Tag Archives for support

When Cancer Can’t Be Controlled

A friend, who I love dearly, is losing is wife. She has cancer and she is dying. It started as colorectal cancer, which her doctors believed they had successfully removed and treated the surrounding areas with chemotherapy and radiation. After all that, the cancer still found its way into another area of her body. In her case it was her liver, which means her colorectal cancer became what is referred to as metastatic colorectal cancer. Since then, she has had pieces of her liver removed twice to cut out cancer tumors. Until my friend described the process of waiting for enough of his wife’s liver to grow back to remove the second tumor, I didn’t know what a resilient organ the liver is.

That was earlier this year, in the spring, and while they were waiting for her liver to grow, an MRI that was part of her treatment follow-up found a spot on one of her lungs. The doctors told them the spot was small and there was no need to worry about it at that point. However, my friend worried anyway; and so did I. It didn’t make sense that the doctors wouldn’t try to remove the cancer cells from her lung, or at least treat them, at the same time they planned to remove the tumor from her liver. It didn’t make sense especially because those cancer cells on her lung caused her to develop a terrible cough. According to my friend, she would have severe coughing fits when she talked and all through the nights that made it impossible for her to get a good night’s rest. The doctors prescribed her inhalers – the same kind I use for my asthma – and that gave her a small amount of relief but never stopped the cough.

Fast-forward to earlier this week and a series of appointments. The first was with a targeted therapy oncologist to decide if she meets the requirements for a drug trial, which she didn’t because the cancer has spread to multiple organs. Next, was an appointment with her family doctor to update health insurance benefits forms, where they learned that the doctor had suspected she might not qualify for the drug trial because more than one organ is now affected by cancer. Then lastly, she had an appointment with her personal oncologist. He finally spelled things out clearly for them: she has outlived the life expectancy of the average person with metastatic colorectal cancer also called stage IV (four) cancer, which is an average range of six to 18 months. This immediately put everything about recent steps in her treatment plan in clearer perspective for my friend: there was no urgency to treat the cancer in her lungs because she has survived longer than expected.

Furthermore, “Once cancer spreads, it can be hard to control. Although some types of metastatic cancer can be cured with current treatments, most cannot. Even so, there are treatments for all patients with metastatic cancer. The goal of these treatments is to stop or slow the growth of the cancer or to relieve symptoms caused by it. In some cases, treatments for metastatic cancer may help prolong life.” In this, she has been fortunate because she has had low pain levels throughout the course of the disease, and she is still very active. However, because her cancer keeps growing in different areas, it’s possible that it can no longer be controlled. The literature I read online, states “If you have been told you have metastatic cancer that can no longer be controlled, you, and your loved ones, may want to discuss end-of-life care. Even if you choose to continue receiving treatment to try to shrink the cancer or control its growth, you can always receive palliative care to control the symptoms of cancer and the side effects of treatment.”

My friend’s work schedule has made it difficult for him to go with his wife to all of her appointments, so until this week there have been pieces of information he hasn’t received directly from the doctors. Now that he has all of this information, he is in shock, but his wife seems unshaken by the gravity of her health situation. He believes his wife may not have a full grasp on everything she’s being told or may be in denial and is still hopeful that somewhere there is a cure for her. However, that seems unlikely at this point because the results of her latest tests show cancer again in her liver, more cancer now in both of her lungs, and cancer in some of her lymph nodes.

Outside of another round of chemotherapy that may extend her life for a short time, after she makes it thru the horrible side effects, there isn’t any more the doctors can do for her. The drug trial – that can only go ahead if the chemotherapy successfully treats the tumors – will at best, add months to her life and give the oncologists data about the drugs’ effectiveness for people with metastatic colorectal cancer and at this stage, stage IV, of the disease. Or, there are the treatments his wife has researched on the internet that she could receive in Cuba, Mexico and Eastern Europe that cost tens of thousands of dollars and promise to cure every form of cancer, but have no scientific backing. Knowing about these treatments may be why she can’t accept what she has been told by her many doctors here.

