My girlfriend starts her radiation treatment for cancer tomorrow as well. I feel so bad for her. Her drinking has gotten so bad I think the drinking will kill her before the cancer. I wish you the best of the time you have left Frank.
I’m sorry to hear this Frank and I hope your remaining days are the best you can get.
Frank - so sorry to hear this news. You are approaching this with a thoughtful mindset - I wish you and your family strength as you navigate your treatment.
Well hell.
I know there’s a lot they can do with palliative measures to improve comfort and quality of life. My mother did some oral chemo / cancer treatment thing when she was battling lung cancer, and aside from messing with her immune system (I diagnosed her with oral thrush, via phone, from 140 miles away, for example) it wasn’t too tough.
There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said, but you can add me to the list of people who are thinking of you and wishing you the best.
I spent five hours getting dripped into today. I’m going to assume the 45 minutes worth of anti-nausea drugs had something to do with me feeling OK right now. (I have drugs for post-chemo nausea that are also supposed to be good.) An hour of just one drug tomorrow and Friday, then 18 days of monitoring.
I want to thank everybody for the kindness and best wishes that are coming my way. While I certainly expected some, what I’m getting is almost overwhelming, and I can’t put into words the extent of my appreciation.
And another, ‘oh fuck’ and wishing you the very best Frank. Please hang around though, this board is losing far too many great people (and a few pains-in-the-arse as well of course) but because I’m feeling like being nice today, I’ll consider you one of the former. 
Take care matey and keep on posting.
kam
I just saw this thread. Wishing you all the best, Frank.
Reading the responses. The way people respond to cancer drugs is sui generis. You may have an easy time, or you may not. I hope you have an easy time, and statistically, that has been becoming more and the norm.
However, it is not a moral or constitutional failing on your part is you have a difficult time. People are posting these stories to give you hope, and personally, I truly hope you do have an easy time, but if you don’t, feel free to come here and bitch. Start you own verse thread.
Actually tearing up over here. I’m so sorry. I hope very much for those happy times.
Damn. I am so sorry and wish the best for you.
May your exit be at least as good as your performance, Frank.
Well this sucks.
You’re going into this courageously. I admire your strong spirit.
Hope you’re feeling well today, Frank!
Best wishes, Frank.
I’ll join everyone else in wishing you all the best. Please keep us posted. I’ll echo the PIC line recommendation. I refused one when I was in hospital for a week of infusions once, but ended up with my lower arms a complete mess.
Wishing you all the best, Frank, and don’t be shy about asking for help. We all need help from time to time.
I’m sorry you’ve gotten this prognosis. I really hope the days and weeks and months ahead are peaceful for you.
As the father of a Frank, you’ve held a special place on my list of favorite Dopers. You might not know me from Adam, but you’ve made an impression on me here, and I’ve enjoyed your posts. Know that there’s a guy in west Michigan thinking about you and wishing you a pain-free and peaceful existence right now. Hope you’ll keep us updated as much as possible on how you’re doing.
((Frank)). There isn’t anything I can say that others haven’t said better already, but I’ll be sending small, frog-shaped positive thoughts your way.
Wishing you the best possible living in the days ahead. Which is all any of us have; some unknowable number of days ahead to be spent as well as we can figure out how.
I have the privilege to help somebody go to chemo one day a week every week. And have done so for years now. The camaraderie of the staff and patients and friends/family is a very comforting thing. A very few of the patients are in pretty raggedy shape. The vast majority look pretty darn good by any standard, once you ignore the hair thing. Which matters not whit one in the larger scheme.
The clinic we use has one patient who’s 100 years old. Many patients are in their 80s. And they’re stout enough to tolerate their treatments long term. Modern chemo, even the stronger forms, are not the ravaging poisons of the 1960s. There’s not much reason to suffer side effects more uncomfortable than simple fatigue.
Each case is different but there’s a surprising amount of room even at the ugly end of the pool for holding actions to work, and work effectively, for a longer term than we might expect.
At the same time it’s important to focus not on the quantity of days, but rather the quality of each of them. If I could offer one lasting thought it would be this.
When the view out the windshield is pretty awful, focus not on the rearview mirror, but on the here and now. Do what you can while you can. Be that great or small. And take comfort in the company of your fellow humans both IRL and us virtual folks; they’re the only things in the Universe worth a damn.
Hugs old buddy. We’re all pulling for you.