Researchers still found 'excellent' survival rates for both primary, secondary disease
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by LiquidxAngel - March 05 at 7:41 AM
On Mar 02, 2014 11:16 AM moonsilk wrote: It's so true,if we don't give our loved ones everything. We will have regrets that we didn't., My moms illness was just really bad from the beginning to end. We also drove an hour back n fourth for treatments n her doctors.,with her,everything that could have gone wrong just did. Becuz of her inoperable location,so deep in her brain stem. For me,I just needed her to live, I needed to be able to touch her hand n hug her. I needed my mother n I still need her. I guess the whole thing just haunts me now. Becuz I did everything opposite of what she wanted. She just wanted to lay in bed with covers over her head. I selfishly wanted her to get up n fight for me n my dad n her grand kids. My mom was so young. As a person I feel like I know nothing about nothing anymore
It's a horrible feeling :(
On Mar 02, 2014 11:16 AM moonsilk wrote:
This sounds like I could have written it about my father. They were *exactly* the same in dealing with it. I, too, pushed my father into making sure he got all his treatments and was solely responsible for making sure he got to all of his appointments.He was so tired on many of those days and I felt so awful for being the one to "make him" go for the treatments.Our battle seemed cursed from the start, as well.
He exibited no syptoms until out of the blue on a normal weekend (like any other) he could no longer swallow properly, started losing his balance, and could no longer speak clearly (it was all gibberish). Just like that. BOOM.
Thought it was a stroke and got him to the ER only to find out there was a mass w/lesions. Diagnosis? Primary CNS lymphoma. Advanced - a *VERY* rare and aggressive cancer. My father raised me as a single-parent. He was my best friend and confidante. When I saw him slipping away, I tried to keep him close. I was always telling him he wasn't allowed to leave me yet; that I still needed him in my life. Finally, I had to accept that I couldn't fix him. I felt so terrible - like everything I'd done was for nothing. I made myself sick by wondering if he thought me selfish for pushing him into treatments that ended up being useless. The ride to bring him from the hospital into home hospice was one of the worst moments of my life. He was such a strong man and it took *everything* from him. ... it's just so unfair to have people suffer like that.
by LiquidxAngel - February 03 at 9:28 PM
On Jan 27, 2014 5:35 PM patsyminton wrote: Even though it's been 15 months, I still have terrible days. I work at the hospital that my dad had his cancer treatments and surgeries at and it seems like once every few months I'll have a flashback of certain days, certain memories. I get so sick of people saying "he is in a better place" or "everything happens for a reason." I guess this is more of a vent for me, I just feel like it shouldn't be this hard still. I just miss my best friend!
On Jan 27, 2014 5:35 PM patsyminton wrote:
Even though it's been 15 months, I still have terrible days. I work at the hospital that my dad had his cancer treatments and surgeries at and it seems like once every few months I'll have a flashback of certain days, certain memories. I get so sick of people saying "he is in a better place" or "everything happens for a reason." I guess this is more of a vent for me, I just feel like it shouldn't be this hard still. I just miss my best friend!
My father was also my best friend. He raised me as a single dad and we developed such an incredible bond.It's been a little less than sixteen months for me too. Your post hit on such personal chords that I needed to write to you.I still have terrible days. I think I will *always* have terrible days. Losing both a parent AND a best friend simultaneously, is a double whammy of grief and mourning. Vent as you need. Cry as you need. Do not let anyone else define your journey through your grief. Grief is singular and unique. While we all face it (at some point), every path to get through it is different.Just last night, I broke down for "no reason" whatsoever. The moment just hit me like a bullet to the chest. For hours, I just wept and talked to him as I would have normally. If anyone else could have seen me, i'm sure they'd have said I was losing my mind. Maybe, in that space, I was. It didn't matter. I just knew I wanted my father and my best friend back. I also have flashbacks of times during the battle. I had very little outside support and very few in the family came to help us. That broke my heart too. Of course, as primary caregiver, I struggle with *every* single decision I had to make for him... I hope you can find some peace but this road is a long, painful one. If you need to vent more, you can always message me directly. I'll listen and I'll not judge.
by LiquidxAngel - October 28 at 8:54 PM
On Jul 06, 2013 7:14 AM Andyatto wrote: Thanks for the reply. I guess I'll battle on. It's very hard to find reliable information. Every little bit is beneficial
On Jul 06, 2013 7:14 AM Andyatto wrote:
This is a battle that I recommend you actively search out the best team that you can.If you are not happy with your current oncologist (from the sounds of it, I wouldn't be either), PLEASE, seek out others. There are great resources all over.It isn't an idle disease.(Sending you healing thoughts and prayers)
by LiquidxAngel - September 22 at 5:39 AM
As cliched as it sounds, I actually thought I'd turned the corner on my grieving. Yet, in mere moments, I found myself a sobbing mess with that heavy pain of a broken heart every bit as potent as the night my father passed away.The nights are so still and so quiet. It is such a dark place where grief takes me.I suppose, what I'm trying to ask, is: "How did you find your peace and what ways worked best to comfort you?" Thanks everyone...
by LiquidxAngel - September 03 at 6:37 PM
You were the one with him in the end. You were the one caring for him most. Becoming a full-time caregiver carries enormous stress. I think all caregivers "break" at some point. I know I did.Caregiving doesn't come with an instruction manual. It doesn't matter how many times you google "how to be a caregiver", no ONE site has it correct. You did the best that you could with what you had. No one on earth should ever hold that against you - least of all, yourself.
by LiquidxAngel - August 25 at 6:32 PM
My father and I never openly discussed his dying and we never said goodbyes. I suppose it may have been too painful for us both at the time. Still, despite that (or because of it?), I have had several very moving dream of my father since his passing.It may be lengthy (I apologize in advance) but here is one of the dreams I had of him:----------------------------------------
The Time Capsule
In the dream, there was a "fad" that people were doing prior to dying. They were making time-capsules to give to those they loved as a personal memento. Each one would consist of five items chosen by the person who was passing...
