Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Exactly right!
Apathy is truly the fiercest enemy when facing any illness, especially the heavy ones that weigh on your soul.

While doctors are obligated to provide their diagnoses and clinical outlooks, I’ve always felt that human life and God's will transcend those numbers; you simply can't reduce a person's existence to some cold, calculated equation.
So, keep your chin up and stay brave, because every single new day we are given is a massive victory in itself. 🙂

Hannah Thomas28 said:It’s just so hard... I’ve been reading through your posts for a while now—feeling like a bit of a "spy," I suppose—feeding my soul on your beautiful news while grieving over the bad.
My mom's pancreatic cancer metastasized to her liver after just two months... We were absolutely shell-shocked when they told us after her surgery that she might not even make it through the day, because they "lost" her during the procedure three times. Oh, how I cried back then! I truly thought I wouldn't see her or hold her again. But we made it through that. She’s doing well and looks wonderful. So how can she possibly have cancer?!!!!!
She knows about the cancer, but she doesn't know about the metastasis—and of course, she isn't aware of those horrific medical prognoses. She isn't doing chemo or radiation, since they say it won't help her.
It is so difficult to watch someone who has energy, who looks healthy, shows no symptoms, no pain... she's even hungry.
I had hope, but I feel it slipping away. I'm just surrendering. Today, I am depressed. But this isn't who I am!
She takes so many things. B17, Reishi, colloidal silver, apricot kernels, Noni syrup, nettle... I'm even considering energy healers. I just don't know anymore.
We had finally managed to "stabilize"—thinking, since there is cancer, maybe one can live with it, especially since there are no metastases and everything else looks clear. And then comes the "blow" from yesterday.
"It's not good," the doctor says...
And I have to pretend to be cheerful and upbeat, when all I want to do is run into her arms and scream, "Mom, help me!" Seriously—she's supposed to be the one helping *me*!!!
I have entered the dark chambers of my temple; tears and fears are becoming my demons.
Sometimes I flee to the rooms of my childhood, because they can't follow me there...

What can I say... I’ve always told everyone that before they say something stupid to their loved ones—before they fight or insult them—they should pause and think. They should realize the day will come when they are begging to turn back time, wishing they hadn't said certain things or perhaps wishing they had said what they should have. Well, I suppose I need to think the same way... As if time could ever be turned back. Just a little more time.

I feel like a sailboat out on the open ocean being battered by winds from every direction, and I simply don't know how to handle the sails; the waves are crashing against me, spinning me in circles... God, please help me set my sails and catch my wind.

My name is Sorrow.

"When you hug someone, do it with your whole heart and your entire being, because you never know what the next moment will bring..."
Siniša Glavašević

Carol Ramirez, my deepest, most sincere condolences.

I try my hardest to stay away from these pages—really, I do—but somehow, I always find myself drawn back here...

Honestly, I feel like I’m the least important person in all of this right now, because the only thing that truly matters is making sure he’s okay, but sometimes the weight of it all just feels too heavy to carry. Ever since we got the diagnosis, the only time I feel even remotely alright is when I’m asleep. Every single morning, I wake up with this sense of pure horror inside me, leaving me feeling completely paralyzed. It’s like time has just frozen, and I’m watching the world pass by from inside some kind of vacuum where nothing actually happens. Yet, on the outside, I act like everything is fine—I smile, I stay upbeat, and I try to be positive. I do it all for him.
How do I find any real happiness again, how do I overcome this constant fear and actually find a way to cherish whatever time we have left, whether it’s six months or sixty years, does anyone out there have a recipe for that?

When I look at my sister, I know everything is going to be okay. Her smile, her ambition, and her sheer will to live are going to overpower this disease. But even with faith and hope, getting through the day is an uphill battle; it’s hard to fake a laugh when your soul is screaming. It's tough to play with the kids when all you want to do is lie down and cry. I have enough strength to keep going, but let's be honest—it's brutal. Most of you already know that all too well. Unfortunately.

Angela Wright said:My mom passed away peacefully this morning.
I just wanted to thank everyone here for all the support you've shown me during this incredibly difficult chapter of my life.
I love you all! May God bless you in your own struggles! Just keep holding on.

Angela, I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I haven't checked the forum in about ten days and I'm only just now seeing this heartbreaking news about your mom.

