It’s posts like these that make BWI such a great forum.
An update on the rollercoaster of the past 6 weeks:
I mentioned in my previous post that my father’s CA19-9 tumor marker had gone from 44 in April, to 50 in early June, to 41 by mid June (needs to be under 37 to be normal).
Because of the hand and foot disease I described above, one of the drugs was removed from his chemo. That stopped that from recurring. But the exhaustion and constantly diminishing blood levels (red, white, platelets) caused them to also decrease the amount of chemo, and at times have to entirely skip his normal chemo treatments. He was able to continue having the daily radiation treatments, which also took their toll physically.
Then, in mid July he got another CA19-9 test. It increased to 74. I cannot find a study, and I’ve looked, that offers any kind of positive prognosis for someone who has a CA19-9 elevated that high 6 months after their Whipple surgery. What I was able to find, and what I passed along to my father to try to give him continuing hope, is that radiation can cause an elevated CA19-9 either by creating inflammation in the pancreas, or by killing cancer cells which release it as they die. Is that the likely cause? No. It’s much easier to find a thousand articles about how the elevated CA19-9 means it’s still there than to find the 2-3 that talk about inflammation causing a “false” elevation, But what else can I do but tell him there’s still hope, as long as there truly is. Even if it’s 1%, it’s something to hold onto, especially when he was pretty dejected, texting me “pretty depressing, all this misery to go backwards.” And of course I knew there’s no forward or backwards with this, just cured or not cured.
After that, a couple weeks later toward the end of July, he completed his chemo and radiation, and went in a week later for more bloodwork on a Friday morning. On his way home, they called to tell him they had scheduled an ultrasound for Saturday morning at 8 am because his liver number had become concerning. I’m already well aware that when pancreatic cancer spreads, the liver is the most likely first landing spot. I don’t know exactly what those numbers are, but it was enough to cause them to schedule a Saturday morning scan immediately. Combine that with his rising CA19-9, and I was pretty confident I knew what was happening. I’m not great at being an optimist to begin with, and I was running out of reasons for hope, despite what I’d told him.
He got his results from the liver ultrasound last week and they showed no issues. That was a relief, but ultrasounds also aren’t exactly the best imaging tech we have.
We hadn’t seen them since the 4th, so my wife, son, and I planned to visit this weekend to celebrate their anniversary and my birthday (the same date, so my poor parents never got to celebrate their anniversary when I was kid). My father was supposed to have a CT scan on 8/10, but because the liver numbers had been concerning, it got moved up to yesterday, with a meeting with his oncologist today.
I braced myself for what was to come, given the bad news of the past month. Then just after noon today I received this text: “CT Scan clear. CA 19-9 is: 31. I've officially graduated to survivor/surveillance mode.”
I don’t know how long I’ll live or what my life holds in store, but it’s difficult to imagine how I will ever feel greater joy or relief in any moment. It would take an illness in my son, and I don’t bother trying to imagine that.
I’m still realistic. I know what the odds remain that it’s truly gone and won’t come back. The test 3 or 6 months from now could turn this all back on it’s head. But for today, it is gone. For today, there is hope that he really did beat it, and that I’m not simply slowly saying goodbye to him every time we’re together. Today when we talk about things 3 years from now, it’s not with the underlying thought of “but that such a time would ever come.” Today I can finally believe that my father might still be with me for years to come. It’s been a grueling 11 months of mourning and sorrow where I came to think I’d never again have the privilege and carelessness of living in a world where I could believe my father would stay with me. Today I was given that gift. And I’ve never been more thankful for anything.
An update on the rollercoaster of the past 6 weeks:
I mentioned in my previous post that my father’s CA19-9 tumor marker had gone from 44 in April, to 50 in early June, to 41 by mid June (needs to be under 37 to be normal).
Because of the hand and foot disease I described above, one of the drugs was removed from his chemo. That stopped that from recurring. But the exhaustion and constantly diminishing blood levels (red, white, platelets) caused them to also decrease the amount of chemo, and at times have to entirely skip his normal chemo treatments. He was able to continue having the daily radiation treatments, which also took their toll physically.
