Support for families dealing with cancer and other serious illnesses (Part II)

I don't even know where to start with this mess. Honestly, I’m just sitting here shaking my head. It’s the same old story every single time, isn't it? People acting like they have all the answers when they clearly haven't spent five minutes actually looking at the facts. It’s exhausting. I feel like I’m shouting into a void sometimes, just trying to point out the obvious, but nope—everyone’s too busy tripping over their own feet to notice. My bad, maybe I’m just being too cynical. Or maybe I’m just the only one seeing things for what they really are. Whatever. Just another day in paradise, right? kaže:


The smell of citrus used to be my go-to. Honestly, just scratching the peel of a lemon or an orange and taking a whiff helped whenever I felt like I was going to throw up. For me, though, the urge to gag was usually triggered by those brutal coughing fits, not from food or chemo. Look, I’m not saying this is some magic cure for everyone, but maybe ask him if he’d be willing to try it? See what he thinks. And hey, there’s probably some actual medication involved too, but Angela Wright would definitely know more about that than I do.

We tried using some fresh lemons from the grocery store tonight, and man, he absolutely loves the scent. Thanks for the tip! 😍

Today has been an absolute grind. We’re on day eight of chemo and honestly, it’s rough. He’s dealing with constant nausea—hasn't actually thrown up yet, thank God—but he is just beyond exhausted. It's endless. To top it all off, we finally got that third opinion, and it was just more of the same. We had specialists from Cedars-Sinai in LA take a look at his scans, and they were in total agreement with the initial diagnosis and the treatment plan. Basically... things aren't looking good.

That phone call today—and how much he’s struggling right now—it just ripped the scab off everything. It sent me straight back to day one, that first moment we heard the diagnosis. I swear, I walked through my front door and just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. Every single doctor we’ve seen over this last month keeps asking the same damn question: "Where were you guys a year ago?" Are you kidding me? He was in the hospital for emergency prostate surgery after bleeding for days while they "handled" it by flushing his urinary tract over and over. Since then, it’s been one doctor after another for all sorts of issues. Sure, none of those visits pointed directly to what we're facing now, but after all those colonoscopies, ultrasounds, and chest X-rays... absolutely nothing looked suspicious. Nothing! Then he was bloated, so he had two abdominal ultrasounds. Totally normal. Then he tested positive for H. pylori and finished the treatment. He was coughing, so we rushed him for a chest X-ray. Clear. He couldn't breathe, so we went to the ER, they gave him an enema, and sent him home because "everything looks fine now." Then the bowel issues started about two months ago, so he had an enema study. Normal. All that time, cancer and metastases were eating him alive from the inside out... and then they have the nerve to ask us where we were a year ago. Unbelievable.

I don't know, man... maybe it’s just one of those days. A really, really bad one. Honestly? I'm gonna go have a good cry, and then tomorrow, we get back at it.

Listen, Carl Kern66, sometimes the nature of an illness is such that both the primary tumor and any metastases are microscopic, yet the complications start regardless. Using phrases like "if only" or "what if" is just empty speculation. Don't let it weigh you down; that’s all in the past, and if there were something significant to be seen, someone would have spotted it by now. For heaven's sake, it's not like everyone lacks common sense.
It is what it is. I know you were probably hoping for some kind of plot twist from that second opinion, but try to flip the script. Look at it this way: you now have confirmation that he's receiving the best possible care. Anything beyond that is honestly just spinning your wheels. You take it one day at a time and tackle whatever hurdles pop up in your path. Even finding out that lemon juice actually helps him—that's a small win in the bag.
Take it easy; you're doing everything humanly possible.

Angela Wright said:Look, Carl Kern66, sometimes the way disease works is just nasty—the primary tumor and the metastases can be microscopic, and the trouble starts before anyone even notices. Playing the "what if" game or obsessing over "if only" is useless. Don't beat yourself up over it; that part is behind you. If there was something visible, someone would have caught it. For crying out loud, doctors aren't all idiots.
It is what it is. I know you were probably praying for some kind of miracle twist after that second opinion, but try to flip the script. Focus on the fact that you now have confirmation that he’s getting the best care possible. Anything else is just spinning your wheels in the mud. You just take it one day at a time and tackle whatever obstacle lands in your path. Hey, you found out that lemon juice actually helps him? That’s a win. Take it.
Hang in there. You are doing everything humanly possible.

