said:Did that text from Venice arrive yet? 🙂
If Dad is constantly by her side, there is perhaps less reason to worry... he is managing the diet, limiting exposure to large crowds, and handling those details...

I find myself perpetually agitated by these matters, and I struggle to comprehend—particularly among the younger generation who haven't truly dealt with the reality of sick relatives—why it isn't obvious that one cannot simply drop by with takeout whenever one pleases... one must simply wait...
🙄

They have altered Mom's protocol; she was previously on PE, but now it is cyclophosphamide, doxorubicin, and vincristine. I am quite at a loss for words...

If my understanding is correct, it is administered intravenously once a month. Her second hospitalization is scheduled for three weeks from now...
Unless, of course, I have miscalculated something...

Her electrolyte levels have stabilized since yesterday. Hopefully, she will hold steady until the next check-up in a week...

First and foremost, thank you for asking. Mom has successfully navigated her fifth round of therapy. As she wished, she visited Venice, which provided her soul with much-needed strength and gave her body a reason to keep fighting. There are no side effects aside from fatigue... she tires quite easily...

It is difficult to explain to others when she is struggling and when she is doing well. The truth is that Dad is incredibly protective of her, and she currently has contact with no more than ten people, and even then, not on a daily basis...

We are left with "only" the sixth chemo session, which is set for 25 days from now. Initially, her cycles were spaced 21 days apart, but due to fluctuations in her neutrophil count, they adjusted it to 28 days to protect her bone marrow...

At the beginning, it seemed as though these five months would pass with agonizing slowness, but looking back now... the time has moved remarkably quickly...

To borrow Mom's sentiment: "We cherish the morning because we are awake..."

Kiss and thanks!

Angela Wright said:I decided to flee to Venice for a couple of days just to get my nerves in order, though I find myself still checking in on this thread... At least I managed to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

I feel compelled to share that our experience with Prosura has been quite underwhelming, to say the least. Prior to introducing it, my mother maintained perfectly regular digestion and was able to pass stool every single day without issue. However, once we integrated Prosura into her routine, everything seemed to descend into total chaos... Since she is still capable of consuming blended meals, we have decided to discontinue its use for the time being, opting instead for a simple breakfast of cream of wheat with milk. Naturally, her intestinal motility has already begun to stabilize once again...👍

Greetings from sunny Los Angeles, where the weather is absolutely gorgeous and far too warm... I would strongly suggest that anyone capable of carving out even a small window of time to simply unwind should do so; it is quite essential to recharge one's batteries before everything else catches up with you...
😘

Well done. You truly made the right call. Sometimes, one simply must step away from the chaos to find a moment of reprieve... It is essential to carve out some space to recharge your batteries. It becomes quite difficult when you are facing everything on a daily basis without ever finding a sanctuary for your own peace of mind...

You certainly had some wonderful weather there, and getting to enjoy those ocean views... absolutely marvelous...😉 A move made at exactly the right moment... Kiss.

northernfox9 said:Greetings, everyone.
I read your posts daily, even if I don't participate much.
The situation here is difficult to define, if I can put it that way.
Today marks the 18th day of my father's Breuss therapy. He has lost about 20 pounds so far. He is incredibly weak—his legs won't obey him, he spends most of his time lying down, occasionally sits up for a moment, and barely manages to make it to the restroom. He claims he has no strength, which is understandable given his lack of food intake, especially since his latest scans show the cancer has become quite aggressive. He suffers from intense pain periodically, though it tends to strike suddenly and then vanish just as quickly. The pain migrates constantly; one moment it’s his leg, then his hand, then his shoulder... Similarly, he experiences bouts of numbness in various parts of his body that last a few minutes before receding. When the pain isn't overwhelming, despite his exhaustion, he still tries to do exercises in bed (he's a fighter!). Interestingly, he has significant bowel movements every other day, which seems odd considering he isn't eating anything. Throughout all these days, he hasn't felt hungry once (?!). He also struggles heavily with insomnia. Additionally, there is a very strong odor coming from his skin—literally. I asked people who have undergone similar fasts for other reasons, and they all confirmed this is common, so we aren't overly worried; we just bathe him more frequently than usual.
Despite all of this, some positive developments have emerged: he says his vision is much clearer, and that the "brain fog" has lifted. Before starting the therapy, his knees were agonizing; now, that pain has subsided. The swelling in his legs (knees and ankles) has almost entirely disappeared. His complexion is regaining a healthy flush; the jaundice and grayish tint are fading day by day (his face was quite literally gray-yellow). Even his eyes look brighter.
We pray every single day for his success and find joy in every small improvement.
I will update you with the results.
Stay strong, and don't give up, just as you haven't done until now... sending love to you all!

