overtherainbow

I know exactly how you feel. My family brought out the Christmas decorations this weekend and I stayed away as much as possible. I took one look at the boxes and stockings and the tree on Sunday and burst into tears - I couldn't even see something holiday-related without thinking about my dad. It's gotten easier with each day to be around all this stuff but I definitely am not having a holly, jolly Christmas this year. I just can't get excited about it.

My father did the same thing. I think part of it was trying to hold on to some sense of control over the disease by minimizing the negatives and highlighting the positives whenever anyone called or came by to check in. In private with certain people he was very honest about his fears. Our biggest concern was that he would be in denial and not do the things he said were most important to him.

I agree that it could be a lot of things but also know that if it is time to start thinking about end-of-life care, your dad doesn't have to go to a hospice facility to receive hospice care. You can get the help you need and the care your father needs in the comfort of his own home.

Hi Leslie, The worst part of going back to work for me was the anticipation. I absolutely dreaded the thought of being back there, although my co-workers and supervisor was so incredibly caring throughout the whole journey (most of them came to Dad's memorial). I just had to put myself on auto-pilot to make the drive, took a deep breath and opened the door. After the initial hugs and "How are yous?" people pretty much left me alone. And even though I welcomed the concern, I was relieved when it stopped. If you find after some time that it still doesn't feel right, maybe part of the problem is the job after all. But give it a shot and see how it goes. You may find that it becomes a welcome distraction to just get back into work mode. Good luck - I'll be thinking of you tomorrow morning...

Leslie and Adrian, Wow, what an incredible journey. I am so sad for your loss and yet glad that your father passed on his own terms, when he was ready. The hardest part comes after the memorial service when everyone has gone home. We're here when the quiet becomes too much...

Dad had 6 cycles of his first phase of chemo and we were told the same thing...that is the standard for his combination of meds and his type of cancer (NSCLC). Apparently after that the drugs can't do much and the toxicity builds up your body - they start to do more harm than good (just as Ned pointed out). After 6 rounds they give your body a rest for a few weeks and scan to evaluate whether you can take a longer break or need to try something else.

Adrian and Leslie, I'm incredibly sorry to hear about your loss. Your post was so touching...I am glad to hear that when it did happen, you were all at peace. That is a blessing.

So my mom made an appointment for her, my sister and I to go for counseling with my Dad's friend and colleague who works with families of cancer patients. I opted not to go at the last minute. 'Probably shouldn't have done that and I'm not quite sure why I did. Just the more I thought about going to talk about it, the less I wanted to do so. Part of it is that I'm not quite ready to go there, especially at the tail-end of a very intense week. My brother reminded me that yesterday was the five-year anniversary of putting our beloved family dog to sleep. So we have my birthday, Halloween and Kenzie's death three days in a row. I think if someone asked me a question about how I'm doing today, I would scream. Or cry. Or both. Either way, I'm just not ready. My greatest strength and my greatest weakness is my fierce independence. I take care of myself. That's what I do. But sometimes I don't know when it's time to ask someone to take care of me. "Help" does not seem to be in my vocabulary. But I'm not as strong as I make myself look. I've got issues too. The other concern is that going to her feels a bit too close for comfort. If I'm going to counseling, I'd rather go to someone I don't know. I'd rather go to address all of my "things" (as Meredith Grey would put it). I don't think I could talk to her about the many layers that make up my grief, or about the many things I am grieving. I'm all for going to someone I know OF, whose reputation tells me that I will be helped, but I just don't know. I'd rather start fresh. There is a lot of ground to cover.

My amazing father - "Dougie". This was his favorite time of the year!

I'm so, so sorry Rochelle. You've been such a source of strength for people here - draw that strength from us whenever you need it. My thoughts are with you and your children...

I was living in North Carolina at the time of my Dad's diagnosis and my entire family was in CA. I was all set to start at Duke nursing school. But the further we got into dad's treatments and the more I traveled home to steal time, the more I realized that I needed to be there for good. So I deferred at Duke and moved home and had 2 1/2 amazing months before Dad passed. I was able to live with my folks and got a job nearby that was extremely flexible (I still had a mortgage back in NC so the bills had to get paid). It was a drastic decision but looking back I am SO glad I made it. I would not have done anything differently. My dad's friend, a cancer support psychologist, gave us the concept of "windows". She said you have a window of opportunity to live life to the fullest and with cancer you don't know how long it will last. So make decisions as though you have one day left...if time is limited you'll have no regrets and if you get more time than you thought, you'll have a host of wonderful memories! Dad's window was 6 months long and I got to be there. Despite the pain and the grief, coming home was the right choice. We all have different circumstances but I think when and where possible, we should take advantage of the precious gift of time.

I would echo that there is no such thing as normal with cancer. That being said, you should definitely demand that more be done to relieve your mom's pain. If her oncologist isn't stepping up, request a referral from a pain specialist, particularly a palliative care specialist. Sometimes it takes a particular med to do the trick but they should not stop trying until they've found something that works. Just be aware that the higher the dose of any narcotic pain relief the more likely that your mom will be "out of it" for longer periods. It can also have an effect on her breathing so you may want to ask about oxygen.

Debi, All I can do is echo what everyone else has said. You have been a true inspiration to so many of us in this community. My daddy didn't make it 2 1/2 years but he sure wanted to and he drew strength from these message boards and from stories like your Tony's ... I don't think he ever posted himself but he was reading vigilantly. It gave him so much hope to see that Stage IV LC could be fought and hope is what he needed to get through the worst days. I've wondered myself whether I would want to come back but I find myself drawn here even more often then before. We are all family now. Our roles and perspectives may change, but the support and love are unconditional.

Candy, I know the feeling of replaying the final months in your head. The memories that are sticking with me are of the not-fun variety and I can't seem to get past them to the more fond memories. Even when I look at pictures from enjoyable times, it's like the chemo infusions, hospital visits, and doctors' appointments are playing on a constant loop. My sister can't even watch "Grey's Anatomy" without seeing something that reminds her of Dad's journey and getting really angry. But this is the place to talk about it... This is the place where everyone understands and that is comforting in itself.

Bobby, I am so very sorry to hear this. That is all I can really say. Your love for your sister was inspiring....