Thanks, 🙂 one of the first things the oncologist told us was that one reason this is called a malignant disease is because it's so damn good at hiding until it's too late.

We're trying really hard not to dwell on where we could have been or what we missed, because honestly, that just makes everything feel ten times heavier. But when you hear "you should have come in six months ago" for the third time... I don't even know what we were hoping for from this third opinion. From the very start, we knew how bad the situation was and that the statistics weren't exactly on our side, but you still find yourself hoping it's just some massive mistake. I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like I’ve somehow wandered into someone else's life. Like, this is supposed to happen to other people. 🙄

And you're right. You have no idea how much it meant to us just seeing him able to eat dinner better because of some squeezed lemon. Or those moments when he manages to make his own way down from his room to the living room just to hang out with us all afternoon. Or when he cracks a joke despite everything he's going through.

We are giving it everything we've got, but it just kills you that what we *can* do feels so small...

P.S. I couldn't sleep tonight, so I ended up scrolling through this old thread and reading everything you and your family went through, along with everyone else's battles, wins, and losses. I'm speechless. You guys are heroes. 🙂

Amanda Anderson87 said:We’re doing everything within our power, but what kills you is just how little we can actually influence...

That’s one way to look at it. Maybe we can't fight biology and the laws of nature—those are heavy hitters—but we aren't just machines; we're spiritual beings. We love and we are loved, and honestly, that's the whole point of being alive. The fact that you're standing by his side, ensuring he doesn't have to face this alone through the storm, is a massive blessing. We're all fragile, temporary flickers in the dark. When a life finally wraps up, the number of years on the calendar matters far less than the substance of those years. It’s like a candle; it doesn't matter if it burned for a hundred hours or ten if it spent its time flickering out in total isolation and resentment. What matters is the quality. Hold onto your family peace and stay close to one another; everything else is in God's hands, and let's hope for the best.
I hope you get to spend the holidays surrounded by the peace and love of your family.

Angela Wright said:That’s just how you see it. Look, maybe we can't fight biology or the laws of nature, but we aren't just meat and bone—we're spiritual beings. We love, and we need to be loved; that's the whole point of being alive. The fact that you're standing by him, making sure he doesn't have to face any of this alone... honestly, in a universe this big, that's a massive blessing. We're all fragile, we're all temporary. When a life finally winds down, it doesn't matter if you clocked 100 years of perfect health only to die lonely and hated by everyone. It’s about *how* you lived and the quality of it. Just hold onto your family peace and stay close to each other. As for the rest? Well, let's just hope God looks out for us and gives us the best outcome possible.
I really hope you get to spend the holidays surrounded by peace and your family's love.

Thanks, Angela Wright.🙂

Wishing you and all your loved ones a peaceful holiday season too.

Wishing everyone a wonderful Easter holiday; may you enjoy a peaceful and joyful day surrounded by all your loved ones...

Many thanks Carl Kern66, cosmiclynx14, Rachel Wood27, and Angela Wright 🙂
I’ve been a bit quiet lately due to some frustrating internet issues at home. On Thursday, I went to see a private oncologist-radiologist to get a second opinion on my situation. He suggested that I undergo either an ultrasound-guided puncture or a CT-guided biopsy of the tumor located near the duodenum—essentially targeting the largest mass in the liver—at Mayo Clinic. My primary care physician sent over the referrals on Friday, but I haven't quite managed to coordinate everything before the 15th deadline. I’ve already scanned and emailed all the documentation to the department at Mayo Clinic, though I really need to follow up with a phone call tomorrow to make sure it hasn't vanished into the void. We also have an MRI scheduled for tomorrow.
I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season 😘

Performing a liver puncture or biopsy—or indeed any biopsy of an organ within the abdominal cavity under ultrasound or CT guidance—is simply not an outpatient procedure.
Because of this, one cannot merely schedule such a service through a standard referral from a primary care physician.
The patient must be formally admitted to the hospital—whether that be oncology, surgery, or gastroenterology, depending entirely on which specialist is managing their care—and then the attending physician coordinates directly with an interventional radiologist to arrange the actual puncture or biopsy.
Following the procedure, the patient remains hospitalized overnight to allow for close monitoring of their condition.

