Wys tans plasings met die etiket esophegial cancer. Wys alle plasings
Wys tans plasings met die etiket esophegial cancer. Wys alle plasings

02 November 2015

FIGHT





Another guest blogger enjoy

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
My Dad died a year ago. Esophageal cancer. It was a choice he made. No, no, no… not to GET cancer – but to not treat it. The doctors all said it was contained and curable. He just didn’t want to fight it. At the time I couldn’t understand. Not that I do now… but a year’s worth of time does change a person’s opinions. I honestly don’t think he had any idea what he was in store for. Essentially he ‘committed suicide by cancer’. I wrote a blog about it via my friend The Cancer Warrior last October.

Boy, was I pissed when I wrote that. The day after writing it, I bought a one-way ticket to NH from TX to help my Mom help my Dad leaving my two kids at home. We took care of my Dad at home. He died while I was holding his hand. I’m glad I went. I'm glad that some of his last words were to me.

I have no regrets. He, however, did.

The week before he died, my Uncle, Dad’s little brother, came to see him, ‘one last time’.

My Uncle had just been diagnosed with melanoma in his lungs, lymph nodes and various patches on his skin.

His PET scan lit up like a friggin' Christmas tree of the worst kind.

He tried to talk to my Dad, but his cancer had eaten him alive, his voice was essentially gone. But he made sure my Uncle sat close and heard every word he said… He said,

‘Fight’

Dad regretted his decision to ‘let nature take its course’. I’m glad he did voice that regret. It made it easier on my family to know that he didn’t want to leave us.

We just discovered last week that my Uncle’s PET scan is now clean. He’s missing part of a lung, all of his lymph nodes and chunks of skin. But, what a small price to pay when you think of the alternative.

‘Fight’

Fight, my friends. You are stronger than you know.

As Emerson said, if ‘even one life has breathed easier because you have lived..’ you have had a successful life.

Thanks for the great advice once again, Dad, and please know you indeed lived a successful life and were loved.

About the author:  Amy Lord Gonzalez
bio:
Transplanted New Hampshire girl, currently residing in the country of Texas. Stay-at-home mom, rock star wife who makes a mean enchilada and still cheers for the Red Sox and Patriots from afar.
contact info: icknamy@yahoo.com

04 Oktober 2015

Suicide by Cancer





Another Guest Blogger.  Enjoy

Have you heard that phrase that the media uses?  ‘suicide by cop’?  It’s when someone is so mentally ill, so distraught, so DESPERATE that they provoke the police to the point where extreme force is necessary – generally resulting in death of the ‘suspect’.  Pretty messed up, huh?  It makes you wonder how things can possibly get that bad.  How can a person possibly put their soul into someone else’s hands?  I can’t fathom it and I’m so glad I can’t.

My dad is currently going through something that it makes sense to call ‘suicide by cancer’.  
He was diagnosed with Stage 3 esophageal cancer (no mets) in May of 2009. 

My family is originally from a small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town in New Hampshire (Mel is familiar with it…. We were classmates and friends from kindergarten on up through high school).  In 1993 I realized that there was a great big world out there and took off for the great unknown (a/k/a Texas) – I’ve been here ever since.  My brother is here with me… a block away…  My neighborhood is wonderful.  My kids are wonderful.  The schools are wonderful.  WINTERS are wonderful!   A cook-out on New Year’s Day?  Oh, HELL yeah! 

I finally convinced my parents to come down and spend the winter away from the frozen tundra of New Hampshire. 

They planned on staying three months.

They stayed almost a year.

Christmas Eve 2008 we were in the doctor’s office with my dad.  He couldn’t swallow.  ‘It’s his vertebrae protruding’, they said. 

‘Surgery it is!’  We said.

He still couldn’t swallow after surgery.

Insert feeding tube.

Watch the beginning of the end.

Houston has a HUGE HUGE HUGE Medical Center.  It has one of the best cancer centers in the world.  MD Anderson is where all of the big shots go to get treated. 
It’s here!  My parents were here!  What luck!!!
My dad’s doctor had studied under Dr. Michael DeBakey!  (Google him, he’s a big deal) – they told us 3 weeks of chemo and 2 of radiation and the tumor would be GONE!

Dad said, ‘no’

He said he was tired.

He said he was done.

He took my mom and left Texas and flew back to New Hampshire.

(Can you tell I’m a little bitter?)

I know, I know, I know… it’s HIS choice.  It’s HIS body.  It’s HIS life.

But it’s not just affecting him.

My mom LOVES to travel.  (My mom has (undiagnosed) ADHD and can’t sit still)  My mom is a social butterfly.  My mom knows everyone in town.  My mom loves to shop (she’s all about the bargains – getting a good deal is an adrenaline rush for her)

My mom deserves better than this. 

My mom is now a prisoner in her own home.

My dad has chosen his own destiny – but DAMN… he’s sucking her right down with him.

I’m 3000 miles away with two young kids, a husband with a job and volunteer activities up the yin-yang.  I’m no help. 

I call her five times a day (sometimes more).  I try and provide a diversion.  I try to listen.  I try to comprehend.  I try not to take it personally.

Most of her friends don’t visit her anymore. 

They can’t go up to see her because ……. (you fill in the blank)
It’ll bother her
It’ll bother him
They don’t have time
They don’t know what to say
They have other prior engagements
The dog barks
The moon is full
The tide is high
…………….Yada yada yada

All this being said…

           Don’t forget the caretakers – there’s morphine and fentanyl and lorazepam for diseases… but no painkillers for a broken heart.


About the author:  Amy Lord Gonzalez
bio:
Transplanted New Hampshire girl, currently residing in the country of Texas. Stay-at-home mom, rock star wife who makes a mean enchilada and still cheers for the Red Sox and Patriots from afar.
contact info: icknamy@yahoo.com

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