Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

slyseal28 said:First off, I want to send my love to everyone here. I’ve been following your stories, and I know there have been so many heartbreaking moments shared. My heart goes out to all of you and your families who are going through this right now...

Ours is a happy story. My husband has finally reached the finish line of his chemo! After finishing 6 cycles of Adriamycin and Ifosfamide, 30 radiation sessions, and 4 more cycles of the DTIC protocol—he’s done. A successful finish!
Our doctor looked at us with such a bright, smiling expression and said he’d be happy to wrap up the treatment right then and there. We just locked eyes and laughed together in pure relief. Now we just have some follow-ups to handle: a cardiac ultrasound, a CT scan in about a month, and a PET scan in mid-December. If the PET scan at Mayo Clinic shows anything suspicious or unclear, we’ll head over to Austria for a PET/CT. We’ve already scheduled the PET at Mayo for December 19th. Our only hurdle is figuring out where to get the CT since the machines at Mayo are currently down (and who knows when they'll be fixed...).

Anyway, I wanted to share this win with you all, just as I’ve shared the heavy stuff along the way... Sending so much love, luck, and HEALTH to every single one of you, your families, and your friends.

I’m still reading everything you post; you guys were my rock during the darkest times. 🙂

Oh my gosh, I am so incredibly happy for you! I can only imagine the weight lifting off your shoulders, and your husband too. 😉 Wishing you both nothing but the very best from the bottom of my heart. 🙂

Anonymous said:What has your experience been like with your doctors?

@Angela Wright, @The One: thanks to you both 🙂

We’ve actually been quite fortunate with our doctors from the very start. We never felt like we were hitting a brick wall. From the initial stages before surgery at Mount Sinai, right through to seeing our attending physician at Mayo Clinic.

Where the American healthcare system really falls short, in my view, is the lack of available beds and necessary equipment. We definitely felt those delays when waiting for chemotherapy appointments. And radiation... too. That’s an issue with the systemic infrastructure, not the physicians themselves—at least, that's how I see it.

Angela Wright said:👍 😘

Angela Wright, your story gives everyone so much hope. Wishing you nothing but the best in life. Much love.

Anonymous said:Angela Wright, your story gives everyone hope. Wishing you all the best in life. With love

Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I wish the exact same for you.🙂

brightgardener8 said:Hey everyone!
After three attempts and being pushed back for 17 days, my mom finally got the green light today to resume chemo. We were really struggling with her blood counts; nothing seemed to be working. We decided to try beta glucan, and it actually looks like it’s making a difference. So, we’re starting the third cycle tomorrow... I know the nausea and vomiting are coming, but it's only for five days.
Regarding the medical supplies/diapers—for those of you who've dealt with this, how long does it usually take to get things approved once you submit the request to the primary care doctor? Are we talking days, weeks, or months...? We aren't at that stage yet, but I don't want to leave anything to chance. A friend whose grandmother has Alzheimer's mentioned they waited a couple of months (?!).

Wickedangel, Abuxl, Apple22, Bednkacin... how are you guys doing?

brightgardener8, basically (thank God 🙂), things are okay. Hang in there—she finished her third cycle and heads in for follow-ups in early November (though she might need to start a fourth cycle then, and I'm not sure how to coordinate that since she has to travel to Chicago for her appointments—that's a 5-hour drive). Her blood work is relatively stable, even though her white cells, red cells, and platelets are all low and her liver enzymes are up—but the doctors think it's fine and she can keep going with treatment. Honestly, during the treatment itself, she doesn't budge from the bed; she feels terrible and won't eat a thing. About 4 or 5 days after the treatment, she'll head out with her music, leaving the house around 10 AM and getting back around 5 or 6 PM... just walking around or riding in the car and stuff. Sometimes she'll sneakily grab a pizza—and that's pretty much it until the next round 🙂 mostly. Between cycles, we focus on helping her regain her appetite, strength, and the weight she loses during treatment, while trying to clear her liver and improve her blood counts... that's pretty much our life from one cycle 🙂 to the next 🙂 cycle 🙂. How is your mom doing?

Angela Wright, I read your posts all the time because they’re always so comforting and encouraging, but 🤷 I never see any updates on how your mom is holding up?