Anyone got any updates on their end?

@feralsurfer72/">@@feralsurfer72, how did the MRI go? How’s your dad holding up?

My old man is finishing his last round of Xeloda tonight. He’s got a follow-up next Wednesday to see where we go from here.

And hey, if it helps anyone else out, we've been fighting nausea with ginger. We did a mix of about 7 ounces of grated ginger with a big jar of honey. Or just fresh ginger and chamomile tea. Honestly, the pure ginger was what actually worked for him.

To whom it may concern,

I am seeking a recommendation for an oncologist, either here in the States or perhaps abroad, who could provide a second opinion on my father's medical records.

About three or four years ago, he was diagnosed with diabetes. He attended all his checkups and managed his insulin regularly, until last year when my mother noticed he had turned quite yellow. An ultrasound performed at a private clinic revealed that something was wrong with his pancreas. Naturally, our local primary care doctors at the community health center insisted everything was perfectly fine with his stomach.

Last August, my father underwent surgery for pancreatic cancer (he kept the true nature of the operation from me, only revealing it a few months ago when I read the reports myself 🙂). He completed one cycle of a rather experimental chemotherapy regimen. He tolerated it well; the surgery was successful, and even reached a point where he began gaining weight. However, this past March, fluid began to build up—his legs swelled terribly, and his abdomen became distended like a balloon. A doctor saw him and immediately ordered a drain to be placed because his abdominal cavity was filled with fluid. They analyzed the fluid and found no tumor cells. In the first 24 hours, I believe he drained over 15 liters from his abdomen. It hasn't stopped; since the drain was inserted around March 10th, he is still losing a liter or two of fluid, and his legs remain severely swollen. He was also prescribed albumin, which we actually had to purchase ourselves before he was admitted to the hospital to receive further doses. He is being discharged today, yet no one has bothered to explain the "what" or the "why" regarding his condition.

As far as I am aware, the CT scan results were normal.
🤷He has not had an MRI yet.

Essentially... on the day they admitted him, they told him he was a "medical phenomenon," and then everything just ground to a halt for them. 🙂
He was admitted using the test results from his local clinic, yet they only ran blood work yesterday, despite him being in the hospital for nearly seven days.
It seems they simply do not know, or perhaps they refuse to know. The doctor hasn't even made a proper attempt to visit him.

I am well aware that mortality rates for pancreatic cancer are devastatingly high, but I am still holding onto the hope that this was caught in time.

I would very much like to seek a second opinion outside of the specialists in Chicago, who seemingly care more about collecting academic titles and credentials than actual patient care.

On top of everything else we are facing as a family—dealing with a man who was perfectly healthy until last year—I find myself forced to fight for every single test result and every word of explanation from doctors that might help us understand what is happening.

Perhaps this is a bit long-winded. But please, if you know of an oncologist to whom I could email scans or mail physical copies of his records for review, I would be deeply grateful for the recommendation. Thank you.

Regards from Chicago.

Unfortunately, nobody is going to do that for you for free.😢
You might want to check with Mayo Clinic, though obviously, there’s a cost involved. Beyond that, you have private specialists like Dr. Smith—just Google it, and you'll find all the contact info instantly.
The fact that they're collecting fluid is a clear sign the disease is progressing. You don't necessarily need to see malignant cells in the puncture sample to know what's happening. Since your dad was already showing jaundice at the start of treatment, it's obvious the liver was already compromised, and these kinds of abscesses are a telltale sign that the organ is failing. Given that he's diabetic, it's honestly a miracle he's managed to hold out against the illness this long.
For your own peace of mind, even if they had taken him seriously at the local clinic right away, it wouldn't have changed the outcome in his case. It's possible to catch ovarian cancer early enough with routine abdominal ultrasounds, but by the time actual symptoms kick in, the disease is almost always quite advanced. That's why ovarian cancer is widely considered one of the most insidious types of cancer.

