mainecoon

Oh, jeeez . . . Should've seen that coming.

I'm sure I've got a pack of Blackjack somewhere around here. And, hey! What can I get for those Green Stamps? I must have thousand of 'em. By the by, Jenny, Debi makes a good point.

When you have a chance please visit the following site: http://home.att.net/~c.d.luce/Margaret.html I just want people to see what a special person I lost from my life. This loss has served to make me more acutley aware of what we all stand to lose, and how deeply we can all feel such a loss.

Outrageous! LOL, as they say. This has got to be a stand-up routine, but so well put.

It goes without saying that cancer is a deadly serious subject that brings profound tragedy into people's lives. But there are those times . . . My wife died from SCLC on July 28. This devastated my two adult stepdaughters and me. We all knew that Margaret's condition was a desperate one, but we all thought she would live to see one more Christmas with the family. I didn't expect the end to just run up and punch me in the face the way it did. For the first two weeks it was as though I moved in another world. I slept all right because I popped Valium every night to quiet the deafening silence. But I just stopped eating and drinking. I just didn't think about it. Didn't get hungry or thirsty. I finally returned to work in the middle of the third week largely to get back into a more healthy routine. I always did my eating and drinking largely at work, and I was just damaging myself at home. Anyway, my co-workers proved incredibly supportive. Much more so than I had ever hoped. This gave me a big boost toward recovery and helped lead me back into the land of the living. Then last Thursday one of my second-line supervisors comes up to me and says, "Have you lost weight?" "Yes. Yes I have. Twenty pounds in the last month." "Why?" This sort of caught me off guard. I had to pause and think for a moment why he couldn't figure out the obvious. Because he had been one of the people who came to offer me his condolences. So I knew he wasn't trying to be heartless or uncaring. So I replied with the obvious. "Because I stopped eating" "Ohhh. That's no way to lose weight." "I'm not trying to." "You know, you've got to eat. Otherwise, you might do some damage." "I know. I know." "Well, you just eat something. Don't try to lose weight by not eating. It's no good for you. No good" Having imparted this nugget of insight he turned on his heels and walked away. I stood there with my mouth slightly agape, wondering what the hell that was all about. The whole episode was rather surreal, but in a funny sort of way. Still, it was at that point I knew that I had returned to the land of the living.

Oh, Cathy. I am so sorry to read of your loss. Even though it's only been a month I'm trying to get on with things. I mean, I have to. There's no one else here, and things have to be done. Margaret and I have a house on Inkster, just north of Nine Mile. The floor's covered with hair from our Mainecoon, and the plants are on the verge of dying from thirst. For the first three weeks I couldn't even think about these things. Dropped twenty pounds. Only when the cramping began did I realize I might be damaging myself and began to eat. Writing has helped me tremendously. Writing to heal, at first. Now just writing. Putting memories of our life together into form. This helps me to somehow enshrine the memories. Still, there are the days. Why? I just don't know. Like when hanging up some of my own slacks today. A pair of Margaret's jeans were still laying on the bed next to them. I suddenly found myself sobbing and apologizing to her that I couldn't save her. As though any of us ever can. Life is simply tragic in that way, that those we love eventually leave. I'm certain time will bring you healing, Cathy. But I sure wish the time would go faster and the pain would lessen more quickly.

Oh. God, Shelly. I'm so, so saddened to hear of your loss. May the coming days be merciful to you and your loved ones. Please forgive the photograph of Margaret. I know it's too festive in appearance for this occasion. Know that I grieve deeply for your loss.

It saddens me deeply to read of your father's passing. He sounds like a good, strong, honorable man. I have no doubt Antonio Villela will be greatly missed by the many to whom he meant so much.

Man, just when you think you have it pretty well all wrapped, things come undone. I go to the bank today for the fourth time to assume control of my wife's paltry checking account. Unfortunately the woman I'd been dealing with is on vacation, and no one seems to know where her papers are located. Could I come back another time? OK. No big deal. I work for the government myself, so I know how that goes. The problem came when I sat down and started going through the mail my wife received during the last thirty days of her life. The realization that despite the inevitability of doom and her approaching extinction she still tried to be responsible for what she regarded as her own obligations. This awareness started ongoing spasms of sobbing I can barely control. Then I saw the notice that she was being referred to a collection agency for a thirty dollar bill. And the customer satisfaction survey from the hospital in which she'd spent six weeks without them finding any kind of cancer. I howled. When my tears ran dry I just sat there gasping loudly. I still can only control myself with a great deal of will. I have a dental appointment to go to in a couple of hours. I've got to get it together. I watched a video the other day, that thing with Bruce Willis called 'Tears of the Sun'. I discovered that crying can be just as contagious as laughter. Anyway, he has a line toward the end, when he tells one of the characters he can't break down. He's got to "cowboy up". I took a liking to that phrase. There are times when we all have to pull it together and handle the situation, when we have to "cowboy up."