Elizabeth Gonzalez55 said:How can I find true happiness, how can I conquer fear and actually enjoy whatever time we have left—whether it’s six months or sixty years? Does anyone have a recipe for this?

Look, you have to accept that life is inherently unpredictable. What we call "security" is nothing more than a convenient illusion we manufacture just to buffer ourselves against the chaos. Once you truly embrace that uncertainty—once you face the reality of every possible outcome, including your own mortality and the mortality of those you love—you can finally live without that crushing weight and actually savor the moment. It’s incredibly difficult, though sometimes life hits you so hard that it breaks you down and forces you onto that frequency whether you like it or not. At least, that’s how it worked for me. My mother was gravely ill for two full years and four months. During that time, people would come to visit her, seemingly to say their final goodbyes, only to pass away suddenly and unexpectedly before she did. In the end, it felt like she was the one saying goodbye to them. The only real difference was that my mother knew the likely cause of her passing, while they didn't. Neither side knew exactly when the clock would run out.
That acceptance of life's unpredictability and everything it throws at us is exactly what Christianity means when it speaks of Christ's words: "Take up your cross and follow me; only then will you find peace and happiness." I never truly grasped the depth of those words—honestly, I found the whole concept repulsive—until my mother got sick. Life involves suffering, but suffering isn't the same thing as misery. True good can only be born from suffering. Life is fundamentally good because as long as you are breathing, anything is possible. Human beings are wired to adapt to anything; it's practically etched into our genetic code.

@Elizabeth Diaz60/">@@Elizabeth Diaz60
thanks

northernfox9 said:Carol Ramirez, please accept my deepest condolences.

I try my best to stay away from these forums, yet somehow I always find myself drawn back here...

It is difficult not to dwell on everything you have endured during this fight... but these pages aren't just about looking back at the struggle, they are about continuing it. So many people need support, and you deserve that support too...

Stay strong... kiss

Angela Wright said:Perhaps one must simply accept that life is inherently unpredictable, and that this concept we call "security" is merely a convenient illusion we construct to soothe our own anxiety regarding the unknown. Once you embrace that reality—once you acknowledge the full spectrum of possible outcomes, including your own mortality and that of those you love most—you might finally find the freedom to live without such heavy burdens and actually savor the present moment. It is an incredibly difficult realization to reach, though sometimes the sheer weight of circumstances eventually breaks us down, forcing us onto that frequency... at least, that was my experience. My mother fought a severe illness for two years and four months, and during that time, many people came to visit her, seemingly to say their final goodbyes, only to pass away suddenly and unexpectedly before she did. In the end, it felt as though she was the one saying goodbye to them. The only true distinction was that my mother understood the likely cause of her passing, while they did not. Neither party knew exactly when the end would arrive.
Accepting the uncertainty of life and everything it throws our way is precisely what the words of Christ in Christianity mean when He says, "Take up your cross and follow me; only through this shall you find peace and happiness." I never truly grasped the profound depth of those words—in fact, I found them quite repellent—until my mother’s illness struck us. Life involves suffering, yet suffering is not synonymous with misery. From suffering, goodness can emerge. Life itself is a gift because, as long as you are breathing, anything remains possible. Humans possess a remarkable capacity to adapt to any circumstance; it is practically written into our genetic code.

Life is singular... and it remains unpredictable for everyone. Some confront this truth early on, while others face it much later. Some understand the reasons behind their departure, while others are taken suddenly. And those of us left behind are struck by the weight of their absence. But I am certain that we will all meet again in another world someday...

That idea of a genetic code is somewhat frightening to me. My mother continues her fight with such pride; nothing about her spirit has wavered. As for my aunt, I cannot say how she is coping since we aren't in close contact, but from what I hear, it isn't easy. The same diagnosis—two different women, yet two distinct displays of strength facing the exact same battle.

In a few months, I will likely undergo a specialized surgery involving ovarian genetic mapping. Has anyone here heard anything about those types of procedures? All my mother could tell me is that it would reduce the risk of me developing the condition, and subsequently, the risk for my children.