It will be okay; everyone just needs to hold on and keep fighting. You have no idea how happy I am to see him making progress.
I actually have that Breuss book at home; it seems like a wonderful resource. My mother wanted to try it as well...

I haven't been able to check in here as often as I'd like, but I really just wanted to reach out and tell everyone currently in the fight—both the patients and their families—that I hope you can find the strength to stay persistent, to keep believing, and to try to hold onto a positive mindset.

It was actually September 20th when I hit my one-year milestone since that very first chemo session (I ended up going through 8 cycles and 30 radiation treatments). These days, my treatment has scaled back quite a bit; I'm mostly just managing things with hormone pills and injections, plus a Herceptin shot every 21 days. Honestly, I feel wonderful. I’m living a totally normal life, working, and I don't spend my time dwelling on the illness anymore. Looking back, that whole experience was this intense chapter where I learned so much about myself, how to truly value life, and how to fight for my own well-being, but it isn't something I want to dwell on constantly or live in fear of what might happen down the road. I suppose I just try to take things one day at a time, living as if I have an eternity ahead of me.

steelbadger83 said:I can't keep up with everything here regularly, but I just want to tell the fighters (both those undergoing treatment and their families) to stay persistent, keep the faith, and maintain a positive mindset.

September 20th marked exactly one year since my very first chemo session (I went through 8 cycles and 30 radiation treatments). Right now, my meds are just hormone pills and injections, plus Herceptin every 21 days. Honestly? I feel fantastic. I’m living my life, working, and I don't spend my time dwelling on the illness. It was a chapter of my life where I learned a massive amount about myself—how to value existence and how to fight for my own sake—but it isn't something I want to obsess over anymore, nor do I want to live in fear of what might happen down the road. I’m just focused on living one day at a time, as if I have an eternity ahead of me.

Hey there, it’s great to see you back in the mix.😘
I am so glad to hear you're doing well, and I truly believe you'll keep feeling this good for a long, long time.👍

...I'm not sure if this still fits the topic of this forum, but I mentioned earlier (page 43) that my mom has a Klatskin tumor and
here is what happened (discharge papers from Mercy Hospital):

DISCHARGE SUMMARY FROM MERCY HOSPITAL

Dx: Obstructive jaundice
Cholangitis
Op: Resection of hepatic and common bile ducts
Hepaticojejunostomy sec. Roux
Cholecystectomia
(09/04/2007)

Dx: Diffuse peritonitis.
Partial hepaticojejunostomy dehiscence.
Sepsis
Op: Relaparotomy, anastomosis suture.
Abdominal lavage.
(09/06/2007)

Dx: Hemorrhagic shock.
Perforated duodenal ulcer.
Sepsis
Acute renal insufficiency.
Op: Relaparotomy.
Perforation site suture.
Hemostasis
(09/11/2007)

Dx: Diffuse peritonitis
Partial hepaticojejunostomy anastomosis dehiscence.
Sepsis
Renal insufficiency
Respiratory insufficiency
Op: Relaparotomy
Hepaticojejunostomy anastomosis suture
Abdominal cavity lavage
(09/14/2007)
Op: Tracheotomy
(09/15/2007)

Death occurred on 09/22/2007 at 2:42 PM.