This is my first time reaching out here. My family and I are in an incredibly difficult spot right now, and honestly, I’m not even sure where to begin. To put it simply, I’m looking for anyone who can share their experience or insights regarding treatments for endocrine tumors and adenoid cystic carcinoma. So far, there have been two surgeries on the left orbit where the tumor was located—always with the same explanation of recurrence, though the primary tumor itself was never actually found. Since July of this year, things have taken a drastic turn; the tumor has suddenly spread to encompass both the left and right pyramids and has infiltrated the lower part of the cranial cavity. It’s also appeared at the previous surgical site and on the right side above the auditory canal. We feel like we've hit a brick wall. Tomorrow, a third surgery is scheduled, and frankly, we aren't even sure if it makes any sense anymore. The patient is 51, currently feeling fine, and he just can't wrap his head around the fact that there's so little time left. For all of us, it feels surreal. I would be deeply grateful for any advice or information you might be able to share.

slyseal28 said:@Angela Wright, @The One: thank you both 🙂

We were incredibly fortunate with our medical team from the very beginning; we never once encountered a closed door. From the initial stages before surgery at Mount Sinai, all the way through to our specialist at Mayo Clinic...

What truly fails within our healthcare system is the sheer lack of available beds and necessary equipment. We certainly felt the impact of waiting periods for chemotherapy, and for radiation as well... In my estimation, that is a failure of the system itself, rather than the physicians...

A successful battle lies behind you! It brings me such joy to hear that. There is a profound sense of relief ahead, so please, savor every moment and hold onto the beautiful thoughts. May you leave the bitterness of hospital stays firmly in the past...

Immediately following the diagnosis, my parents decided to leave America. We simply could not risk any more delays after hearing the stories of other families, especially having experienced those long lines and the lack of organization and poor conditions firsthand when my grandfather passed away from lung cancer. It is true that we went bankrupt in a very short period, but Mom is here with us... and we move forward...

Sending much love!

Anonymous said:brightgardener8, look, basically (thank God 🙂) things are okay. She’s hanging in there, and she just finished her third cycle. She’s heading in for a checkup at the beginning of November—though we're still playing it by ear because if they decide she needs a fourth cycle right away, it’s going to be a massive headache coordinating that since she has to fly all the way to New York for the appointment (that's a 5-hour flight one way). Her bloodwork is relatively decent, even though her white cells, red cells, and platelets are all down, and those liver enzymes are up—but the doctors think it's fine and she can push forward with the treatment. Honestly, during the actual treatment phase, she doesn't move from the bed; she feels miserable and can't eat a thing. But then, about 4 or 5 days after the therapy, she'll head out with some music playing, leaving the house around 10 AM and coming back around 5 or 6 in the evening... just walking, driving around, that kind of stuff. Sometimes they'll sneakily grab a pizza—and that’s pretty much how it goes until the next session 🙂 mostly. Between cycles, we try our best to help her get her appetite back, regain her strength, and put back on the weight she loses during treatment, while also trying to let her liver recover and stabilize her blood counts. That’s basically how we live from one cycle 🙂 to the next 🙂 cycle 🙂... anyway, how is your mom doing?

Angela Wright, I read your posts all the time—they’re always there to offer comfort and strength—but 🤷 I never seem to see an update on how your mom is holding up?

Mom finished her third cycle of Temodal on Wednesday, and man, she felt nauseous for all five days. Even though she’s clearly struggling, she keeps insisting that she doesn't feel bad at all👍. Honestly, that's the only thing keeping me from spiraling right now. Of course, she’s still nagging us to leave her alone. She has absolutely no clue how much she actually relies on us.
Yesterday she had some burgers; just mentioning burgers brings this huge grin from ear to ear. We don't want to be the "food police" if it makes her happy. She lost so much weight already, so now the goal is to get those pounds back. It almost feels like the responsibility for her gaining weight falls entirely on us, because once she starts eating, she has a killer appetite. She clears everything on her plate; sometimes we joke that she’s going to scrape the color right off the ceramic.😁

slyseal28, congrats! Just keep doing what you're doing.

Angela Wright said:Thank you so much. I truly wish the exact same for you!🙂

My mother-in-law went in for her CT scan yesterday, and thank God everything looks clear with her head. Thanks so much to everyone for the support.

Anonymous said:My mother-in-law had her CT scan yesterday, and thank God, everything looks fine with her head. I appreciate all the support...

I am truly glad to hear that. It is such a relief when the scans come back clear...

My own mother is scheduled for her CT this Wednesday, and I am approaching it without any fear or doubt. Hopefully, the news will be just as good...