Angela... thank you for such beautifully written words. Kiss

Hey there, my favorites!!!
Well, the results are finally in... and honestly, I don't even know what to tell you guys... basically, the SITUATION is pretty much where we left off back in May when they diagnosed the recurrence with those metastases in the lungs (something just decided to set up camp there and won't budge). On the bright side, there are some calcifications showing up, which suggests the chemo actually did its job—plus, the disease hasn't progressed too aggressively. This Monday, I’m taking everything to the oncology board so they can decide our next move. It'll probably be more chemo, since I've hit my limit for radiation in that area—they can't target the pelvic region anymore without overdoing it. I'm not, I guess, overly devastated; maybe I was hoping for even a tiny bit of better news, but hey, it is what it is... I'm just pushing forward... though I have to admit, even though I've been fighting this war for nearly nine years now, every time these bad results roll in, a wave of anxiety hits me regardless. I can't keep repeating the same old story over and over, so based on that, I'm just moving ahead.... Thank you all so much for the support... I'll check back in once I get the orders on what happens next...
Stay kind and stay brave.
Diana

Grace Fowler said:Greetings, my dear friends!
The results are finally in... and honestly, I’m at a loss for words. The situation is largely unchanged since May, when the recurrence was diagnosed along with those metastatic changes in the lungs (something has seemingly taken root there and just won't let go). On the bright side, they spotted some calcifications, which suggests the chemo did actually achieve something, and there hasn't been massive progression in the disease. This Monday, I'm taking everything to the oncology board so they can decide on the next steps. It will likely be more chemo, as I've reached the limit for radiation in that area—they can't target the socket anymore without hitting the threshold. I wouldn't say I'm devastated; perhaps I was hoping for a slightly better outcome, but what is, is... I have to keep pushing forward. I must admit, though, even after fighting this war for nearly nine years, whenever these less-than-ideal results roll in, a certain amount of anxiety inevitably follows. I won't keep repeating myself like a broken record, so I'll just move on. Thank you all for the support... I'll check back in once I get the orders on how we proceed.
Stay kind and stay brave.
Your Diana

We are thinking of you... sending you positive thoughts and the strength to endure it all. 😘

It has been quite some time since I last checked in here, and honestly, I am struggling to process everything I see.
What on earth has been happening lately? Just a few hours ago, my best friend lost her father to that awful disease. Angela Wright, Carol Ramirez, please accept my deepest condolences... my heart truly goes out to you both during this time.
Angela, you have always had such beautiful, comforting words for everyone in this group... but now you’re faced with the hardest task of all: applying those very words to yourself. I can see you’ve already begun to do just that. I truly admire the incredible strength you’ve shown—you have it, and you will continue to have it. You are a pillar of strength and an inspiration to us all.
It has been exactly two months and two days since my own father passed away... and I still find myself unable to believe he's gone. And that cursed phrase... "never again"... I still catch myself expecting to see him, waiting for him, calling out to him, or just wanting to talk to him.
The other day, for the first time, my mom and I actually shared a laugh while remembering him. I suppose I am slowly finding some peace. I feel so incredibly grateful that we had him and that we shared such a wonderful bond; after all, there are people who live alongside perfectly healthy parents yet act as if they don't even exist.
I still haven't managed to find that webpage you all keep mentioning... I'll try looking for it now. If there is any way my knowledge can be of service, I am more than willing to help.

Grace Fowler said:Greetings, my dear friends!
The results are finally in... and honestly, I’m at a loss for words. The situation is essentially unchanged since May, when the recurrence was diagnosed along with some metastases in the lungs (something has truly taken root there and just won't budge). On the bright side, there are traces of calcification suggesting the chemo actually did its job, and there isn't massive progression of the disease. This Monday, I’m taking everything to the oncology board so they can decide our next move. It will likely be more chemo, as I've hit the limit for radiation in that specific area—there's just no more room to work with. I wouldn't say I'm devastated; perhaps I was hoping for even a tiny bit of better news, but what is, is what it is. I have to keep pushing forward. Though, I must admit, even after fighting this war for nearly nine years, whenever these subpar results roll in, a certain amount of anxiety inevitably creeps in. I can't keep spinning my wheels in circles, so I just have to press on. Thank you all for the support... I'll check back in once I get the orders on how we proceed.
Stay kind and stay brave.
Your Diana

This might sound a bit trivial, but perhaps the report is actually "a little better" given that things haven't shifted since May and there isn't significant progression. That implies the condition is, if nothing else, somewhat under "control." It's not moving forward, which is a victory in itself.
Just keep being brave, just as you have been! You really have to hand it to you—nearly nine years of fighting. Surely you aren't going to give up now after everything you've endured?!
How are you feeling personally? Have you had any appetite?