Incredible! I can't imagine how you even found the strength to post with such humor and detail. Margaret was under the care of Dr. Kalemkarian at the U of M. Not the warmest of physicians, but that doesn't mean much to most patients. He is highly regarded, and tends to be quite direct in his evaluation of a person's condition. His treatment of her was hampered by the fact that she only had 40 percent kidney function, which significantly reduced the strength of the Carboplatin and VP-16 she received. Kalemkarian said quite clearly that often the treatment is more deadly than the disease, and a stronger dose would have resulted in total kidney failure. Anyway, I ramble. I just wanted to say how impressed I was with your post, that your strength and determination are clear, and I wish you the best of fortune in dealing with this miserable disease.

In the August issue of Biography magazine there's a short two-page article on Paul McCartney. In a side panel, where you would expect to see the ad for Verizon or Zocor, there's a quotation from McCartney: "I still believe that love is all you need. I don't know a better message than that" The full significance of this simple thought occurs to me now far more than it did when I first heard that song. When love is gone, you become very aware of how important it is in one's life.

You know, Norme, after Margaret passed I just sat for hours staring. Just staring. I couldn't get out of bed to write thank you cards for the people who came to the service. I just pretty much shut down. And sobbed. A grown man sobbing and staring. Yeah, that's grieving. I finally tried to do something like eat, and screwed it all up. Thank god for pizza delivery. It's the end of the second week, and I'm clawing my way out of that deep, deep hole. Hell, I even went to Probate Court today. That ain't pretty. I do believe time heals. Some.

I'm so glad to see you're doing well. I really admire your strength and optimism. I truly wish you only the best for a long time to come.

I'm deeply saddened to hear of your loss, and send you my heartfelt sympathies. It's good to read how well your faith has sustained you in such difficult times. You're right in saying that one shouldn't take loved ones for granted. It's so important to have people to whom we matter. Again, I'm agrieved to read of your loss.

I recently lost Margaret to SCLC. I was able to hold it together until the last moments, at which point I just lost all control. I couldn't speak because of the loud sobbing which overcame me. Even now I cry, just thinking of those moments. It helped me so much to read the simple and sincere expressions of comfort from other members of this forum. I wasn't aware of how comforting they could be. I want to help others facing the same dark tragedy. My deepest thanks to all of you.

Thank you so much for your kind expressions of sympathy. They have brought me much comfort. These are hard times, but I know there are better to come. When I am at the end of my days I will not fear death. I know I will see Margaret awaiting me, vibrant and smiling. And I will run to take her into my arms. Then we will be together in eternal springtime. To me that will truly be paradise.

Margaret succumbed to lung cancer at 7:45 on Monday evening. She had come home to be with me, her two daughters, and her beloved cat. She was in the care of Hospice of Michigan, who provided basic medical equipment and nursing care. Yet, during the final hours, minutes and moments it was only the three of us holding her hands, stroking her arms, and kissing her brow. I sob uncontrollably when I think of those times, watching her panting her last few breaths. Now and then I would tell her that everything would be alright. She would open her eyes and ask me if anything was wrong. I would tell her it was fine and try to hide my sobs. Margaret was my world, and I miss her so. It is as though her passing brought an end to all good things, and that the world will never again hold any pleasure because Margaret's not here to share it with me. I am crushed and devastated in a way I have never been before. My sweetheart is gone. I know life goes on. Margaret frequently joked with me and said that once she's gone I'd find someone else who would see in me what she did. I told her that there is no one who has the same blend of wit, sense of humor, and kind forbearance as herself. That if anything ever happened to her I'd just live out my days as an old bachelor, dwelling upon sweet memories of her. Hospice provides grief counseling to those who lose loved ones. I fully intend to take advantage of this, simply because I want to bear witness to how much I loved Margaret and how I miss her so. There will be a remembrance service for her on Friday evening. I'm trying to cry myself out as much as possible before then, otherwise I will break down. Oh, dear God, I miss her so.

Yesterday I was at the dentist office. I mentioned to the woman who was scheduling the follow-up visits that I have to coordinate them with my wife's chemotherapy sessions. At that point she asked me if we're open to any kind of alternative therapies. I told her we're pretty skeptical about alternative therapies but that we're open to any kind of information. She directed me to check out the Protocel web site for information about CanCell products. She told me a couple of personal anecdotes involving successful treatment using these products. Well, I went to the web-site to see what it has to offer. I also went to the Quackwatch page, as well as the site of the National Center Against Health Fraud. After reading the information at these sites I concluded that CanCell / Entelev is a variation on the old Snake Oil spiel that has been a long standing feature of health care in America. But, being a skeptic and not a cynic I don't regard my opinion as the final word. Has anyone in the community had any experience, either good or bad with CanCell or Entelev?