...Cholangitis—according to the internet, it’s an acute infection of the bile ducts that looks like a tumor
(roughly speaking... but it’s definitely an infection)

..btw, just five minutes ago I was talking to the Deputy Director of the hospital in San Diego, and he claims it was
really tough to tell the difference between whether it was a tumor (cancer) or an infection... even after they did the endoscopy,
blood work, MRI, and whatever else they measured... I don't really get it... btw, that cost me
$500 out of pocket... cash.

...our doctor in San Diego gave the initial diagnosis of a Klatskin tumor, which is what I've been researching online (and here)
so I went to see him at his private clinic in the meantime to see if he actually agreed it was that specific tumor
and he said it would be a good idea to get an MRI for the surgeon to get a better look.

...in the days while we were arranging the MRI, I told my mother she had cancer.

...the day we did the MRI was her last day at the San Diego hospital; during a visit with the doctor right
before the MRI, she brought up the cancer, and the doctor saw that I had told her... we leave for the MRI and then head back to the waiting room..
after a little while, the doctor calls her alone into his office... then after a bit, he calls me in too... and this is where the story changes
because they told her she doesn't have cancer, but that it's just stones that need urgent surgery in Chicago... of course, I knew
that wasn't it, but she's so happy now that I don't even know if I should prove her wrong—I mean, we did get some paperwork with a diagnosis
saying it might be some kind of cyst instead of cancer (which again, doesn't match the story about the stones)

...the morning after we checked into Mercy Hospital, I went to my mother's room and waited for the doctor, who talked
with her for a bit, and after he stepped out into the hallway, I asked him if it was a Klatskin tumor, to which he sort of replied
"I just looked at the MRI images... those folks in San Diego are talking about some kind of cyst... that's the nasty tumor"...
(when he saw how terrified I looked and realized what I was getting at, he added, "or maybe it's just a cyst"... and
then he left.

...on the morning of 09/04/2007, right before the surgery, I go to her room to say goodbye.. the surgery takes 5 hours.. I wait in the hallway
by the exit doors of the OR... they pass by me.. I see her... they wheel her away to the ICU.. I wait for the doctor.. he leads me into a room with a whiteboard..
draws something, shows me, and says, "we cut this out.. everything is clear".. I give him $500.

...the next day.. we're still in Chicago.. we ask how she's doing.. they say she's fine.. recovering.. so we head back to San Diego

...on 09/06/2007, my sister calls them... they answered, "the situation has changed"... we asked what exactly happened.. they said we couldn't.
I have to be honest—she actually had to go back in for another surgery because the stitches gave way... they're telling my sister that "something is eating away at the sutures"... it's just... ugh.
She’s been moved to the ICU—and they've got her on a ventilator now. The discharge summary was only written once everything was settled, which basically means based on how things were looking at that moment...
It was pretty obvious they had no idea what was actually going on—I mean, Peritonitis is basically when bile leaks out and triggers a massive infection.

So—I’m heading into NYC next weekend... they're going to call in the attending physician for me... she shows up, we shake hands, and I just ask her, "What's actually going on here? Is this..."
Is it looking better or improving? It seems like things are heading in the right direction... though we have to remember—she is an older woman, after all. The surgery lasted five hours straight. And, as you all know, her cancer diagnosis is still the main thing we're navigating.

I’m feeling a bit weak—so I stepped outside the hospital for some fresh air. Walking around actually helps a little... then I head back inside, wash up, and get back into my scrubs.
I just walked into her room... the ventilator is running—she’s not really all there right now. I’m just sitting here, stroking her forehead and watching her... her eyes are half-open, and she keeps twitching her legs—she seems so restless. I feel so helpless. I'm heading back to San Diego.

September 11, 2007—she’s going in for her third surgery now... same reason as before. They’re saying things are still "unstable"—honestly, it's nerve-wracking. She calls me every day or two to check in. The doctor wants us all to head down to San Diego this Saturday, the 15th.
Heading to the hospital for an interview—wish me luck!

