Be warned: this is not an uplifting, light hearted post
Just saw today that Patrick Swayze has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My heart goes out to him and his family. It's a horrid disease.
Last post I wrote about reading a book by Ronda Thompson. Well, I finished it and went online to find other books she'd written, and was saddened to learn that she had died last July from pancreatic cancer. While I am disappointed that there will not be sequels to Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel, I offer my sympathies to her family.
It just amazes me how many cases of pancreatic cancer there seem to be lately -- Randy Pausch (still fighting), Pavarotti (deceased), Colin Friels (in remission), mother, father and brother of Jimmy Carter (all deceased), and many more past and current (there are lists online). The niece of one of my husband's co-workers, only 37 was diagnosed just after Thanksgiving and passed away last month, leaving behind two young children.
And most personal of all, my dad died May 2004 after fighting it for 2 years. He was actually diagnosed fairly early, not common for pancreatic cancer (usually by the time doctors figure out what's going on, it's in the worst stage and has spread). A tumor developed right at a bile duct and the jaundice got him into the doctor.
The first year of treatment went so well -- no really bad reactions to either the chemo or the radiation. The doctors were pleasantly surprised.
Then we hit the second year and things started to deteriorate. The cancer spread to his lungs (pancreatic is notorious for spreading to other areas of the body). Fluid would build up and he couldn't breathe -- he'd go in and they'd use a huge needle to remove the fluid. The chemo started to cause serious problems -- hair loss, tremors, loss of appetite, exhaustion. We saw my Dad in October 2003 when he came to visit, and he was not looking well, but at that point we were all still hopeful.
And then in early 2004 his digestive system stopped working. He'd eat and the food would just sit in his stomach, so he wouldn't be hungry, so wouldn't eat anymore. We had a family reunion in April that year for Easter and it was heart breaking. Dad didn't look like Dad anymore. My dad had always been large and robust and energetic, and now he seriously looked like someone from a concentration camp, starving to death. Turns out that the radiation treatments that he had weathered so well at the time basically destroyed his duodenum. And by the time the doctors figured out what the problem was, it was too late, his body had basically begun to shut down.
May 18th we received the call we'd been dreading. Got there on the 19th (we lived a couple of thousand miles away). Dad was already comatose, but was at home. My siblings were there and we spent lots of time gathered around him sharing memories and comforting one another. My children got a chance to say good-bye. Early the next morning he passed away.
Dad hadn't wanted a funeral or serious/sad memorial; he wanted a celebration of life. So that's what we did. We had 200 tulips (from an entry in his journal), displayed memorabilia (photo albums, his college sweater with his letter for swimming, etc), and a looped slide show of pictures of him from childhood till shortly before his death. My littlest had really only ever seen him while he was sick and didn't recognize the pictures of dad from when he was healthy -- so sad. And so many people came. It was wonderful to share stories and smiles and tears.
So, now I wonder if it's genetic, or environmental. Do I have an increased risk because Dad got it? Is it caused by something eaten or breathed or introduced into the body some other way? Can anything be done to reduce the risk?
And hearing about it more often -- is it really happening more, or is it just recognized/diagnosed more readily now than it used to be? Maybe it's always been around with the same incidence rate, only misdiagnosed as some other cancer or disease.
I know this wasn't a pleasant topic, but I needed to get all this out.