Then, in mid July he got another CA19-9 test. It increased to 74. I cannot find a study, and I’ve looked, that offers any kind of positive prognosis for someone who has a CA19-9 elevated that high 6 months after their Whipple surgery. What I was able to find, and what I passed along to my father to try to give him continuing hope, is that radiation can cause an elevated CA19-9 either by creating inflammation in the pancreas, or by killing cancer cells which release it as they die. Is that the likely cause? No. It’s much easier to find a thousand articles about how the elevated CA19-9 means it’s still there than to find the 2-3 that talk about inflammation causing a “false” elevation, But what else can I do but tell him there’s still hope, as long as there truly is. Even if it’s 1%, it’s something to hold onto, especially when he was pretty dejected, texting me “pretty depressing, all this misery to go backwards.” And of course I knew there’s no forward or backwards with this, just cured or not cured.
After that, a couple weeks later toward the end of July, he completed his chemo and radiation, and went in a week later for more bloodwork on a Friday morning. On his way home, they called to tell him they had scheduled an ultrasound for Saturday morning at 8 am because his liver number had become concerning. I’m already well aware that when pancreatic cancer spreads, the liver is the most likely first landing spot. I don’t know exactly what those numbers are, but it was enough to cause them to schedule a Saturday morning scan immediately. Combine that with his rising CA19-9, and I was pretty confident I knew what was happening. I’m not great at being an optimist to begin with, and I was running out of reasons for hope, despite what I’d told him.
He got his results from the liver ultrasound last week and they showed no issues. That was a relief, but ultrasounds also aren’t exactly the best imaging tech we have.
We hadn’t seen them since the 4th, so my wife, son, and I planned to visit this weekend to celebrate their anniversary and my birthday (the same date, so my poor parents never got to celebrate their anniversary when I was kid). My father was supposed to have a CT scan on 8/10, but because the liver numbers had been concerning, it got moved up to yesterday, with a meeting with his oncologist today.
I braced myself for what was to come, given the bad news of the past month. Then just after noon today I received this text: “CT Scan clear. CA 19-9 is: 31. I've officially graduated to survivor/surveillance mode.”
I don’t know how long I’ll live or what my life holds in store, but it’s difficult to imagine how I will ever feel greater joy or relief in any moment. It would take an illness in my son, and I don’t bother trying to imagine that.
I’m still realistic. I know what the odds remain that it’s truly gone and won’t come back. The test 3 or 6 months from now could turn this all back on it’s head. But for today, it is gone. For today, there is hope that he really did beat it, and that I’m not simply slowly saying goodbye to him every time we’re together. Today when we talk about things 3 years from now, it’s not with the underlying thought of “but that such a time would ever come.” Today I can finally believe that my father might still be with me for years to come. It’s been a grueling 11 months of mourning and sorrow where I came to think I’d never again have the privilege and carelessness of living in a world where I could believe my father would stay with me. Today I was given that gift. And I’ve never been more thankful for anything.
My condolences. If you are comfortable divulging, what type of cancer did your father have?Cincy, I’m so happy for you and your family. Having recently lost my father somewhat unexpectedly (and sadly, this time, rapidly) to his cancer returning after almost a decade, it truly does my heavy heart good to hear stories of people beating this most dreadful disease. Enjoy the extra time you all have with him, and please give him a pat on the back from me.
Cincy, I’m so happy for you and your family. Having recently lost my father somewhat unexpectedly (and sadly, this time, rapidly) to his cancer returning after almost a decade, it truly does my heavy heart good to hear stories of people beating this most dreadful disease. Enjoy the extra time you all have with him, and please give him a pat on the back from me.
He had a very treatable form of lymphoma....a decade ago he beat it and was cancer free until only a few months ago. Because he had passed a certain age, they weren’t able to do a stem cell transplant this time, but the chemo was still working. Problem was, it was also shutting down his organs in the process - literally, the cure was worse than the disease. It’s been just over a month now and I just miss him all the time.My condolences. If you are comfortable divulging, what type of cancer did your father have?
Damn. So sorry.He had a very treatable form of lymphoma....a decade ago he beat it and was cancer free until only a few months ago. Because he had passed a certain age, they weren’t able to do a stem cell transplant this time, but the chemo was still working. Problem was, it was also shutting down his organs in the process - literally, the cure was worse than the disease. It’s been just over a month now and I just miss him all the time.
He had a very treatable form of lymphoma....a decade ago he beat it and was cancer free until only a few months ago. Because he had passed a certain age, they weren’t able to do a stem cell transplant this time, but the chemo was still working. Problem was, it was also shutting down his organs in the process - literally, the cure was worse than the disease. It’s been just over a month now and I just miss him all the time.
