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

My Mom has been in the hospital since yesterday. She could barely move. They drained about two liters of fluid from her abdomen, and she’s on blood transfusions and IV fluids now. Her stomach is still swollen, and they told her today there's still some fluid left somewhere, so they need to figure out where it is before they can puncture it again. She is feeling a little better now, though—just enough that she can make it to the bathroom on her own.
The doctor told her during rounds today that she should just eat whatever she's craving and doesn't need to watch her diet anymore.
Mom knows the end is near and that there isn't much more medical help left for her. She's saying her goodbyes to all of us, trying to comfort us from her hospital bed, telling us not to cry because this is just how it has to be. But I just can't come to terms with the fact that I'm going to lose her so soon. She tells us to pray to God to take her quickly because the pain she's enduring is getting stronger and stronger. It's the worst thing in the world, seeing those eyes filled with sadness, pain, suffering, tears... She is so weak, so thin, so helpless...
What should I expect? Is the end truly close?
What actually happens when that fluid starts building up in the abdomen?

Two months ago, my Mom had about 10L of fluid drained—half from her abdomen and half near her lungs because she was struggling to breathe. During the "procedure," they found another 2L in her abdomen, and in the meantime, more fluid has built up around her lungs, making breathing difficult again. From what I understand, a healthy body usually just absorbs all that fluid through the tissues and clears it out naturally. But now, those tumor cells are blocking that process and even generating the fluid themselves, causing it to pile up over time.
A quick update from my end: Mom received her first dose of chemotherapy yesterday. She was also given some pills to boost her appetite since she’s lost an incredible amount of weight over the last two months and barely eats during the day. She hasn't shown any symptoms yet, but it's only been one day. We’re just taking it one day at a time now and watching her closely.

Fluid buildup in the abdomen and pleural space usually points toward kidney, liver, or heart failure. Unfortunately, mechanically draining that fluid is just a temporary fix—it offers short-term relief, but you're essentially just creating more room for the body to fill back up again. We try to manage the situation with diuretics as much as possible, saving paracentesis for those critical moments when things hit a certain threshold... but honestly, by the time you're reaching that stage, we're mostly looking at palliative measures to try and squeeze out a bit more quality life.

Yesterday they drained 2 liters of fluid from Mom's abdomen, and today it’s already back up to 4 liters. That feels like a massive amount to me. Does this kind of fluid buildup mean "global failure," or am I totally off base here? Given her diagnosis—ovarian cancer, stage III—is this a really bad sign? And how fast does this stuff just keep coming back, is it almost immediate or does it take some time?

Amanda Wells75 said:Yesterday they drained 2 liters of fluid from Mom's abdomen, and today it's another 4 liters. That feels like a massive amount to me. Does this kind of fluid buildup mean "global failure," or am I wrong? Given her diagnosis—ovarian cancer, stage III—is this a really bad sign? How fast does that fluid build back up? Is it immediate or does it take some time?

It’ll build up even faster once the fluid starts accumulating.

Sent from my iPhone

After years of battling thick-walled colon cancer, our fellow forum member Vedran passed away yesterday...
He was truly one of a kind. I’ve been following his fight since day one. He laid everything bare for us—every fear, every realization, and every ounce of pain he endured along the way. He would come here looking for a little support, but in return, he gave us so much more. He fought with such an intense hunger for life, yet in the end, all he wanted was to slip away peacefully... and they say he did just that. He went out happy, according to those close to him; he went out at peace. Heaven gained a legend, and we lost a massive advocate for all of us. Vedran, thank you for touching my life. Rest in peace, buddy. May the ground be light upon you. 😢

Amanda Wells75 said:Yesterday they drained 2 liters of fluid from my Mom's abdomen, and today it’s another 4 liters. That feels like an overwhelming amount to me. Does this kind of fluid buildup imply "global failure," or am I misinterpreting things? Given her diagnosis—ovarian cancer, stage IIIIC—is this a particularly grim sign? And how quickly does that fluid typically return; does it happen almost immediately or take some time?

In my Mom's case (she had the exact same cancer and stage), the fluid kept coming back incredibly fast. We were told either the fluid would flood her lungs and she'd suffocate, or her liver would fail and she'd just drift off... and that’s essentially what happened; she just drifted away.
I know exactly how you feel. I went through the same thing. You realize the end is near and there’s no medical intervention left to help, yet at the same time, you feel utterly helpless because there isn't a single thing you can do to make her comfortable.
To be completely honest, I found myself praying to God to just take her so she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. When it finally happened, despite how much it hurt, I felt such a profound sense of relief knowing her pain was over.

Angela Wright said:After years of battling thick-walled colon cancer, we lost one of our own forum members, Vedran, yesterday...
He was truly an exceptional individual... I’ve been following his fight since day one. He shared his entire journey with us—every fear, every realization, and every ounce of pain he endured. He would come here looking for support, but in return, he gave us so much more... He fought so hard to live, yet in the end, all he wanted was to pass away in peace... and they say he went peacefully, happy and at rest. Heaven gained a great soul, and we lost a wonderful advocate. Vedran, thank you for touching my life. Rest in peace, friend; may your final journey be easy. 😢

R.I.P. 😢
I followed his story closely and often found myself wondering how he was doing.
I find myself wondering about some of the other usernames from the old thread too—Coca-Cola, Muscle, and several others who used to check in back when my Mom was sick and before she passed.
I’ve been revisiting the old thread lately just to remind myself of certain things that help manage the side effects of chemo.