Ryan Foster6 said:This is my first time reaching out here. My family and I are in a really tough spot right now, and honestly, I don't even know where to start. I just want to ask if anyone could share their experience or treatment paths regarding endocrine tumors and adenoid cystic carcinoma. So far, there have been two surgeries on the left orbit where the tumor was located, always explained away as a recurrence, though the primary tumor was never actually found. Since July of this year, the tumor has suddenly expanded to cover both the left and right pyramids and has infiltrated the base of the skull; it’s also appeared at the previous surgical site and on the right side above the auditory canal. We’ve hit a wall. Tomorrow is the third surgery, and we aren't even sure if it makes sense anymore. The patient feels okay right now—he’s 51—and he simply can't believe how little time might be left. It’s unbelievable to all of us too. Thank you in advance for any advice you can offer.

Look, I wasn't immediately certain about what kind of tumor we were dealing with, so I did some digging and stumbled upon this site.
This type of tumor is incredibly malicious because of how sneaky it is, but looking at the data, I see that complete recovery after surgery is possible for about 3% of cases (statistically speaking—and I absolutely loathe statistics😠).
Still, that 3% represents a real chance. I've realized that almost everyone who faces a tumor and manages to survive—often landing in those slim statistical margins—doesn't just rely on surgery, radiation, or chemo. They dive into everything else: improving quality of life, focusing on spiritual growth, boosting immunity with supplements we talk about constantly here... they essentially undergo a total personal transformation. Above all, they need massive support and love from those around them—people who refuse to write them off prematurely or accept defeat before the fight is over. Do you follow me? When someone is in this position, they first have to face their own mortality—not the mechanics of *how* the disease kills them, but the reality of being human—so they can fight effectively. That is an immense burden, and they need people surrounding them who believe in victory themselves, pushing them to endure the battle ahead.
Remember, God helps the brave. When a person refuses to give up, God only needs to point a finger to bring healing. He is going in for surgery tomorrow, which means his doctors haven't given up on him yet, so please, don't you give up either. God will help you; it might be through thorns, but it leads to the stars.

Anonymous said:Angela, I’ve been reading your posts—you’re always here providing comfort and strength to everyone else—but 🤷 I haven't heard a single update on how your mom is actually doing.

Honestly, I’m at a loss for words. It’s like her tumor just hit a plateau; it stopped progressing, but now she’s stuck in this state where she’s completely immobile. She doesn't speak, though she is conscious, and I can tell she understands me—if I ask her to open her mouth, she does it immediately. She’s on a blended diet, but her liver is starting to fail, her blood sugar is all over the place, and her digestion has become a nightmare, specifically with terrible hemorrhoid issues.
She’s been taking silymarin for about a month and a half to try and support her liver, since it's supposed to be an incredibly effective natural remedy, so we’ll see what the blood work shows in a week or two. The thing is, she’s always been a joker—she’s like death taking a vacation, which sounds grim, I know, but it’s true—and despite everything, you can still see this fierce, incredible will to live flickering in her eyes.

Thanks for all the support and the replies. The surgery took place today, and everything went well. The neurosurgeon is actually quite pleased because he managed to clear out more than he initially expected. We’re staring down a massive uphill battle now, but there isn't a single thing we won't do for him. He is our entire world, just as much as we are his. Does anyone have any thoughts on the Budwig method? We have to take action because some of the tumor remains on the pyramids, which simply can't be operated on. Apparently, radiation is the only option left. Basically, our goal is to stop this thing from spreading further while simultaneously destroying what's already there, but the "how" is the problem. If anyone has suggestions or a protocol they've actually tried, please reach out—every bit of advice is incredibly precious right now. Also, does anyone know of a facility that offers more precise or advanced radiotherapy than what's available at Mayo Clinic or Johns Hopkins? Thanks, everyone.

My dear friends, I’m a bit out of the loop here... Sadly, yet another soul has lost their battle with this cruel disease. My father passed away on Sunday, October 21st, 2007, at 1:30 PM. The tears just won't stop flowing, even though my mind still refuses to grasp the reality that he's gone and I'll never see him again. I can't bear to picture him lying in bed, looking so helpless; instead, my eyes see him constantly as he was—out in his wheelchair with our little dog, wandering through the city while we grabbed coffee together. There are just so many shared memories, so many beautiful moments, and somehow it feels like he still lives on within me... Even though every passing day feels heavier and harder, I don't regret a single thing. I gave everything I had. I stayed by his side until the very end, and now I am staying by my mother's side, day and night. He was special. We had such a unique bond, and I... well, I was always his little snowflake.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:My dear friends, I find myself somewhat out of the loop... unfortunately, yet another soul has lost their battle with this cruel disease, and my father passed away on Sunday, October 21st, at 1:30 PM. The tears simply won't stop flowing, even though I still haven't quite grasped the reality that he is gone and I will never see him again. My mind doesn't dwell on the image of him lying helpless in bed; instead, I keep seeing him as he was, in his stroller, wandering through the city with our little dog while we enjoyed coffee together. There are so many shared memories, so many beautiful moments, and it feels as though he continues to live within me... though every passing day makes it increasingly difficult, I regret nothing. I gave everything I had, staying by his side until the very end, and now I am constantly by my mother's side... he was truly special, we shared such a unique bond, and I was always there for him, his little snowflake...