Wonderful news! I think of you and your dad often and pray for continued health! My dad had PC so I can relate to your journey!An update on the rollercoaster of the past 6 weeks:
I mentioned in my previous post that my father’s CA19-9 tumor marker had gone from 44 in April, to 50 in early June, to 41 by mid June (needs to be under 37 to be normal).
Because of the hand and foot disease I described above, one of the drugs was removed from his chemo. That stopped that from recurring. But the exhaustion and constantly diminishing blood levels (red, white, platelets) caused them to also decrease the amount of chemo, and at times have to entirely skip his normal chemo treatments. He was able to continue having the daily radiation treatments, which also took their toll physically.
Then, in mid July he got another CA19-9 test. It increased to 74. I cannot find a study, and I’ve looked, that offers any kind of positive prognosis for someone who has a CA19-9 elevated that high 6 months after their Whipple surgery. What I was able to find, and what I passed along to my father to try to give him continuing hope, is that radiation can cause an elevated CA19-9 either by creating inflammation in the pancreas, or by killing cancer cells which release it as they die. Is that the likely cause? No. It’s much easier to find a thousand articles about how the elevated CA19-9 means it’s still there than to find the 2-3 that talk about inflammation causing a “false” elevation, But what else can I do but tell him there’s still hope, as long as there truly is. Even if it’s 1%, it’s something to hold onto, especially when he was pretty dejected, texting me “pretty depressing, all this misery to go backwards.” And of course I knew there’s no forward or backwards with this, just cured or not cured.
After that, a couple weeks later toward the end of July, he completed his chemo and radiation, and went in a week later for more bloodwork on a Friday morning. On his way home, they called to tell him they had scheduled an ultrasound for Saturday morning at 8 am because his liver number had become concerning. I’m already well aware that when pancreatic cancer spreads, the liver is the most likely first landing spot. I don’t know exactly what those numbers are, but it was enough to cause them to schedule a Saturday morning scan immediately. Combine that with his rising CA19-9, and I was pretty confident I knew what was happening. I’m not great at being an optimist to begin with, and I was running out of reasons for hope, despite what I’d told him.
He got his results from the liver ultrasound last week and they showed no issues. That was a relief, but ultrasounds also aren’t exactly the best imaging tech we have.
We hadn’t seen them since the 4th, so my wife, son, and I planned to visit this weekend to celebrate their anniversary and my birthday (the same date, so my poor parents never got to celebrate their anniversary when I was kid). My father was supposed to have a CT scan on 8/10, but because the liver numbers had been concerning, it got moved up to yesterday, with a meeting with his oncologist today.
I braced myself for what was to come, given the bad news of the past month. Then just after noon today I received this text: “CT Scan clear. CA 19-9 is: 31. I've officially graduated to survivor/surveillance mode.”
I don’t know how long I’ll live or what my life holds in store, but it’s difficult to imagine how I will ever feel greater joy or relief in any moment. It would take an illness in my son, and I don’t bother trying to imagine that.
I’m still realistic. I know what the odds remain that it’s truly gone and won’t come back. The test 3 or 6 months from now could turn this all back on it’s head. But for today, it is gone. For today, there is hope that he really did beat it, and that I’m not simply slowly saying goodbye to him every time we’re together. Today when we talk about things 3 years from now, it’s not with the underlying thought of “but that such a time would ever come.” Today I can finally believe that my father might still be with me for years to come. It’s been a grueling 11 months of mourning and sorrow where I came to think I’d never again have the privilege and carelessness of living in a world where I could believe my father would stay with me. Today I was given that gift. And I’ve never been more thankful for anything.
Sorry, player. No words - I just hope time helps sooth it some.He had a very treatable form of lymphoma....a decade ago he beat it and was cancer free until only a few months ago. Because he had passed a certain age, they weren’t able to do a stem cell transplant this time, but the chemo was still working. Problem was, it was also shutting down his organs in the process - literally, the cure was worse than the disease. It’s been just over a month now and I just miss him all the time.
No matter what age. Or how it comes about. Always too soon.He had a very treatable form of lymphoma....a decade ago he beat it and was cancer free until only a few months ago. Because he had passed a certain age, they weren’t able to do a stem cell transplant this time, but the chemo was still working. Problem was, it was also shutting down his organs in the process - literally, the cure was worse than the disease. It’s been just over a month now and I just miss him all the time.
Here is what I propose. If @Tom McAndrew will allow and assist, is there something we can all chip in and get something for your dad to maybe just brighten up his day and continue to motivate him. It would be great for all of us here to extend some good cheer to him in whatever capacity you see best.