Angela Wright said:After years of fighting a brutal battle against colon cancer, we lost one of our own yesterday. Our friend Vedran passed away.
He was truly one of a kind... I’ve been following his fight since day one. He shared everything with us—the whole journey, every single fear, every realization, all that pain he went through. He’d come to us looking for a little support, but man, he gave back so much more than anyone could ask for in return. He wanted to live so badly, but in the end, all he really wanted was to pass away peacefully... and they say he did. He left happy, they say... he left at peace. Heaven gained an incredible soul, and we lost our biggest advocate. Vedran, thank you for touching my life, too. Rest in peace, buddy. May the earth rest lightly upon you. 😢

News like this just hits me hard. The tears start flowing before I can even process it...
Rest in peace...

Amanda Miller69 said:With my Mom (same cancer and stage), it started building up again, really fast. They told me either fluid would fill her lungs and she’d suffocate, or her liver would fail and she’d just drift off... and that's exactly what happened. She just fell asleep.
I know exactly how you feel. It was the same for me. You know deep down it's the end and there's no help coming, yet at the exact same time, you feel totally helpless because there isn't a single thing you can do to make it easier on her.
To be honest, I actually prayed to God to just take her, so she wouldn't have to suffer. And when it finally happened, as much as it hurt, I felt such a massive sense of relief knowing she wasn't in pain anymore.

So, how long did your Mom live after the fluid started building up?
I just can't wrap my head around the fact that she won't be here much longer. I'm still holding out for a miracle. I guess there's some truth to that saying that hope is the last thing to die. My Mom is still so young—way too young to go this December (right around Christmas Eve). She just turned 57, and I'm only 31. There was so much more I wanted to learn from her (making traditional dumplings, sewing, crocheting...), so many things left unsaid hanging in the air. She had such big plans, like teaching her grandkids the language, taking them to folk dancing, watching them grow, playing with them... just enjoying them... 🙂

Oh man, Zachary Howard2 and I are really feeling for you... but look, your Mom is still right here. She might not have enough time left to teach you all the little life lessons, but she’s here for you to hug, to kiss, and to tell her exactly how much you love her and how grateful you are for everything she's done and continues to do. Once she's gone, you won't be craving advice or skills—you'll just be aching for one more hug, one more look, one more touch. Anyone else can teach you how to navigate life, but this connection with your mother? That is absolutely irreplaceable.
Hang in there, honey... if the end is near, let her go peacefully and happy, knowing she succeeded in raising an incredible child who grew into a wonderful, strong woman ready to tackle whatever life throws her way. Believe me, now that I've become a mother myself, I realize that seeing your child turn out well is the one thing that gives a mother peace when it's time to say goodbye.
Everything will happen as it must, and in peace. Just focus on that, dear.
You aren't alone; we're all thinking of you.

Keith Barnes53 said:Hi. My mom is currently hospitalized with bone cancer. She’s been fighting this for years, but things have taken a sharp turn for the worse.
She doesn't recognize us anymore, she won't eat, and her overall mental state is just... bad. Today, the hospital called us in for a meeting because they're considering discharging her. What do we do? My dad is also sick, and our only income is $767 my mother's Social Security. She needs constant care. I don't even know how I'll manage feeding her, or how to handle basic hygiene... what are my options here? How much do assisted living facilities actually cost? Has anyone dealt with something similar? I’m lost.

Post moved from another thread.

Since nobody has replied since February 19th, I've moved this over to this thread.

Amanda Wells75 said:So, how much longer did your mom hold on after the fluid started building up?
I just can't wrap my head around the fact that she won't be here much longer, and I find myself still hoping for some kind of miracle. I suppose there's truth to the old cliché that hope is the last thing to die. My mom is still so young—far too young to be leaving us this December (right around Christmas Eve). She just turned 57, and I'm only 31. There was so much I still wanted to learn from her (making traditional dumplings, sewing, crocheting...), and so many things left unsaid. She had such big plans—teaching her grandkids the language, taking them to folk dances, watching them grow, playing with them... just enjoying being a grandmother. 🙂

For my mom, the fluid started accumulating again about two weeks after her surgery, and then she passed away two weeks after that. But honestly, everyone is different.
She was 64 when she passed, and I was 30; we didn't get nearly enough time together.
My dad passed away when I was 27 (heart attack).
I know how incredibly hard this is, but like Ivanna mentioned, try to spend these final days right by her side. Love her, hold her, kiss her, and when the time finally comes, let her go.
Hang in there, dear. 🙂

Amanda Wells75 said:So, how long did your Mom live after the fluid started building up?
I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that she won't be here much longer. I keep holding out for a miracle. I guess there's some truth to that old saying about hope being the last thing to die. My Mom still feels so young—way too young to be leaving us this December (right around Christmas Eve). She had just turned 57, and I'm only 31. There was so much more I wanted to learn from her—how to make authentic dumplings, sewing, crochet... so many things left unsaid. She had such big plans, too; she wanted to teach her grandkids the old traditions, take them to folk festivals, look after them, play with them, and just enjoy being a grandma... 🙂

Hey, Amanda...