Grace Fowler said:Greetings, my dear friends!!!
So, the results are finally in... and I honestly don't even know how to put this into words... essentially, the situation remains almost unchanged since May when the recurrence with metastases in the lungs was diagnosed (something has quite settled in there and simply refuses to leave). On a positive note, there are some calcifications visible, which suggests the chemo actually did its job, and there isn't significant disease progression. This Monday, I’m taking everything to the oncology board so they can decide on the next steps; it will likely be more chemo, as I've reached the maximum radiation limit for that area of the pelvis... I wouldn't say I'm overly devastated; perhaps I was hoping for a slightly better outcome, but what is, is... I just have to keep pushing forward... though I must admit, even after fighting this war for nearly nine years, whenever these less-than-ideal results arrive, a certain amount of anxiety inevitably follows. I won't beat a dead horse by repeating myself, so based on that, I’ll just keep moving... Thank you all for the support... I'll check back in once I receive instructions on how we proceed...
Stay kind and stay brave.
Your Diana

Keep staying persistent, because your words clearly show how prepared you've been for anything—even these "unchanged" results! Like you said yourself—just keep grabbing hold of life, for your own sake and for all of us... we are thinking of you!

How are things looking over in Pula...

Is this kind of waiting common elsewhere in America too?😲...

I visited my Grandfather in the hospital the day before yesterday. He’s 86, and he was diagnosed with stomach cancer just four days ago. Until six months ago, he was perfectly healthy—tending to his garden at the cabin every single day. Then, in the span of a single week, he was bedridden. This is a man who has never been sick a day in his life, someone who kept all his natural teeth until he was 70, yet one morning he simply couldn't get out of bed. He refused to see any doctors, right up until recently. Two weeks ago, he finally asked my mother to come over and call 911 because the pain was becoming unbearable. We didn't know what was happening; we just saw how much he had weakened, unable to even hold down liquids without vomiting. My mother called 911 and tried to explain the situation calmly, emphasizing that this is a man who has never needed medical attention in his life. The ER dispatcher just brushed her off, saying, and I quote, "No, ma'am, he isn't an emergency; you're just trying to get rid of him! Have him see his primary care physician to get a referral!" To make a point, my mother made a second call using a completely different tone, demanding the name of the specific dispatcher. Suddenly, the response changed to, "The ambulance will be there in a few minutes." Thank God they arrived. Once they admitted him to the University Hospital, blood tests revealed he had internal bleeding; his iron levels were at 1, and his red blood cell count wasn't even a third of the normal range. The doctor said it would be unacceptable to let a man bleed to death, so a transfusion was ordered and he was stabilized. We breathed a small sigh of relief after that initial shock with the emergency services. Moving forward, the doctor at the hospital said they would run more tests to figure out the root cause... though, deep down, we all suspected it was cancer.

In the heat of everything, people mentioned reporting the woman from the ER, but they forgot—our priority was my Grandfather and getting him help. They performed a gastroscopy and sent the biopsy off. Then, the doctor called my mother and laid it out plainly: it’s stomach cancer. He told her that within a few days, Grandfather won't even be able to swallow liquids, and he'll need to be on a liter or a liter and a half of IV fluids every single day. They planned to discharge him this Friday to either a facility in a small town or somewhere out in the suburbs. To wrap it up: the situation escalated to where my mother had to be the one to tell her father he has cancer. My mother had to explain the medical options to him—even though she doesn't have a medical degree and doesn't understand the options herself. Grandfather refused the suburban facilities, saying, "I assume there's a bed for me in NYC; I never asked for anything, I just want to die here." So, we decided: a ward in NYC. He was supposed to be discharged yesterday, but then he started vomiting. They said they’d take him for another gastroscopy, but in the end, they didn't bother; according to the doctor on duty, it wasn't necessary. All so they could discharge him today. And the discharge papers? They recommend, and I quote, "consuming liquid food three times a day, with IV fluids as needed," as instructions for the nurse at the facility. A nurse handed over the paperwork because the attending doctor wasn't from this ward, and his primary doctor wasn't available—though he gave the okay over the phone. This is the same doctor who told my mother three days ago that Grandfather needs a liter or more of IV fluids daily. The same doctor who knows that every time Grandfather tries to swallow something at the hospital, he vomits blood. He knows he can't take liquid food orally. I won't even get into the logistics of managing parenteral nutrition outside of a hospital setting. I'm writing all this because I want to know: what is it that truly "breaks" you or the patients themselves? Is it the fact that you or a loved one is battling cancer, or is it having to climb mountains and valleys while dealing with extra stress and incompetence from the very people who are supposed to be helping you?