When I heard all of this in the justifiably angry phone call from my friend, I did the only thing I know how to do. I became the strong sober voice and outlined all the things he and his wife need to do before she requires palliative care. I was able to do this because of the many experiences I’ve had in my life losing beloved friends and family members to cancer. I could also tell he was still in shock and hadn’t been able to think straight since having all of this information dumped on him and his wife within 48 hours, so giving him a practical list of things to do helped to slightly dissipate his anger and get his usually ordered mind working again.

My friend, who I love dearly, is losing his wife to cancer. I wish I could do more for them. Sadly, I know that the best and only thing I can do is be his friend and be there to pick up the phone and listen when he calls.

 

Bill Withers – Lean On Me

 

It’s Not About Me Today

Today one of my dearest friends is having surgery. She told me not to worry, but of course, I’m worried. She’s one of the people who have supported me through my illness since the beginning. She has come with me to doctors’ appointments – I’ve lost count of how many; she has taken me to and been there when I’ve woken up after many of the procedures and surgery I’ve undergone; and she has opened her home to me and cared for me.

We became friends many years before my illness, and the decades that separate our ages have become irrelevant. She is one of the few women in my life that I trust wholly to guide and advise me because she has lived an incredible life in which she has accomplished incredible things, I respect her tremendously, but above all, she is always honest – even when it might hurt. We have shared hours upon hours of laughter – the kind where you almost pee your pants – and she has opened my eyes to many truths about life. With just a few words, she gives me strength to face difficult situations, and her unassuming nature always puts me at ease. Truth be told, she is important to me in ways that my mother should be.

I can’t be there for her physically, so today my heart and mind are with Z and I am sending her positive energy to support her through, what she says is nothing to worry about.

 

Coldplay – Yellow

I Have An Important Date

Yesterday afternoon, I got great news. My new surgeon made room for me in his summer schedule, which means I’ll be having surgery sooner than I expected. I am scheduled to have surgery on August 11th. I didn’t know how to react to the call. I’m happy that after such a short timeline from his second opinion in April to my follow-up consultation at the beginning of June that his conviction about working to improve my quality of life has come to fruition. But, my surgeon’s administrative assistant felt compelled to tell me that I didn’t have to take the date if it’s too soon or doesn’t work for me for any other reason because she recognized how stunned I was by the news. I assured her there is no reason to reschedule me. I think waiting two years to have someone, anyone, take decisive action with the intention to get me better is long enough.

I’m also full of anxiety. I’ve had surgery before, but this surgery is the biggest medical procedure I’ve had in my entire life. I’ll be on the operating table for three hours – or longer – as at least three surgeons work on removing the growth that is invading my pelvis and repairing the damage it may have inflicted on multiple organs. The known possible outcomes that fall on what I’ll characterize as the negative plane of the spectrum could drastically change my life. Not to mention, my surgeon predicts a minimum five nights stay in the hospital post-surgery – if everything goes well – that could turn out to be longer depending on what they find or how much of my rectum he must remove. Yet, I know that there is a positive, bright side of the same spectrum that could mean the end of my pain and the beginning of what’s next in my life, now that my eyes are open to the suffering that exists in the lives of so many people because of chronic pain and chronic illnesses.

Still, mixed into the confused pool of emotions I was excited enough to call or send messages to all my friends and family who support me through this illness at every turn – good or bad. Everyone I connected with was very happy to hear the news. They’ve all been waiting with great anticipation since I told them I would most likely have a surgery date for the end of the summer. Those who expect to be involved in my aftercare immediately reminded me of the commitment they’ve made to me to help in whatever way they can when I’m released from the hospital. Some made even grander gestures of support, offering to take me into their homes for my entire recovery. All of this continued support means everything to me and I know I’ll never be able to repay it, but I also know that without it I wouldn’t have made it this far.

I have an important date and my hope is that when it ends I’ll be on my way to better health.

 

Mr. Mister – Broken Wings