I am quite shaken by your post, and while I realize no words can offer much solace, please know how deeply sorry I am that your father lost his fight. It is only natural that you shared such a profound connection, being father and daughter, and those precious moments will be missed immeasurably... stay close to your mother, as she needs you now—to be strong and steady so that you may navigate this grief together... kisses

Angela Wright said:To be honest, I am at a loss for words... It appears as though her tumor has reached a sort of plateau, neither advancing nor retreating, leaving her trapped in this state where she remains entirely immobile. She doesn’t speak, though she seems conscious enough; I can tell she understands me, because when I plead with her to just open her mouth, she complies immediately... She is able to manage some blended food, but the rest of it is a struggle. Her liver function is failing, her blood sugar is fluctuating wildly, and her digestive system has become quite unpredictable, leading to rather agonizing hemorrhoid issues...
She has been taking silymarin for about a month and a half now—supposedly some highly effective natural remedy—so we should hopefully see the results in her bloodwork within the next week or two... For this liver of hers, which seems to possess a rather perverse sense of humor, I suppose it's best to expect the unexpected. It sounds morbid to say that death is merely on vacation, but that is precisely how it feels right now; yet, despite everything, there is still this unmistakable, stubborn spark of life flickering in her eyes...

I truly admire your resilience. No matter how difficult things have become for you personally, you always step up to help us... I am honestly at a loss for words regarding your mother's situation. Just keep fighting and hold onto your faith... sending love.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:There are just so many shared memories, so many wonderful moments, and I honestly feel like he’s still living inside me... it gets harder and harder every single day, but I don't regret anything; I gave everything I had and stayed by his side until the very end, and now I'm right here by my mom's side, day and night... he was special, we had such a unique bond, and I was always there for him, his little snowflake...

Please accept my sincerest condolences. 🙂

Your mom really needs you right now, so please try to find all the strength you can muster while you navigate this together. I know how incredibly difficult this is going to be, but you should know that it isn't just your imagination—your dad really does live on through you. When someone leaves this world, they leave a part of themselves behind in us, and in turn, they take a part of us with them, changing both worlds forever. That realization is a profound comfort when you need it most. Love is the one thing that carries us through these heavy times and connects us to something timeless. One day, we’ll all understand more than we do now, but until then, we just have to endure.

Hang in there. 🙂

Elizabeth Collins60 said:My dear friends, I am struggling to keep up... Unfortunately, yet another soul has lost their battle with this cruel disease. My father passed away this past Sunday, October 21st, at 1:30 PM. The tears just won't stop flowing, even though my mind still refuses to grasp the reality that he is gone and I will never see him again. I can't bear to picture him lying in bed, so helpless; instead, my mind constantly drifts back to seeing him in his wheelchair, our little dog wandering alongside us as we strolled through town or sat down for coffee. There are so many shared memories, so many beautiful moments, and it truly feels as if he still lives within me. Every passing day becomes increasingly difficult, yet I regret nothing. I gave everything I had; I stayed by his side until the very end. Now, I am staying by my mother's side day and night. He was special—we had a unique bond—and I was always there for him, his little snowflake...

