Skip to main content

Why is it Important to Write About Cancer Patients Who Don't Survive

Why should you read this blog?

Before I started this blog I remember thinking about how to convince people that Mathew’s story is worth reading. Why is it important to write and read about cancer patients who don’t survive. Other than a young man’s wish to make a difference or a mother’s need to share her son's story.

I thought back to the tragedies people do watch on TV or want to read about online. My mind immediately goes to little Adam Walsh.

I lived in Miami and shopped at the mall that Adam Walsh was abducted from. His story changed my perception of many things. It made me a better, a more aware parent. 

When I watch the shows hosted by John Walsh I know they are important because people need and want to learn about ways to be more aware of predators, they want to possibly help bring one of these missing children home.


And of course, people want to hear about cancer survivors. My Mom is a 12-year breast cancer survivor. My sister Elizabeth wasn’t.

Some cancer survivors, only survive another year or two after their treatments end, or only survive a few years, all the while receiving treatments.

In the beginning, Mathew and I hoped for two to three years. We knew that without a complete response, with the location of his tumor and the types of treatments necessary to keep it in check, long-term survival wasn’t an option.

Three years looked pretty good, Mathew was even looking for work he could do from home. We talked about moving closer to Joseph. But after only a few months, he was no longer able to receive chemo. The few good hours a day, that up to that point, had been the norm, declined. And by good, I mean alert with some energy to do some writing, play some music or have a visitor. Pain was a constant. 


People may not want to hear about the those who don’t survive. Or they find no benefit in these accounts. Or it is too depressing. I get it. People want to plan vacations, buy new cars and share their triumphs and those of their children and grandchildren. 

About the same time I was mulling this over, the Moffitt Cancer Center commercials started airing on the radio. “The courage of our patients…..”
It always sparks a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

  • courage, my son Mathew, who was at a point in his life where things should have been taking off and coming together for a wonderful, fulfilling life and instead comes to a grinding, painful halt. A prognosis worthy of a horror movie, you will not survive. 
  • courage, the year before Mathew’s diagnosis when he was trying to function normally despite the constant physical pain, strange symptoms, sickness and his concerns were discounted like he was crazy.
  • courage, my sister Elizabeth, who went to Moffitt in 1995 for a bone marrow transplant when her breast cancer came back in her lymph nodes. My sister, a nurse, who when she was first diagnosed told me about the lymph node involvement and when I asked her what does that mean, she replied, “It means I probably won’t be around in a few years.”


And other things I have learned or know to be true.

-when Mathew was screened for a clinical trial, we learned that the medical community wants to be able to tell 200,000 breast cancer patients that there is breakthrough treatment and of course they would love to tell 15,000 Sarcoma patients or 12 DSRCT patients about a breakthrough treatment but it is a numbers game. There is funding to consider, it’s a bit of a triage situation. 

-patients like Mathew and my sister Beth, are the clinical trials. He understood that.

 Again that’s part of the reason for this blog. To make his journey and his death have meaning. To help someone. 

As Dr. Gonzales mentions in this video, each and every patient is a step forward in the building block for a cure or a remission. Every patient is important.


That’s why their stories are important.









Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Replace the 3 Lumen Pic Line with a Port

Mathew's 3 Lumen Pic Line was replaced with a Power P.A.C. Both Mathew and I were given Medical I.D. cards to carry at all times. I have mentioned before that texting from the DRC is almost impossible. The staff told me it used to be the X-ray department so the walls are leaded. Again, the phone tree would have helped so much. I texted the following information to my niece, my sister and Mathew’s Dad and Stepmom. And probably Joseph and Carlos. I know that could have been reduced to two texts, three at the most. At the time  I didn’t know about group messaging as my phone was an old Android. Texts Between me and Diane Hi. We are at the hospital early because Mat is in a lot of pain.  We think the bill stent may have moved. Sent 3-31-14 Because he was NPO for other  procedure they should be able to fix today. Sent 3-31-14 In the DRC sending texts is almost impossible so if you don’t hear from me for a while don’t worry. If ...

A Cancer Poem by Mathew Rodgers 2014

From Mathew’s Journal 4-5-14 “I lie awake in my pain bed metallic noises chirping from my strange computer  companion”

Hair Loss After Chemo for Sarcoma, My Son's Point of View

I can't imagine or pretend to know how it feels to lose your hair because you have cancer and the chemo causes your hair to fall out.  I only know what I saw with Mathew and years ago, my sister Elizabeth's experience as they lost their hair to chemotherapy. But it was something that affected Mathew more than just the initial hair loss, it had nuances. Here is a journal entry. It's short but I think it speaks volumes. MATHEW’S JOURNAL     5-23-14 Lately, I’ve been envious of people’s hair. Well, I guess not envious of other people’s hair but missing mine. I told my Mom about it and expressed to her that I was afraid I was falling prey to vanity. She expressed the idea that I may be missing having hair because it’s part of being healthy. I do miss having a life and at the same time, I’m afraid that I may never have a full life again or that I may lose what’s left of the one I have. -  I’ve been thinking about dying a lot lately. I don’t know wh...