I envy anyone who’s actually had a decent experience with doctors; unfortunately, my family hasn't. It was the same story with my late father. He found out he had cancer when a doctor burst into the exam room, shuffling through test results and practically laughing in his face. I’m quoting this: "What do you expect? You have lung metastases, there's no point in me seeing you." He only finally admitted him to the hospital after seeing his potassium levels, adding, "I'll admit you only because I don't want you on my soul when I meet God." I don't know. I think at that exact moment, my father just gave up on himself. These are the kinds of experiences I live through personally. They are stories that should never happen. My respect goes out to the physicians who approach their patients with genuine care and compassion, but they are few and far between.

Look, I’ve finally managed to wrap my head around this: for them, it’s just a job. Up until about a year ago, I wasn't just working; I was literally living for my career. I didn't even bother asking about the pay scale, what happened to unpaid overtime, or those lost Saturdays and Sundays. I didn't care if I needed a dentist or a gynecologist—honestly, I hadn't seen a gynecologist once in the four years I'd been employed. I was basically breathing my work. Was that normal? Not even a little bit. My friends and parents all warned me, but I just wouldn't listen. Then, when my husband got sick, it was like a massive wake-up call. Even though we work together and I never saw my job as an obstacle to our marriage, I realized we had wasted so much time... time we can never get back. The doctors really opened my eyes. These days, I approach my job the way they approach theirs: I just perform the tasks. We tend to treat them like Gods in human form, but at the end of the day, they're just regular people earning a paycheck like any other contractor. Sure, there are bad ones out there, but there are good ones too. Regardless, most will get the job done. But before you even call them, you really need to know what you're looking for. You'll find yourself constantly supervising their work, staying involved at a hundred miles an hour, and always trying to stay one step ahead with questions or ideas. It doesn't matter if you're calling an electrician, a plumber, or a doctor. There isn't much "humanity" or "dedication to the greater good" involved. Everyone is working for the same thing: money to feed their families, and everyone feels like they're being underpaid. The system itself is backwards. Those doctors who actually want to make a difference often get shut down by red tape, Medicare, or their supervisors. The point is—save your energy! Accept things for what they are. You can change them, sure, but right now your situation requires you to focus elsewhere. Like you mentioned regarding that lawsuit against the ER staff. Unfortunately, most of us either forget about it, become too exhausted to fight, or just don't know where to start. Eventually, even the anger just fades away.

I’m standing right there with feralwolf24 on this one. Both my Grandmother and Grandfather have been battling cancer for six years now, and thank God they are still here with us, even though the doctors basically wrote them off the moment the diagnosis came in. Through that whole ordeal, I learned a hard truth: we can't just rely on doctors to save us. They are there to help, sure, but that help is only truly effective if we step up, get involved, and take charge ourselves. Unfortunately, I didn't keep that lesson in mind during this recent situation. I foolishly assumed that because the patient's father is also a physician, he would naturally merge those two roles and provide that extra layer of specialized care for his own son. Sadly, it turns out it isn't that simple. He genuinely believed he was doing exactly that, and honestly, you can't even blame him for the oversight. The point I'm trying to make—if I'm being clear enough and if you can follow my train of thought—is that I feel an immense amount of guilt for how things turned out. If I had stepped in sooner, if I had spent as much time researching as I am right now, and if I had treated this medical challenge with the seriousness it deserved, we probably wouldn't be facing this diagnosis today.
So, please, don't put all your faith in doctors, no matter how highly trained or brilliant they might be. We need to stay informed and look out for ourselves and our loved ones. At the end of the day, we know ourselves and our family better than anyone else, and we are the ones best positioned to provide that necessary course correction to whatever treatment plan they prescribe.