Thanks, Angela Wright. Honestly, I’d pay any amount if they would just give me an update on what's actually happening or at least tell me how much time he has left. But these people stay silent. They are being completely inhuman.

Ever since his diabetes diagnosis, he’s been diligent about every ultrasound, blood vessel scan, and checkup they recommended. He even went in for a follow-up ultrasound just a few days before he decided to see a specialist at a private clinic.

When that specialist looked him over, he didn't even hesitate—he asked him why he wasn't already admitted to the hospital.

Processing all of this is incredibly difficult because he has always been my greatest pillar of strength, and it's even harder watching my mother cling to the hope that everything will somehow turn out okay...

I’ve done my own research online, and I am painfully aware that in almost every scenario, pancreatic cancer is a death sentence.

I honestly thought I would never be the type of person to post on a thread like this in my entire life.
But unfortunately, here I am. 😢

It is incredibly difficult to stomach the reality that my father has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that he might be gone by tomorrow... 😢

Henry Lee38 said:I honestly thought I’d never be the type of person to ever post on a thread like this.
But here I am. Life’s a trip, right? 😢

It’s just... it’s brutal. Dealing with the fact that my dad has pancreatic cancer and he might not even be here tomorrow? It's too much. 😢

Brenda Mendoza3, hang in there! Don't let those thoughts get to you. Just spend some time reading through this thread—and look at the older ones, too. Seriously, people's stories and advice actually help more than you'd think.

As for how I deal with everything? Honestly, it's just "one day at a time." And you've gotta stop dwelling on that last sentence of yours. It happened. It's happening. Just breathe.

I am truly sorry to hear this 😢
I’m no doctor, but speaking as someone with some experience in navigating these situations, I’m worried. This fluid buildup suggests that Dad might have moved into the terminal stage of his illness. At this point, we're likely looking at symptomatic management—things like diuretics or perhaps even a procedure to insert a drain so that fluid can escape. You should really consult with a private internist in San Francisco or reach out to a palliative care team. Those specialists deal with this exact scenario every single day.
Hang in there, and try to be his rock right now.

edit: I can't edit my previous post anymore, but instead of saying "ascites"—which refers to fluid buildup caused by liver failure—I accidentally wrote "abscess," which means something entirely different and has nothing to do with Dad's condition. That was a slip of the tongue, my apologies. 🙈

They placed his drain back in March, yet the fluid continues to leak. It subsides just enough for his legs to swell, then once they drain that, the drainage increases again and we're right back where we started...
My mother says he’ll be staying in the hospital longer; apparently, he spoke with a physician who needs to evaluate the swelling in his legs.

I am doing my absolute best to remain strong, because I know how much he relies on me—and how hard he tries to shield me from the truth. They wouldn't even give me the full details about his condition until a month or two ago, when I was busy carrying his medical records around just to justify extending his disability leave. Only then did they admit it was cancer. Though... deep down, I think I knew what it was from the very beginning, even if I kept trying to convince myself otherwise.

From what I understand, he has received six or eight doses of albumin during these five days in the hospital. We are currently waiting on another set of test results and the fluid analysis they performed here at the facility.

Thank you all for the support, regardless.

In my "real" life, I know I have to maintain a brave face. I have an older daughter who is incredibly close to her grandfather and can sense that something is wrong, and then there is my youngest, who thankfully doesn't understand anything yet. On top of that, I feel a responsibility toward my mother to be the optimist who keeps her spirits up. But lately... I feel myself reaching a breaking point. 🙂

Amanda Anderson87 said:Brenda Mendoza3, don't let yourself go there—don't think like that! Try reading through this thread (and some of the older ones too). You'll find that everyone else's experiences and advice can really help.

As for how I process all those experiences... I just take it one day at a time. And I have to push that last sentence of yours out of my head. It’s already happened.

Thank you, Carl Kern66. Since his first hospital visit, I have been trying my hardest to maintain a positive outlook. But sometimes, it is difficult to keep my head above water. I have to be there for him, for my mother, for my brothers, and for my daughters—one of whom is especially close to him since she grew up alongside him and is old enough now to realize something is wrong. I know I need to stay positive because, in these family situations, I am usually the one expected to spread optimism, even when it starts to consume me from the inside.
We are doing everything we can to provide him with both alternative treatments and standard medical care. But occasionally, we hit a wall that simply cannot be breached.
Regardless, thank you for the support.