So, we finally rolled into the hospital on September 15th... just sitting there waiting for the doctor to show up. When he finally arrived, he gave us the news—turns out it isn't cancer at all! It’s just some kind of stubborn, lingering infection—even though...
We honestly had no idea the surgery would turn out like that—and even if we did... I was cutting through live tissue because I genuinely thought we were dealing with cancer. If she actually had cancer, I could have at least given her 3 or 4 years of quality life left.
I’m honestly so sorry you're dealing with these complications... if those stitches give way one more time—it’s just too much.

Checking in regarding the status from September 17th–21st... the updates have been pretty shaky—she's hanging in there, her kidneys are still functioning, but they’re having to intubate her now.

Around 1:00 PM on September 22nd—we all arrived at the hospital together. My sister was the first one to go into the room... then it was my turn. Looking at her, I could tell things had taken a turn for the worse compared to before. She’s on a ventilator now... I can't help but cry while I sit there with her—just stroking her hand.
Her forehead and hair... she opens her eyes and sees me—she actually recognizes me! She lifts her head and starts to open her mouth to say something... but all you can hear is that sound of air escaping. She's holding her head up... her mouth is just...
She’s still awake... we're just looking at each other—her head falls back onto the pillow... I lean my face against hers... she feels so cold. I'm stroking her hair... but I just can't take it anymore, so I'm stepping out—heading out to the balcony.
I'm just sitting here crying... there's nothing we can do—we're all leaving... my sister is staying behind in Chicago... I finally made it home and I'm just standing here in the kitchen making some tea... it's around 6:00 PM... then my sister calls me and says... she's gone.

She passed away at 2:42 PM... right after we left.

Does anyone happen to know how to translate this into Latin?
Please, throw any questions or suggestions my way—I'm all ears!
Hey there!

Nancy Hernandez43 said:We’ve "only" got the 6th chemo session left, which is scheduled in 25 days. At first, Mom’s cycles were spaced 21 days apart, but because her neutrophil levels were bouncing around, they switched it to 28 days to make sure we don't wreck her bone marrow.

At the start, I honestly thought these five months would feel like an endless, agonizing crawl, but looking back now... the time has actually flown by.

Like Mom always says: "We cherish the morning because we're awake to see it."

Kisses and thanks!

Mom starts her third round of chemo next week. Our situation is the polar opposite because we can't even bring ourselves to think about what happens after this last sixth round... time is moving way too fast (especially considering those "touching" medical prognoses we get month after month), and things are starting to take a turn for the worse. We've been living in this parallel reality for half a year now, and I can barely even remember what life felt like before everything became so abnormal.😢

jadepuma662, I am so sorry for your loss.

Please accept my deepest condolences.

Your mother’s story is absolutely unbelievable😲. My amateur take? It sounds like she passed away from Sepsis OP triggered by some underlying complication that the doctors just couldn't pin down as the primary cause. If this is eating at you—and honestly, if I were in your shoes, it would be killing me—I’d suggest requesting an autopsy. That dehiscence issue was likely because the tissue was so diseased it simply started breaking down, making it impossible to hold the sutures together.
Her situation reminds me so much of my dear late neighbor, Mandica, who one day was hit with sudden vomiting and intense gallbladder pain. It turned out to be gallstones that caused cholangitis, which then migrated to the pancreas, causing inflammation that eventually spiraled into cancer. She spent four agonizing months in the ICU, and even though she had a solid pension and her brother was constantly throwing extra money at everything to try and speed up her care, the doctors were just completely overwhelmed.

Please accept my sincerest condolences.

I’m honestly at a loss for words after reading about everything you’ve been through. It’s just heartbreaking that your mother had to endure so much suffering; it really makes you wonder if there was anything more the doctors could have actually done, since one complication just seemed to trigger the next. If they were just spinning tales to make themselves feel better, then sure, maybe.

One doctor—who’s still treating my mom, and I think she’ll be the one seeing her at the next appointment—gave us some blunt advice: never trust a physician who doesn't apply the exact same standards to every patient or, heaven forbid, starts asking for extra money out of pocket. She said this when we asked if she would personally recommend chemotherapy for her own mother in a situation like yours; we didn't really have a choice because things were so critical, but we were still terrified that the treatment might end up cutting her days short.

