I know I’m getting to the point where more loved ones will die than be born, but this has been a remarkably shitty year and I’m broken. I have (still using present tense) a supervisor who is one of the good ones. We’re friends, and fairly close. I once told her that it was good I hadn’t known her in college. “Why?” “Because we’d be 20 years divorced by now.” “Why?” “You’ve known me how long? Because I’m crazy.” One of her sisters at Corporate (she literally has plural sisters at Corporate) helped me with an insurance question. When I thanked her I added that Jeanne is the most liked supervisor I’ve ever known, and that everybody loves her. The next day she had a massive stroke. This doesn’t seem to be a good year to be a female friend of mine.
So, do any of you ladies want to go out? : old rolleyes :
Damn, I’m sorry to hear this. I do hate to hear that people are seeking treatments that sound “woo” (at least IMO). It’s her choice, however. There’s time yet for her to change her mind. Right now she has made her decision, you have said your piece, and you’ll have to be patient. Best of luck to you both.
I’ve gotten so many lectures the past few months about how being a friend/husband means letting your loved one choose their way, and being supportive of whatever choice they make. Then I turned on South Park and got pretty much the same lecture there. When those guys get on your case then you might as well give up. :o
And actually, if her prognosis were better I might fight harder, but she’s done this before and is just tired.
There’s a difference between choosing to opt out of treatment and go for hospice accompanied by a “wooish” Hail Mary that is understood to realistically have nil chance of working.
Versus thinking of the wooish Hail Mary as actual treatment with actual material odds of success.
IOW: “I think I’ll just skip chemo and acai berry juice will cure me” vs “I’m screwed, I’ve had enough conventional chemo, I’ll just palliate from here to the end. While I’m at it, I may as well try acai berries as well; they doesn’t taste bad and stranger miracles have happened before. Can’t hurt, might help. For vanishingly unlikely values of ‘might’. But what have I got to lose by trying?”
Good old Steve Jobs tried the former. Didn’t work. Utterly didn’t work and he publicly kicked himself later for his folly.
I [del]know[/del] knew folks who’ve done the latter. It’s more sensible. Especially if you actually like brown rice (I do) or acai berries (I don’t much).
A metaphor
I sometimes buy lottery tickets. Not that I *expect *to win. But I know I can’t win if I don’t play and tickets are cheap and I’m going to be here next week when they draw anyhow. Might as well participate. But that’s sure as hell not my main retirement plan.
Hang in there dropzone. We’re all pulling for you and for her.
The hard part is separating prognosis from current state. My current state is objectively rude health. My prognosis is certain death within 60 years, statistical 50/50 shot within 24*.
When all the tolerable delaying tactics have run their course it’s time to quit paddling upstream and start paddling downstream. Despite the scary sound of the upcoming waterfall. For each person’s individual definition of “tolerable”.
I just looked that up at Actuarial Life Table . It was a shorter number than I expected. Kinda unsettling.
One of our managers, who may not yet know who I was posting about because she’s even more clueless than I, suggested she listen to some asshole named Chris, the “Chris Beat Cancer” guy, saying, “here is a link to man’s plan, which he used when he was diagnosed with Cancer and turned down chemo and all other traditional medical treatment for natural recalibration of his bodies systemic network.” Bolding mine. I snapped, “Thanks, though I tend to be too science-based to think that is anything but a spontaneous remission, which does happen. For every ‘success’ how many Andy Kaufman failures are there? You usually don’t hear about them and they seldom result in a tee shirt.”
Some cancers do not respond to radiation, which is probably why he didn’t have it.
Dropzone, your friend needs to do whatever she wants to do to enhance the time she has left, and if using “nutritional” therapy is how she chooses to do it, just be supportive and don’t discuss it unless she brings it up.
ITA, and keep in mind that later this week, I will find out if I have cancer. I probably don’t but we don’t yet know for sure.
There are some kinds of cancer for which I just do not understand why anyone tries to “treat” them because if it’s “treated”, you have a life expectancy of 90 days, and if it isn’t, you’re dead in 3 months.
My father opted for a rigorous treatment plan of a type of leukemia which didn’t have a good prognosis. It may have extended his life a couple of months, but it was sure hell. I decided then that I’d rather calculate the odds and take a hard look.
I’ve got a friend who is undergoing radiation and chemo now. She’s incredibly tough and cheerful. That’s her. I’m such a fucking whimp I’d be pissing and moaning while lining up for painkillers.
She can hang in there (she’s the sick one; I’m just stupid), but I won’t know, since she’s (SURPRISE!) stopped talking to me. Burnt that bridge with napalm.
Funny thing is, I’m still friends with her BF. Bros before…er…the women we like, I guess. Tuba threatened me with a big hug, except I’d get all pissy about it. I warned her to watch her step, or I’d ask her out. Women can’t be too careful around me this year. I should list on Craigslist’s M Seeking Suicidal F category. I assume they have one.
When Wife was in hospice she had to beg them, often unsuccessfully, for more painkillers. Always a squeaky wheel, I had to discuss the whole point of hospice care with them. It worked, and I don’t think she noticed she had died 'til she met St Pete. We knew because she stopped snoring. Laws a’mighty, that woman could snore, but what I would do to hear it…nah, it was nasty. But she’s the only person haunting the house these days. All the rest of the Dead can finally sleep.
(looking back on that paragraph) Is that the “cheerfully morbid” thing my brother finds so endearing?