Greetings. My son—who is 21—has been battling a malignant testicular tumor. He’s completed his chemotherapy, and for the moment, things are looking positive. However, we have hit a bit of a crossroads regarding his first follow-up scan. Before the chemo began, he underwent a CT scan, and now his doctor has prescribed another one. That said, when we went to schedule the appointment, the technician on duty seemed quite taken aback by the request; he strongly advised us to opt for an MRI instead, mentioning that for younger patients at their facility, an MRI is the standard protocol. After doing some digging into the differences between CT and MRI, my son and I have reached the conclusion that the MRI feels like the more sensible route—primarily because there is no radiation involved, which eliminates any secondary cancer risks. I am seeking your perspective: do I have the right to decline the CT in favor of the MRI, and in your opinion, which path is truly the better choice?

wiredbison14 said:Hi everyone. My son (21) was diagnosed with a malignant testicular tumor. He finished chemo and things are looking good now. However, we’ve hit a bit of a crossroads regarding his first follow-up scan. Before the chemo started, he had a CT scan, and now his doctor has ordered another one. When we went to schedule it, the technician on duty looked visibly shaken and advised us to request an MRI instead, mentioning that for younger patients at their facility, an MRI is the standard protocol. After looking into both options, my son and I feel much more comfortable with an MRI because there's no radiation involved—no risk of secondary cancer issues. I’m looking for some advice here: can I refuse the CT and opt for the MRI, and which one do you think is actually the better choice?

An MRI is definitely superior when it comes to avoiding radiation exposure, but honestly, I have no idea why the doctor specifically requested a CT over an MRI; that's entirely down to the physician's clinical judgment. My advice? Reach out to the doctor and frame it carefully. Don't make it sound like you're accusing them—just mention that a technician suggested an MRI might be more appropriate for someone his age and ask if they could double-check the order just to ensure everything is correct. It keeps the conversation professional rather than confrontational. In medicine, everything boils down to weighing risks against benefits. If that specific CT provides data that an MRI simply can't capture, then the doctor has every right to order it despite the radiation.

Henry Lee38 said:They put in his drain back in March. The fluid is still leaking out of it. It slows down for a bit, then his legs swell up again, and before you know it, they have to expand the drainage system just to keep up.
My mom mentioned he’ll be staying in the hospital longer; apparently, he spoke with a doctor who needs to take another look at the swelling in his legs.

I'm trying my hardest to stay strong because I know how much he relies on me, and he goes out of his way to hide the struggle so I won't see it. They didn't even give me the full details for a month or two while I was busy carrying around paperwork just to extend his medical leave. Only then did they finally admit it was cancer. Honestly... I had a gut feeling from the very start, but I kept trying to convince myself it wasn't true.

From what I can gather, he’s had about 6 or 8 doses of albumin during these five days in the hospital. Now they’re just waiting on more test results and some lab work they ran here.

Thanks for the support, regardless.

In "real life," I know I have to hold it together. I have an older daughter who is incredibly close to her grandfather—she can tell something is wrong—and then there's my youngest, who, thank God, doesn't understand anything yet. On top of that, I feel like I have to be the cheerleader for my mom to keep her spirits up. But lately, I feel like I'm hitting a breaking point. 🙂

I know exactly how you feel. Your family thought they were protecting you by withholding the truth, but all they really did was make the shock hit ten times harder once everything spiraled. If they had been upfront from day one, you could have processed it gradually and adjusted as things unfolded. I know this is agonizing, but you have to realize there is nothing more you can physically do for your dad right now. You have to protect your own health and look after your kids. As brutal as this situation is, we all eventually have to face this reality—the fact that our parents are temporary and that we will lose them. Having walked this path myself, I can tell you that as heavy as it feels, it’s a natural part of life, and nature finds a way to help us endure it. When things get dark, just remember that.
Spend as much time with him as possible and talk about the good times and the memories you share. It will mean the world to him, and honestly, it’ll help you too. Everything will unfold exactly as it's meant to. Hang in there.