May your mother rest in peace.

brightgardener8 said:my mom starts her third round of chemo next week. our situation here is diametrically opposed because we don't even want to contemplate what happens after the final six... time passes far too quickly (especially given those "touching" medical prognoses over the months), and things are steadily worsening. we have been living in this sort of parallel reality for half a year now, and I can scarcely remember what it was like before, back when we were still normal😢

To be perfectly honest—I understand you completely. I, along with all my loved ones (and I don't even need to assume it's similar for others on these forums), feel as though this entire experience is one long, surreal dream. Every single day, we simply move through the same repetitive routine.

Initially, the prognosis was quite clear: six rounds of chemotherapy would essentially buy us "survival." In the midst of the shock and disbelief, it took us an incredibly long time to process that reality and for our conversations to stop sounding like "final goodbyes"... Even though we are nearing the end of this phase, and the question remains how the treatment will proceed—and whether we will endure that same shock again if they happen to find metastases elsewhere—we try to speak only with the intention of strengthening one another and understanding each other better.

So, I truly empathize when you say you can't remember when life felt normal, because we can no longer recall that feeling ourselves either.

Stay strong, and try to believe that things will turn out okay. These are the moments where one realizes just how banal life can be, and how much it is worth striving for the sake of your loved ones and simply being there for them.

Kisses

jadepuma662 It is difficult to find any words that might truly lessen your pain or ease your sense of disbelief, but please accept my sincere condolences on the passing of your mother. Unfortunately, I am quite lost when it comes to those Latin expressions you mentioned, let alone grasping how everything could have unfolded in such a devastating way...

My own mother’s diagnosis was somewhat easier to process—she was discharged from the hospital at an advanced stage of cancer with suggestions that we seek out a specialist for a second opinion. The thought of her remaining in a disorganized facility like a local county hospital terrified my father, especially since our grandfather declined so inexplicably fast and passed away from lung cancer. It is also a heavy realization to consider that this could happen to us as well...

I am so sorry for everything you all have endured, and I truly hope that you find some answers and can share them with the rest of us when the time comes!

Stay strong...

Honestly, I just want to say thank you all for the condolences—it really means a lot because I can see you truly get it.

Please accept my sincerest condolences; frankly, there aren't enough words to truly touch the depth of this. I know exactly how much this hurts, and I know you’re all likely still drifting through that fog of disbelief and pure agony—I have walked that exact path myself. Hang in there. It feels as though this was simply an inevitable outcome, especially since you did absolutely everything within your power. Both of my parents were taken by cancer, leaving me with a million unanswered questions. My mother passed away less than a month ago. Going through this and trying to live with the aftermath is grueling, but please, don't obsess over the "whys" and "what-ifs," or they will consume you. Please stay active here on the forum and check in with us; having this community was a vital lifeline for me after my mother died.

Please accept my sincerest condolences.

The explanation is that the surgical anastomosis
between the bile ducts and the intestine, which they performed,
has failed. As a result, bile is leaking into the abdomen, causing biliary peritonitis—basically, inflammation of the peritoneum.
To make matters worse, there is widespread organ failure. In short, ---
they didn't fix the issue during the reintervention, and unfortunately, the outlook is grim.

jadepuma662. said:

I am truly sorry for your loss, jadepuma662..

Following the surgery, the biliary anastomosis failed along with the intestinal loops. Bile leaked into the abdominal cavity, triggering biliary peritonitis... which leads directly to multi-organ failure.
Since they didn't handle that first reintervention properly, there was really nothing left to be done. It was a lost cause.
It’s devastating when things turn out this way. Just horrific.
While Cholangitis is dangerous enough on its own, it’s the peritonitis that actually kills you.

jadepuma662, please accept my deepest condolences—I am truly so sorry.

jadepuma662 said:...I am not entirely sure if this still fits the scope of this forum, but as I mentioned previously (page 43), my mother has a Klatskin tumor, and
here is what transpired (discharge summary from Mercury Hospital):