Thank you both for your kind thoughts and invaluable information. I'm constantly looking for positive information to pass on to my wife to assure her that there's a good reason for all the nausea and fatigue. She has closed the door to the Final Exit and is attempting to sustain some kind of fighting spirit. I'm doing what I can to support her in this decision. Again, thanks for your support

On Wednesday my wife finished the third series of chemo sessions. She had a CAT scan and evaluation at the end of her second series, at which the onc gave her the option of either continuing with the chemo, or not. She chose to continue. Initially my wife was puzzled at being given the choice to go on or not. She interpreted this as meaning that there really isn't any point in continuing. It wasn't until she was told that the Carboplatin / VP-16 combo had actually shrunk the tumor that she decided to continue. When she was first diagnosed the onc told her the standard procedure is to administer 4 - 6 chemo series and then to evaluate the situation. She expected to go to 6 series, each three weeks apart. Has anyone else here separated their chemo series by more than the standard period of time? Would anyone feel confident about taking a break from chemo of more than three weeks?

Try http://www.rxlist.com/cgi/generic2/vinor_ids.htm . I've always found rxlist to be a good source of comprehensive info about medication. I also use medline.com as source of info on conditions and procedures. For instance, I wondered why the medical staff at the infusion clinic always referred to VP-16, rahter than etoposide. I recently discovered that the drug etoposide can be either etopophos or VP-16, and that there is a statistically significant difference in the occurence of side effects.[/url]

I grieve deeply for your loss. I'm not a sentimental man, but when you wrote of Mike asking you to let him go my eyes filled with tears. I could only think of my wife asking me that same sad final request. Again, I am sorry to hear of your loss.

Ten days ago, on the 10th, my wife was scheduled to go to the U of M Cancer Center for her third chemo session. The night before she'd been so anxious that she took a second 5mg Valium sometime during the night to help her sleep. By the time she was supposed to go to the hospital she was so incredibly fatigued she could barely lift one foot in front of the other. For a moment as we sat on the edge of the bed we even considered not going through with any more chemotherapy. But she roused herself through sheer dint of willpower. A kind friend of ours who had come all the way up from Toledo drove her to the hospital. When I finally spoke with our friend she told me that my wife's hemoglobin count was down to 8. The medical people decided to do a transfusion rather than chemo. I was told that she fell asleep during the examination. She came home and went directly to bed. The next day she told me she could barely remember anything of that day. After almost five days she regained a good deal of her former strength. Both her physical and mental state changed dramatically for the better. On Wednesday we went to the hospital for a CAT scan, and yesterday we returned for a consultation with the oncologist. I cautioned my wife not to expect any dramatic improvements after only two sessions. When the physician's assistant came in she told her that she could continue with the chemo, if she was so inclined. I immediately sensed my wife become tense. She said, 'So you're saying the films didn't show any improvement?' The assistant's eyes immediately widened, and she replied, 'Oh,no. There's been significant shrinkage of the tumor. It's just that some people choose to take a break from the chemo if they can, because of the side effects.' The oncologist appeared and verified that they were "on the right track" with the chosen chemo. He also said that my wife could start another session on Monday, and that he would instruct the nurse to administer Anaprest to maintain a healthy hemoglobin count. Afterwards my wife and I let out a mutual sigh of relief. When the assistant said 'if you're so inclined' we both heard "Well, your situation's hopeless and there's no real point in chemo anymore since it's not working; but if you want it we'll give it to you." Sometimes, all too often really, medical people are unaware of how devastating a few simple words or a turn of phrase can be. Anyway, I want to give thanks to all who have contributed their experiences to this board. It's been a rich source of inspiration which I've been able to pass onto my wife to encourage her when she's feeling beyond hope and especially depressed.

Sorry I missed your post there, Dave. Apparently mine was going out while you were putting it on the board. I'm grateful you provided as much detail as you did. Yeah, my wife's very depressed. Even as she was being handed the diagnosis in the hospital bed she was telling the doctor "Just make sure you double-up on the Prozac." As a clinical social worker she dealt much with anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medications, but she didn't start taking one herself until her hospitalization for the lower back pain. Still, at this stage of the game it barely keeps her on an even keel. And even this has a wrinkle: Prozac interferes with the metabolization of diazepam so the Valium stays in her blood longer; so she's reluctant to increase her dosage of Prozac. I'm grateful to this board for the wealth of anecdotal information it provides. I really don't even bother with the "official" lung cancer sites, because I want to know about the experiences of real people in real situations. Then I sift the information and try to relate it to my wife. I think it unfortunate that her favorite pastime is crossword puzzles. I say "unfortunate" because it gives the impression that she's just marking time. Before crosswords it was electronic Bridge. She could no longer find partners after her friends started passing on. She tried to teach me, but I just couldn't grasp the concept. I mean, you lose because you have more points? What's up with that? Still, it takes her mind off her troubles a little. Again, thanks, Dave.

Thanks for the info, Candy. I'm looking for as much positive as possible to tell my wife, so she won't regard the transfusion as such an unmitigated defeat. She was so tired yesterday, the friend who took her to chemo told me over the phone that she'd actually fallen asleep while eating a cracker. This morning she sounds strong, but she just wants to sleep. Granted she's snuggled under a warm electric blanket and it's dark and drizzling outside. But she has a chemo session scheduled for today. Can she still expect to go to chemo 24 hrs. after a blood transfusion? I've called the oncologist, but he won't be in for a few hours.