I probably can allow a good bit, and be of some assistance. Post specifics about what you'd like to do. It can be a group discussion; others can tweak your proposal, or make new and different proposals.
Here is what I propose. If @Tom McAndrew will allow and assist, is there something we can all chip in and get something for your dad to maybe just brighten up his day and continue to motivate him.
This is very kind, and I truly appreciate it, but I must decline. My father is a member of BWI, but never ventures to the message boards, he’s just in it for the articles. If something were done, he’d wonder why, and I wouldn’t want to direct him to this thread. I’ve shared a lot of my personal thoughts, disappointments (both with him and his doctors at times, and much more bluntly and emotionally than I ever posed them to him because of having to consider the difficulties he was dealing with and trying not to add to them), and long-term concerns (even after this most recent news) that I wouldn’t necessarily want him to see.
So again, thank you for being so kind, but I prefer to keep this private from him.
Understood and I hope you did not view this as being intrusive. Just rest assured that your dad, yourself, and your family and friends are always in our thoughts, prayers, and best wishes. Please keep posting this positive news!
I was found to have stage 4 pancreatic cancer back in 2014. Had the whipple procedure at Sloan-Kettering in New York. The byproduct of the surgery was type 3c diabetes (twice daily insulin shots), and a lifelong need to take four digestive enzyme capsules before every meal ($1,963.00 per month, paid mostly by medicare, thank God). But, I'm still around after six years. So, it is possible to get through it. I wish you all best of luck in managing matters. I hope your father's issues don't come to all that.
The big problem with it, it is one of those cancers that by the time they catch it, its to late.Sorry for the downer on a football Saturday, but I'm hoping somebody on here might have some experience with this. My father has been undergoing some testing, and yesterday found out that while the results of his pancreas biopsy were ok, he had CEA levels of 12.4 ng/ml.
A CT scan and endoscopic biopsy had recently determined that he has chronic pancreatitis, which can also cause elevated CEA levels. However, I've read that levels above 10 ng/ml are rarely indicative of benign disease.
He goes back in next week to have another, larger biopsy, and the bloodwork run again. Anyone have any experience with pancreatitis and elevated CEA levels?
I wonder if he is a candidate for a PET/CT to assess the possible recurrent pancreatic bed lesion. The lung nodules are too small for accurate characterization by PET.
The sun will likely rise tomorrow signaling a new day...perhaps a great day for you, Dad and your dogs to go for a quality walk. You two seem to do your best conversing and thinking while strolling.The rollercoaster continues. Today was my father's first 3 month follow-up. As he was waiting for his meeting with the oncologist, his CT scan results came in. Lower abdomen clear. He texted my mother the good news, she texted around to the family the same. Just a couple minutes later he called and told her she should sit down. The upper scan showed a couple spots on his lungs. There is also a spot where his pancreas and artery meet. This happens to be the most likely spot for recurrence.
At this point, the lung spots (largest is 6 mm) are too small to biopsy. The pancreas spot can't be biopsied because of the artery.
His CA19-9 (the PC tumor marker) remained normal at 35. I had long anticipated we would know if it was back by the CA19-9 rather than the imaging results because typically the marker precedes the image. So I was very confused by these results, how could his CA19-9 be normal if the image showed potential lesions? I did a little research, and a study I found showed that 60% of people experiencing a recurrence had it show up in the CA19-9 before it was visible on a CT (so I was right to expect that). Another 30% had the elevated CA19-9 and image of a lesion show up at the same time. That does leave 10% who have a lesion show up before the CA19-9 elevates, which could potentially be my father's case.
Now, it isn't a done deal yet. They just can't say for certain at this point. The oncologist believes this does mean it's returned and has metastasized, but they can't say for sure and can't biopsy yet. He will go back for another scan in early January. But the oncologist isn't suggesting chemo again yet since they don't know.
I'll try to hold out hope based on a few things: (1) maybe the spot by the artery is just scar tissues from the surgery, (2) maybe the lung spots are unrelated, and (3) the CA19-9 isn't elevated. I'm just grasping at straws at this point though. The reality is that it's likely it is already back and spread. But until there's no legitimate hope, I'm not going to give it up.