DISCHARGE SUMMARY FROM MERCURY HOSPITAL

Dx: Obstructive jaundice
Cholangitis
Op: Resection of hepatic and common bile ducts, followed by connection to the duodenum
hepaticojunostomisis SEC Roux
Cholecystectomia and gallbladder removal
(04.09.2007)

Dx: Diffuse peritonitis.
Partial dehiscentio hepaticojejunostomy.
Sepsis OP
Op: Relaparotomy with anastomosis suture.
Abdominal lavage.
(06.09.2007)

Dx: Hemorrhagic shock.
Perforated duodenal ulcer.
Sepsis OP
Acute renal insufficiency.
Op: Relaparotomy.
Suture of perforated sites.
Hemostasis
(11.09.2007)

Dx: Diffuse peritonitis
Partial dehiscentio hepaticojejunostomy.
Sepsis OP
Renal insufficiency
Insuffitientio respiratoria OP
Op: Relaparotomy
Hepaticojejunostomy suture
Abdominal cavity lavage
(14.09.2007)
Op: Tracheotomy
(15.09.2007)

Fatal outcome on 09.22.2007 at 14:42 hours.

...Cholangitis—according to the internet, it is an acute infection of the bile duct that mimics a tumor.
(Or something to that effect... but it is almost certainly an infection)

..By the way, just five minutes ago, I spoke with the Deputy Director of the hospital in San Diego, who insists it was
extremely difficult to distinguish whether it was a tumor (cancer) or an infection... even after they performed the endoscopy,
blood work, MRI, and whatever else they measured... I simply don't understand it. Incidentally, that conversation
cost me 500 dollars... in cash...

...Our doctor in San Diego provided the initial diagnosis of Klatskin tumor, which led me to research the condition online (and here).
I subsequently visited him at his private clinic to see if he truly believed it was indeed that specific tumor. He agreed
and suggested that an MRI would be beneficial to provide the surgeon with a clearer view.

...In the days leading up to the scheduled MRI, I told my mother she had cancer.

...The day we underwent the MRI was also our final day at the San Diego hospital. During a visit with the doctor right
before the MRI, she mentioned the cancer, and the doctor noticed that I had already told her... we head off for the MRI, and then return to the waiting room...
After some time, the doctor calls her alone into his office. Then, after a while, he calls me in as well. This is where a new narrative emerges,
in which they tell her she doesn't have cancer, but rather stones that require urgent surgery in a major medical center. Of course, it was obvious to me that
this wasn't the case, but she is now so happy that I don't even know if I should try to prove otherwise, especially since we received some paperwork with a diagnosis
suggesting it might be some kind of cyst rather than cancer (which, again, contradicts the story about the stones).

...The morning after we checked into Mercury Hospital, I went to my mother's room and waited for the doctor, who spoke briefly
with her. Once he stepped out into the hallway, I asked him if it was indeed a Klatskin tumor, to which he gave a somewhat patronizing response:
"I just reviewed the MRI images... those people in San Diego are talking about some kind of cyst... yes, that's the nasty tumor"...
(When he realized how terrified I was and that I understood the implications, he added, "or perhaps it's just a cyst")... and
gone.

...On the morning of September 4, 2007, just before the surgery, I went to her room to say goodbye. The operation lasts five hours. I wait in the hallway.
At the exit doors of the OR... they pass by me... I see her... they are wheeling her off to the ICU. I wait for the doctor... he leads me into a room with a whiteboard.
He sketches something out... points to it and says, "We cut this out... everything is clean." I hand him 500 dollars.

...The next day... we are still in New York. We ask how she is doing. They say she’s fine... recovering. We head back toward San Diego.

...September 6, 2007. My sister calls them on the phone... they respond, "Her condition has changed." We asked what exactly happened... they told us they couldn't
tell us precisely, but another surgery was performed because the sutures gave way... they explain to my sister that "something is eating at the stitches"... that she has been
transferred to the step-down unit and placed on a ventilator. The discharge summary was written once everything was finalized, which, based on what they
were saying at the time, makes it clear they had no idea what was actually happening (Peritonitis involves bile leakage causing infection).