I can tell you what it was like with my Mom. Once the fluid started accumulating, she passed away about 10 days later. The paramedics took her in once because she was struggling to breathe from the buildup, but they just sent her back home without doing a puncture. I think they realized on their own that it wouldn't change anything since she was already in the terminal stage.

She originally had primary breast cancer (which they successfully operated on) that metastasized to the eye muscle (which they could never fully remove because of how tricky the location was). Then, spots appeared on her ovaries and uterus (both were removed), and finally, when it hit her bones, everything just went downhill fast. During her last two months, she started having seizures, lost her sight (the brain MRI was clear, but I assume that spot near the eye was causing the trouble), dealt with pain, immobility, hearing loss, and in those final 2 or 3 days, she couldn't speak at all.

It was four years from the initial diagnosis to her passing. This coming May will mark one year since we lost her (I was 24 then, and Mom was 49).

I get it. Every time I read stories like yours, it all comes rushing back. Hang in there—I honestly don't know what else to say. Just stay close to her...

@BrownAcid

If there’s no way to manage her care at home or through some kind of private residential facility, then the only real move is to get Mom into a long-term care hospital—something like the medical center over in Small Town, USA. I’m guessing that’s exactly what the doctor wanted to discuss, because if that was the plan, they’d probably be arranging her transfer right this second.
Either way, I really hope things work out for the best.

This is my first time posting on this subforum, and honestly, I’m not entirely certain if I’ve landed in the right place with my inquiry. I am currently looking to purchase a hospital bed for patient care at home. Does anyone here have any practical experience with this, perhaps some advice you could share, or even specific models you would recommend? Any guidance would be appreciated.

Thank you all so much for the kind words and all the replies.
I spoke with the doctor yesterday, and she told me that the fluid is going to start building up again. She basically said we have to accept the reality that Mom’s hospital stays are going to happen more and more often. Apparently, her liver function is failing—which explains why her skin is already looking a bit yellow—and her kidneys are struggling too. To me, "weakened function" just sounds like a nicer way of saying things are slowly shutting down. When I asked if there was anything else we could actually do, she just said no, unfortunately. I mentioned that Mom has her follow-up with the oncologist on March 23rd, and the doctor just shrugged her shoulders, almost like she was implying it doesn't really matter anymore. She said they’ve stabilized Mom for now and provided the best care possible, but also noted that Mom is incredibly depressed. She warned me not to keep asking her how she’s feeling, because she isn't doing well and won't be getting better. She suggested we stop talking about the illness altogether and stick to brighter topics instead. Maybe bring a friend over that she loves chatting with. I also asked if we could bring the grandkids to the hospital—my sister's little one is almost two, and mine is 16 months—since seeing them brings her so much joy, and the doctor said yes. Usually, they don't allow kids that small during visits.
She also mentioned that Mom isn't eating or drinking nearly enough.
We haven't told Mom the whole truth. We just told her the doctor said she’s stable for now, but that the fluid will likely build up again (she needs to know that part) and that she needs to eat more. At certain moments, I think she’s aware of what’s happening, but then a moment later, it’s like she truly believes she’s going to get well. I mean, she told me yesterday that her glasses are weak, but once she gets through this and the disease goes into remission, she’ll probably need to get a new pair made.
I am so proud of my mother. I feel so lucky and thankful to God that He gave her to me, but somehow, I’ve always lived with this fear that she would leave us too soon. I don't know where that fear came from, but it's just been there with me for a long, long time.

Maya and I went through the exact same fear. Honestly, the worst part is my sister constantly reminding me that my kids might lose me too soon, and believe me, that feeling is way more gut-wrenching than the actual illness.😢

granitewolf15 said:It’s my first time posting in this subforum, so I’m not entirely sure if I’ve landed in the right spot. I’m looking for a hospital bed for patient care. Does anyone have experience with this? Can you offer some advice or recommend specific models? Thanks.

You absolutely need one with hydraulic controls and an anti-decubitus air mattress.
You might be able to borrow one through a local charity or the Hospice Friends of America if they have any available right now.
Alternatively, you can rent one for about $300$133 a month from a state-run or private nursing home or clinic. You’ll need to go there in person to sit down, talk to them, and see what their options are.

Angela Wright said:It absolutely needs to be a hydraulic model equipped with an anti-decubitus air mattress.
You might be able to borrow one through a local charity or perhaps the American Hospice Friends Society if they happen to have any available right now.
Alternatively, you could rent one for about $300$133 a month from a state-run facility or a private nursing home. It’s best to just go there in person, sit down, and have a real conversation to see what options they can offer.

We are actually considering just buying a bed outright, since there seems to be such a massive variety out there on the market, so I was wondering if anyone here has some hands-on experience who might be willing to share a few thoughts. In any case, thank you so much for the response.