Please accept my deepest condolences. What can one even say? How does one offer comfort in such a moment? Try to find solace in the fact that you were blessed with a wonderful father and a magnificent relationship with him. You know, not all children are granted that gift. We are among the lucky few who either have, or once had, extraordinary parents and a beautiful upbringing within our families.
Let those memories, and the bond that ties you all together, be your anchor. I understand the pain is immense, and truthfully, it always will be; it simply takes time to learn how to carry it. May God bless you for enduring this trial—not everyone possesses the strength for it. Only the exceptionally brave can stand their ground; most people simply run when things get heavy. I believe that God accounts for every hardship and every heavy burden assigned to a soul. Please, do not suppress your emotions. Cry, grieve, but eventually, you must find a way to move forward—painfully, and without him. But please, take pride in the person he left behind: a deeply feeling individual, a true fighter, a hero, and his beautiful daughter. Be proud of him, be proud of yourself, and yes, even be proud of the monumental struggle that was ultimately lost, because you played the most vital role in his final fight. May he rest in peace.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:My dear friends, I am completely out of the loop... unfortunately, yet another soul has lost their battle with this cruel disease—my father passed away on Sunday, October 21st, at 1:30 PM. The tears just won't stop flowing, even though my mind still refuses to grasp the reality that he’s gone and I won't see him again. When I think of him, I don't picture him lying helpless in a hospital bed; instead, my mind drifts back to those moments when we'd wander through town in his wheelchair, just enjoying our coffee together. We share so many memories, so many beautiful moments—it feels as if he truly lives on within me... though every passing day makes it harder and harder. Still, I regret nothing. I gave everything I had, staying by his side until the very end, and now I am there for my mother, day and night. He was special—we had such a unique bond—and I was always, always his little snowflake...

Dear Elizabeth,
I am so deeply sorry for your loss. Perhaps there is some small comfort in knowing that your father knew exactly how much you loved him and how much you needed him. My own father left me suddenly from a heart attack—that was sixteen years ago now. So much was left unsaid between us; I had so many things I wanted to tell him, so many things to explain, but it was simply too late. We were robbed of the chance for a proper goodbye. That is why, nowadays, I find myself constantly telling my ailing husband how much I love him and how much he means to me. Because, in my estimation, to love and to be loved is perhaps the greatest thing a human being can achieve in this life. electricgardener14

Ryan Foster6 said:What do you all think about the Budwig method? We really need to take action because there’s a part of the tumor sitting on the pyramids that just can't be surgically removed. Apparently, radiation is the only option left. So, we have to find a way to stop it from spreading further while also trying to eliminate what's already there, but how? If anyone has any suggestions or a method they've actually tried, please reach out—any bit of advice is incredibly precious right now. Maybe someone knows where to find more precise or advanced radiotherapy than what's available at Mayo Clinic or Johns Hopkins? Thanks, everyone.

All the best. Honestly, I don't know if it actually cures cancer—there are testimonies saying it does—but I firmly believe that some things simply aren't in our hands, though we have to give everything that *is* within our control. We basically just have to do our absolute best and then accept whatever comes our way.
Grass-fed cheese and flaxseed oil are really healthy; the oil won't cause any digestive issues. It’s all very easy to prepare, and if you use a little imagination, it can actually taste good. Instead of using just the oil, you can use ground flaxseeds, which helps with digestion.
Of course, that’s just the foundation.
You have to follow the protocol strictly, though I’ll admit I don't always succeed with my mom. Still, I do what I can; she gets the oils and seeds in her yogurt or stirred into any dish with cheese (like when I make a homemade spread for toast, I always mix in some flax oil). If you mix grass-fed cheese, flax oil, and ground dried fruit and spread it on a biscuit, you’ve got a delicious, quick snack that's healthy for all of us who are still relatively well. It has to be eaten by the end of the day, but that’s hardly an issue.😁

As for the radiation, it's a relief if even one of those machines is actually functional.🙄 🙄

Stay strong and good luck to all the fighters out there.👍

I have to admit, I think I've finally passed my biggest crisis yet; I completely lost my cool and snapped at everyone. I feel like a zombie, walking around like a zombie—it's awful. I'm embarrassed.😁
I lashed out at some poor souls, and I feel bad for the innocent people who got caught in the crossfire, but I simply don't have the strength to dwell on it. If I acted selfishly or like a wild animal, well, what am I supposed to do? Half of what happened, I don't even remember, or rather, I don't want to think about it. Because I just can't.
There is still so much I'm carrying inside that I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore. Or maybe I don't feel anything at all.
If there is a dear lady on this forum reading this who reached out to me via PM: honey, if you remember that sentence you said, just know that I’m only truly understanding it now.

Hang in there, everyone. 🙂

I'm off to go cook some vegetable soup, and since the lady requested meat, I went out and picked up some beef. For a while, she couldn't stand the thought of eating meat, but now she wants to make up for lost time.🙄
So, plenty of vegetables, meat,🙄 and I'll throw a handful of barley in there. She's going to need it; she had to head over to Jordan for her electrolytes and white blood cell counts (they went up a bit, but we don't know what to do about that—it's just terrible).
If she doesn't drive me crazy,😛 She’ll get some green dumplings too. Hopefully, she actually enjoys them.