My father made one for me and in the last moments before he died, I ran to him with the items so he could explain them to me.
I could see his labored breathing but he was neither scared, nor in pain. He was calm. Ready. No outward traces anymore, of the ugly tumor that invaded our lives...
I knelt next to him, closely, and held up the first item. It was an oddly shaped paintbrush. The bristles were squarly blocked and the handle oddly shaped so, in the hand, it had to be held a very specific way. "What does this mean, Dad?" I asked...
"This is to remind you that you can thicken or thin the trees of your Life any way that you want - it is *all* in the technique and how you handle the brush. Learn that, Kate."
The second item was a simple and small paintbrush - the kind that you would get in any children's set of watercolors. "And this one?"
"That is how I want you to remember me. I was a simple man. Neither special or unique. A simple, imperfect man." I stopped him there and said, "No, you are my father. You will always be special to me. Always."
He smiled weakly and I rummaged through the capsule. The next two items were simple sterling silver rings, both with amber stones. Not fancy but elegant in their simplicity.
"Those are YOU, Kate. What you've always been to me and to my life. I chose amber because it is a living stone. Full of warmth and able to hold both time and memory within it. You are that to me, natural, beautiful and able to carry with you, the best and worst of life. I know you will always keep me alive within you."
At this point in the dream (and while I was sleeping), I was in tears because I knew his time was approaching the end now. I hurried and grabbed the last item from the capsule: a simple strand of aurora borealis colored prayer beads."Before you go, Dad, tell me of this too... please."
His voice cracking and barely above a whisper, he said this: "That is my promise to you, Kate. There is magic after this life is done. There is so much magic afterwards and I love you."
... and with that, he closed his eyes and took his last breath.When I woke up from the dream, I was in tears. I was crying as I slept (my brother said) and I cried when I woke up. I cried for about three hours afterwards too.
by LiquidxAngel - August 25 at 5:48 PM
Daryl: Let me first start with saying that I am so sorry you and your husband must face this awful disease.To answer your questions - I can only give you a recount of what I experienced with my father who battled with Primary CNS Lymphoma for eight months before the tumor became resistent to chemo/radiation treatment. Everyone's experience is different. Tumor location(s) factor a very large role in symptomology. "Luckily", my father's largest tumor was in an area of the brain that suppressed much of his pain. Even up to the final days, I only ever needed to administer morphine twice. His regression was very quick. Once the tumor developed resistence, he was gone in less than two months. Regression happened in stages of function loss. My father's tumor affected his balance and gait first leading him to become immobile and with little use of the left side of his body. As progression continued, he lost his continence. After that, everything went downhill at an alarming rate. Loss of appetite and thirst. Increasing moments of confusion. Lethargy and excessive sleeping (and being more difficult to rouse from sleep).Once he started refusing food/water, it was a matter of days before he slipped into a coma and passed away peacefully three days after that.Like I said though - with brain cancer/tumors, every situation is unique. For a better guide, I'd recommend for you to visit this site:
Everything is pretty much summed up here. You can also read of other caregiver accounts regarding end of life experiences.While CNS Lymphoma is not "brain cancer" per se, it mimics a LOT of GBM symptomology and found that many of the GBM personal accounts had similar traits to my father's cancer. Hope this helps and I'm so so sorry that you guys are having to go through this.
by LiquidxAngel - May 03 at 10:49 PM
When my father's cns lymphoma (primary, only in brain) regressed and stopped responding to chemotherapy, the doctors at Johns Hopkins gave him ten rounds of low dose radiation and sent him home on hospice when they realized that the radiation wasn't being effective. He was too weak from the chemotherapy (very brutal on him) to be recommended for stem cell therapy.Radiation is usually done in conjunction with chemotherapy (usually AFTER the chemo treatments have finished). Like all people getting brain radiation there are always risks of developing cognitive deficits later on. Usually, younger people respond better (bodies are usually stronger) to having radiation.
by LiquidxAngel - April 08 at 6:11 AM
I'm so, so sorry. If you ever need an ear, please don't hesitate to message me. I'm wishing you and yours comfort and peace.
by LiquidxAngel - April 08 at 6:05 AM
I lost my father this past October as well. We were best friends too. He had a very rare form of lymphoma that only manifests in the spine and brain. His was in his brain only.Like so many others, I cry everyday too. It's hard to describe to someone who has never experienced any aspect of brain cancer. It truly is an entirely different and excruciating world.My father was the strongest man I ever knew and I watched the tumor and cancer reduce him down to nothing. It broke my heart then, breaks my heart now, and will always do so. I can't tell WHEN it will stop hurting. I'm in the same boat as you. I feel the grief hanging from me like the heaviest of chains and nearly everything is a potential trigger for the uncontrollable tears.The best we can do is to just take things one day at a time. Keep reaching out to others who can comfort you even a little and always keep your heart open for any signs from your husband. You'll know them when they happen, trust in that.I wish you hope and joy and all the peace you can get. *hugs*
I have taken the journey to a conclusion but that does not mean the path has ended.The battle has changed but the war is always there and until lymphoma is no more, I have been called on to be a proverbial soldier in arms.(My Personal Journal)
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