I have. My step mom had high grade neuro-endochrine carcinoma. It was extremely fast growing. It was in her left lung. She hadn't smoked in 15 years, but the damage was done. She would have been dead in 2-3 weeks. It was horrific. She went on a very aggressive form of chemo with the knowledge that it only would buy her a year at best. The chemo --of course-- is a poison of its own kind. But when it comes to cancer, we're not always buying a cure. There isn't one. When it comes to this disease, if you choose to, you're buying months to say goodbye instead of days. It was horrible watching her go from this insanely strong woman, to frail and weak in such a short period of time.
It worked. The tumor shrunk to a small tendril, but it wouldn't die. It never does. It just waits. Then the cancer came back. It adapts. It was immune to the chemo. But we had six months with her in relatively high spirits. Her body adapted to the chemo and she would go for walks, out shopping and out to eat every day. We got to talk and tell stories. I finally got a chance to tell the amazing woman who raised me after my mom died (in a car accident) how much I loved her. I'm TERRIBLE at saying that word. But I got a few months to laugh with her and joke around. I'd always gotten on with my step mom really well. We weren't like the TV shows. We had great times and Pam (my step mom) and I had a mutual passion for baking desserts and planting gardens.
So for her last six months, we joked around and talked about stuff. I left nothing on the table. I got to tell her how much I loved her a billion times. But then the last three months she degraded fast. By the time she died, she was taking drops of morphine orally every hour and had two fentanyl patches on her back. In the end, it was respiratory arrest that took her -- so much opiates in the system just basically shut her withering lungs down. But she died with dignity in her home. She got six months added to her life that would've been snuffed out in days.
That's what chemo did. It's the slow death vs. the fast death. Each patient gets to choose -- that's the gift of chemo. You get a choice. Pam Holliday chose a few extra months to make sure her family was in order and that all the things left unsaid wouldn't sit like a millstone around the necks of the people who loved her. Pam died this past February, 2017. Death is rarely dignified, but her's was damned near close to it.
Dumbness comment ever