...The following weekend, I return to New York. They call for the doctor on duty... the doctor arrives... we shake hands. I ask her, "What is going on? Is this
moving toward better or worse?" She replies, "She is an elderly patient... the surgery lasted five hours... and as you know, your mother has cancer."

...A wave of weakness hits me and I step out of the hospital for some air. I walk around and start feeling slightly better. I return to the hospital, wash my hands, put on a suit
and enter the room. The ventilator is running... she isn't conscious. I stroke her forehead and watch her; her eyes are half-open, her legs are twitching... she is restless. I can't help her. I head back to San Diego.

...September 11, 2007. They operate on her for the third time... same reason. Her condition is still described as "unstable." A day or two passes, then my sister calls me. The doctor wants everyone to come to the hospital on Saturday, September 15.
For a consultation.

...On September 15, we arrive at the hospital. We wait for the doctor. He arrives and explains: "She doesn't have cancer... it's some kind of insidious infection... even though we
didn't know, the surgery would have been the same regardless. I was cutting through live tissue because I believed it was cancer. If she actually had cancer, I could have given her 3 to 4 years of quality life."
"I am truly sorry that complications arose... if the sutures fail one more time..." He shrugs his shoulders.

...From September 17 to 21, we keep asking about her status. They answer, "It's touch and go... her kidneys are still functioning... they are inserting the ventilator tube through her throat."

...September 22, around 1:00 PM, we all arrive at the hospital. My sister enters the room first... then I. I see that her condition is worse than before. The ventilator is working... I weep over her. I stroke her
forehead and hair... she opens her eyes and sees me... she recognizes me... she lifts her head and opens her mouth to say something to me... all that can be heard is the sound of escaping air. She holds her head up... her mouth remains
open... we look at each other... her head falls back onto the pillow... I lean my face against hers... she feels cold. I stroke her... I can't take any more and I step outside... I go to the balcony
and cry. There is nothing we can do. We leave... my sister stays in New York... I have returned home. I am in the kitchen making tea... it's around 6:00 PM. My sister calls me and says... she passed away.

...She died at 2:42 PM... after we had already left.

Does anyone happen to know how to translate this into Latin?
All questions and suggestions are welcome.
Regards,

First, my deepest condolences. We all understand you here, because we have lost someone ourselves, or are in the process of losing someone right now......
From what I gather, they performed a classic Cholecystectomia—removing the gallbladder—but they did so during an active inflammation, which they likely had to do given the jaundice and the probable stone causing the biliary obstruction. So, they had to proceed. However, the inflammation spread to the abdomen, leading to the sutures failing and the development of Sepsis OP, which triggered everything else. There was also mention of a perforated duodenal ulcer—which means a hole formed in her duodenum, further complicating things. It was nearly impossible to intervene at that point; she fell into hemorrhagic shock, and the Sepsis OP led to kidney failure and eventually respiratory failure. I am so sorry. I know it is horrific, but sometimes so many things go wrong that even a doctor cannot influence the outcome. Believe me, no physician is indifferent when a patient dies, not even surgeons. That must be what happened. My sincere condolences once again.

Hey everyone. Sending hugs to all... 😘 😘 You guys earned them.
jadepuma662, my sincere condolences from my side too. It's just hard to find the right words. Sending you a warm hug 😘
I've been staying with my dad for the last few days and honestly, it’s brutal watching him fade away. But he isn't giving up 👍 That drive to live, though... I was reminded of it today while waiting for the train... Standing there at the station, I noticed this tomato plant growing right on the tracks—with two huge green tomatoes on it 😍 I have no clue how they managed to survive and grow in a spot like that. Pure will to live. 😛.

Anyway, Drew Nguyen47 found a recipe for a cancer remedy in folk medicine, so I'm going to prep it for Dad (we really don't have anything left to lose at this point).