He told me he's taking it well, that the rollercoaster of the past 14 months has just kind of numbed him. I can say the same. I've yet to simply take a moment to accept this and weep as I know I will at some point. Maybe I'm just a couple beers away from that. But there's also the reality that I've already mourned his passing for a year. I've already gone through all the emotions and come to acceptance. It doesn't make what's to come any easier, but the trauma of this kind of news is long passed. I'll be forever thankful for the past three months where I had the chance to believe he might just be ok and life was normal again. And I've known too many people who lost loved ones, much younger, and much more suddenly, to not at least be somewhat grateful to have the time I've had with him, and the time we will have to say goodbye, if this is what they think. My mother's best friend had two daughters the same ages as my brother and I, so we were together a lot as young children. She got breast cancer and died around 40 when we were in 5th and 7th grades. My best friend from when I lived in NE PA died of a brain tumor when we were in 9th grade. One of our BWI colleagues lost a PSU student son to cancer this past year. I know and have seen how much worse it can be. My father is 69, and with any luck will still see 70. He got a full life. I got to be part of it for nearly 40 years so far, and I'm immeasurably blessed for that. So I don't want to pity myself. But I'm obviously still heartbroken to watch this happen to such an incredible man. And I have to fight bitterness with every fiber of my being.
Any prayers for what may come in January would be appreciated. We'll need them now more than ever.
It all depends upon the size of the abnormalities and whether it fits into the Oncologist’s protocol For following up on the treatment. A fusion PET/CT is a combination CT scanner and PET scanner in one unit. It has the benefit of the CT providing attenuation correction for the PET scan and superimposing the PET image on the CT image so there is direct correlation of any PET abnormality with the associated anatomic structure.
The sun will likely rise tomorrow signaling a new day...perhaps a great day for you, Dad and your dogs to go for a quality walk. You two seem to do your best conversing and thinking while strolling.
just my $0.02 worth.
The rollercoaster continues. Today was my father's first 3 month follow-up. As he was waiting for his meeting with the oncologist, his CT scan results came in. Lower abdomen clear. He texted my mother the good news, she texted around to the family the same. Just a couple minutes later he called and told her she should sit down. The upper scan showed a couple spots on his lungs. There is also a spot where his pancreas and artery meet. This happens to be the most likely spot for recurrence.
At this point, the lung spots (largest is 6 mm) are too small to biopsy. The pancreas spot can't be biopsied because of the artery.
His CA19-9 (the PC tumor marker) remained normal at 35. I had long anticipated we would know if it was back by the CA19-9 rather than the imaging results because typically the marker precedes the image. So I was very confused by these results, how could his CA19-9 be normal if the image showed potential lesions? I did a little research, and a study I found showed that 60% of people experiencing a recurrence had it show up in the CA19-9 before it was visible on a CT (so I was right to expect that). Another 30% had the elevated CA19-9 and image of a lesion show up at the same time. That does leave 10% who have a lesion show up before the CA19-9 elevates, which could potentially be my father's case.
Now, it isn't a done deal yet. They just can't say for certain at this point. The oncologist believes this does mean it's returned and has metastasized, but they can't say for sure and can't biopsy yet. He will go back for another scan in early January. But the oncologist isn't suggesting chemo again yet since they don't know.
I'll try to hold out hope based on a few things: (1) maybe the spot by the artery is just scar tissues from the surgery, (2) maybe the lung spots are unrelated, and (3) the CA19-9 isn't elevated. I'm just grasping at straws at this point though. The reality is that it's likely it is already back and spread. But until there's no legitimate hope, I'm not going to give it up.
He told me he's taking it well, that the rollercoaster of the past 14 months has just kind of numbed him. I can say the same. I've yet to simply take a moment to accept this and weep as I know I will at some point. Maybe I'm just a couple beers away from that. But there's also the reality that I've already mourned his passing for a year. I've already gone through all the emotions and come to acceptance. It doesn't make what's to come any easier, but the trauma of this kind of news is long passed. I'll be forever thankful for the past three months where I had the chance to believe he might just be ok and life was normal again. And I've known too many people who lost loved ones, much younger, and much more suddenly, to not at least be somewhat grateful to have the time I've had with him, and the time we will have to say goodbye, if this is what they think. My mother's best friend had two daughters the same ages as my brother and I, so we were together a lot as young children. She got breast cancer and died around 40 when we were in 5th and 7th grades. My best friend from when I lived in NE PA died of a brain tumor when we were in 9th grade. One of our BWI colleagues lost a PSU student son to cancer this past year. I know and have seen how much worse it can be. My father is 69, and with any luck will still see 70. He got a full life. I got to be part of it for nearly 40 years so far, and I'm immeasurably blessed for that. So I don't want to pity myself. But I'm obviously still heartbroken to watch this happen to such an incredible man. And I have to fight bitterness with every fiber of my being.