Here is the recipe and a link showing that this worked for some people:

30 oz of fresh aloe vera cactus leaves (plant should be 3-5 years old)
7 oz of guaranteed pure black wine from unsprayed grapes
5 oz of pure 96% alcohol
40 oz of fresh spring wildflower honey straight from the comb
50 g chicory (like a Starbucks coffee substitute)

Instructions: Grind the aloe vera leaves using a meat grinder, chop the honey into tiny pieces and mix it with the cactus, then put everything into a glass jug along with the dried chicory and other ingredients. Give it a good shake and store it in a cool, dark place. Ideally, shake the mixture every day.

After five days, strain a small amount (enough for the next 5 days of doses), leaving the rest in the jug. Or you can let everything sit for two weeks before straining it all. Keep the remedy in a cool place.

Usage: For the first five days, take one teaspoon three times a day exactly two hours before meals. After five days, take one tablespoon three times a day exactly one hour before meals, and continue until it's gone.

This remedy treats: Lung tuberculosis, stomach ulcers, internal inflammation, ulcer diseases. It's also used for the flu, strep throat (1-2 days), long-term chronic illnesses, cardiac asthma, pulmonary asthma, leukemia, chronic headaches, vascular inflammation, heart issues, kidney issues, female reproductive diseases, cancer, thrombosis, prostate, diabetes, heart attacks, angina, epilepsy, AIDS, amoebiasis, infertility, allergies, cystic diseases, various skin conditions, and impotence.

The treatment course lasts two months out of the year. You can only reuse the remedy after a full year has passed.

IMPORTANT: Once taken, you shouldn't rinse your mouth with water, nor should you consume any liquids or even a crumb of food for two hours afterward. The same applies when the interval shortens to one hour, allowing the remedy to work its magic on even the toughest diseases. Shake the bottle well before each use. Wash the cactus leaves before grinding.

http://www.nytimes.com/Health/folk-medicine-archive.html
http://www.webmd.com/natural-remedies/nutrition

Love you all. 😘

I just have one more question... does anyone know what's best to feed a patient dealing with cancer/liver metastasis. Dad can still manage a few spoonfuls of soup, but I'm thinking of giving him steamed broccoli soup with a little salt. What else can I give him to eat? Honestly, he's mostly just able to handle water...👎

Drew Nguyen47 said:I have just one more question... does anyone here know what the best approach is for feeding a patient dealing with cancer or liver metastases? My dad can still manage a few spoonfuls of soup here and there, and I was thinking about giving him some blended broccoli soup with a pinch of salt, but I’m wondering if there’s anything else we should be offering. Honestly, right now, it seems like water is the only thing that really sits well with him. 👎

You could just whip up some vegetable broths with finely diced veggies—honestly, you can even toss the whole lot into a blender until it’s smooth, kind of like those purees they make for babies.
If you’re actually planning on eating it, you might want to try some raw veggies—honestly, those raw vegetable purees can be pretty incredible if you do them right. Just toss a little parsley leaf and maybe two slices of olive on top to make it look decent; it doesn't really matter if they end up sitting on the side of the plate untouched.
I have this personal rule about not spilling my guts regarding what's actually going on inside, because if I do, people start getting all high and mighty and acting like they own the place.😁
And I’ll probably try my hand at some sort of creative presentation too, you know, playing around with different colors and trying to "package" everything just right so it actually looks decent.

It would probably be a good idea to have everyone eat the exact same thing, just so nobody feels like they’re getting the short end of the stick—we all know how fragile the male ego can be.
Just whip up something delicious for yourself and him, then sit down and enjoy the meal together. 🙂

Hi everyone...
Unfortunately, I’m joining this community under some pretty heavy circumstances... someone very dear to me has been diagnosed with lung cancer that has since spread to the brain (they actually just removed that part of the tumor two days ago). Before they can move forward with surgery on the lungs, he has to go through a grueling round of chemotherapy first. I’ll be the first to admit I’m a complete novice when it comes to all of this, and I’m feeling a bit lost... my family and I are looking into every single avenue to get him healthy again... we aren't even ruling out alternative treatments at this stage. If anyone here has gone through something similar—whether the results were good or bad—please, could you share your experience? I’m really hoping to connect with specialists who truly know their stuff, like Drago Plecko. Any leads or recommendations would mean the world to us... thank you all so much...
and wishing you the best...