Any prayers for what may come in January would be appreciated. We'll need them now more than ever.
Great message. Sorry you lost your father so young. Had to be very difficult. My father’s father died when my father was six.Don’t be angry. You are right, it is tough to watch a man struggle in his last years. Still you were there with him to share his fight and some of his burden.
My Dad died when I was ten. At 46 he died not knowing what would happen to his family.
Fortunately your father knows he will eventually leave you, a good and caring man. Promise him something I was not able to tell my father, that you will take care of anyone else or anything he leaves behind. If you do that he will have peace. That is the best gift we can give anyone.
Don’t be angry. You are right, it is tough to watch a man struggle in his last years. Still you were there with him to share his fight and some of his burden.
My Dad died when I was ten. At 46 he died not knowing what would happen to his family.
Fortunately your father knows he will eventually leave you, a good and caring man. Promise him something I was not able to tell my father, that you will take care of anyone else or anything he leaves behind. If you do that he will have peace. That is the best gift we can give anyone.
The rollercoaster continues. Today was my father's first 3 month follow-up. As he was waiting for his meeting with the oncologist, his CT scan results came in. Lower abdomen clear. He texted my mother the good news, she texted around to the family the same. Just a couple minutes later he called and told her she should sit down. The upper scan showed a couple spots on his lungs. There is also a spot where his pancreas and artery meet. This happens to be the most likely spot for recurrence.
At this point, the lung spots (largest is 6 mm) are too small to biopsy. The pancreas spot can't be biopsied because of the artery.
His CA19-9 (the PC tumor marker) remained normal at 35. I had long anticipated we would know if it was back by the CA19-9 rather than the imaging results because typically the marker precedes the image. So I was very confused by these results, how could his CA19-9 be normal if the image showed potential lesions? I did a little research, and a study I found showed that 60% of people experiencing a recurrence had it show up in the CA19-9 before it was visible on a CT (so I was right to expect that). Another 30% had the elevated CA19-9 and image of a lesion show up at the same time. That does leave 10% who have a lesion show up before the CA19-9 elevates, which could potentially be my father's case.
Now, it isn't a done deal yet. They just can't say for certain at this point. The oncologist believes this does mean it's returned and has metastasized, but they can't say for sure and can't biopsy yet. He will go back for another scan in early January. But the oncologist isn't suggesting chemo again yet since they don't know.
I'll try to hold out hope based on a few things: (1) maybe the spot by the artery is just scar tissues from the surgery, (2) maybe the lung spots are unrelated, and (3) the CA19-9 isn't elevated. I'm just grasping at straws at this point though. The reality is that it's likely it is already back and spread. But until there's no legitimate hope, I'm not going to give it up.
He told me he's taking it well, that the rollercoaster of the past 14 months has just kind of numbed him. I can say the same. I've yet to simply take a moment to accept this and weep as I know I will at some point. Maybe I'm just a couple beers away from that. But there's also the reality that I've already mourned his passing for a year. I've already gone through all the emotions and come to acceptance. It doesn't make what's to come any easier, but the trauma of this kind of news is long passed. I'll be forever thankful for the past three months where I had the chance to believe he might just be ok and life was normal again. And I've known too many people who lost loved ones, much younger, and much more suddenly, to not at least be somewhat grateful to have the time I've had with him, and the time we will have to say goodbye, if this is what they think. My mother's best friend had two daughters the same ages as my brother and I, so we were together a lot as young children. She got breast cancer and died around 40 when we were in 5th and 7th grades. My best friend from when I lived in NE PA died of a brain tumor when we were in 9th grade. One of our BWI colleagues lost a PSU student son to cancer this past year. I know and have seen how much worse it can be. My father is 69, and with any luck will still see 70. He got a full life. I got to be part of it for nearly 40 years so far, and I'm immeasurably blessed for that. So I don't want to pity myself. But I'm obviously still heartbroken to watch this happen to such an incredible man. And I have to fight bitterness with every fiber of my being.
Any prayers for what may come in January would be appreciated. We'll need them now more than ever.
The sun will likely rise tomorrow signaling a new day...perhaps a great day for you, Dad and your dogs to go for a quality walk. You two seem to do your best conversing and thinking while strolling.
just my $0.02 worth.
I’m with you GLOV.wb, you don't have to ask for prayers sir.
This board and I will pray for you and yours by the boat-load!
Come on board. Let's offer up some prayers.
Thank you!