u/ejwbf

My father had been in a bad state during his last two months. Mentally, he was acting like a child, and I would say he was also in pain. We lost him 10 days ago.

But I kept believing that everything would get better, that things would go back to the way they used to be. You know how there are stories online about cancer patients who suddenly get better? I believed that somehow, our story would turn out the same way.

Four days before we lost my father, we called an ambulance. They told us he had been intubated, and that was when I experienced my first real shock. I thought they would give him fluids again and admit him to the ward, just like before. But my father had been sedated and intubated.

I cried so much in that moment.

On the night of the fifth day, we received the terrible news.

Yes, my father died, just like everyone else does. There was no miracle. He was afraid, he suffered, and in the end, he died.

And it is so hard to accept that this is the reality.

The days when my father was healthy and nothing was missing from our lives were a paradise, and I didn’t even know it.

I lost my father. For the last two months, he wasn’t himself, and he suffered so much. He couldn’t walk, his mind was clouded, and he was no longer the person I knew.

The days when my father was healthy—when I could joke with him, talk to him, tell him about my problems—feel like paradise to me now. If I could, I would stay forever in that moment, exactly as I was back then.

Even if I had a hundred billion dollars now, even if the whole world were placed at my feet, I could never be as happy as I was in those days. A part of me will always be missing.

When my time to die eventually comes, I want to see my father again. That is my only wish.

Whether you’re religious or not, I don’t know. This is incredibly painful. And I don’t believe there is justice in this world. Some truly wonderful people go through unimaginable suffering. Their relationships with their families and the people around them become strained. They stop being able to take care of their own needs and become dependent on others for support.

Who among us would ever want to see someone we love go through such an ending? And who would want to live through something like this themselves?

I believe that, somehow, there must be something beyond all of this suffering for good people. That one day, we will be together with the people we love again.

We’ll hug them and say, “We had some really difficult days, but they’re all over now.”

There will be no illness anymore. No grief. No suffering.

We’ll just be together.

And we’ll be there as the best versions of ourselves.

My father (68) has been receiving treatment for approximately one year for a diagnosis of NSCLC. After receiving 7 cycles of nivolumab immunotherapy, he was admitted to the internal medicine department because of hypercalcemia. I thought that once his calcium levels returned to normal, his behavior would also improve, but even though his levels have normalized, his behavior is still very strange and abnormal. I’ve been staying with him in the hospital almost continuously for the past month. He’s still saying completely nonsensical things next to me right now.

His mental status has changed dramatically. He recognizes us, but he speaks in such absurd and incoherent ways that we often cannot understand what he is trying to say. He has difficulty understanding what is being said to him. While he was hospitalized, he would point at random people and call them over, ask when we were going to leave, and sometimes say names we had never heard before. Twice, he threw himself out of bed.

Sometimes he insults my mother and behaves childishly. He removes his diaper and exposes himself. One night, while I was staying with him in the hospital, I woke up and realized that he had thrown his diaper out of bed and had defecated on the floor. It was a terrible sight.

What is especially strange is that while he was hyperactive and restless in the hospital, at home he lies there almost as if he is in a coma. We have difficulty getting him to open his eyes.

This is very unusual. He has been a completely different person for about a month and a half.

The doctors performed a brain MRI, but they still cannot give us a clear answer. His oncologist suggested that it could be dementia, although he is relatively young for that, or that the immunotherapy (Nivolumab) we are giving him could be causing it. However, I’m not sure whether dementia that is not even clearly visible on an MRI could really cause such a dramatic change in personality and behavior.

Ten months ago, I started a similar thread about my father, but that situation was caused by excessive cortisone use and he eventually recovered from it. My father was actually doing really well until about a month and a half ago. However, his condition has deteriorated over the past 1.5 months. Since his 7th cycle of nivolumab, we haven’t been able to continue his treatment. He spent two weeks hospitalized in the internal medicine department because of hypercalcemia, and he has now been hospitalized in the chest diseases department for the past 1.5 weeks because of pneumonia. After seeing this kind of progression, I would really like to hear some positive stories or hopeful experiences.

https://www.reddit.com/r/lungcancer/comments/1oh9dgf/my_father_has_become_a_very_different_person/

I used to sit with my dad in the living room and watch things together for hours. I would even deliberately try to annoy him just to make him angry. I miss all of that so much now.

My father has been in a worse condition for the past month and a half. His breathing has become more difficult. We were told that there has been a significant loss of capacity in his left lung. We also learned that there are signs of Alzheimer’s in his brain. We can’t talk like we used to. Sometimes I don’t even feel like he understands me the way he used to. The father I used to talk to, argue with, joke around with, and have conversations with like a friend is no longer the same.

After his chemotherapy sessions, we would sometimes walk home together from the metro. Sometimes, when I had to get back in time for work, I would leave him and go home earlier. Now, whenever I think about those moments, I say to myself, “I wish I had never gone home early.”

I miss having normal conversations with him. I miss talking to him. I miss our arguments. I miss everything. I miss all those ordinary little things in our life that I never thought twice about back then. I miss my dad calling my mom in the evening and asking, “Do you want me to get anything on my way home?” I even miss the days at the hospital when he was in better condition.

It feels like a part of my life is missing. My dad is still alive, thank God, but he isn’t the same right now. I wish something would happen and everything could just go back to the way it was. I wish my dad could be himself again. I just want to experience these feelings for a little longer, to live that ordinary life with him for a little longer. Because it feels as if everything was suddenly taken away from me and will never come back. I wish I could spend all that time talking to him and hugging him.

Today, on my way to the hospital and while walking through the oncology ward, I struggled not to cry. Because I used to do all of these things side by side with my dad. But this time, I was alone, and he was the one lying in that ward.

Over the past year, I have probably spent more time with my dad than I ever have before in my life. And now I realize even more how precious that last year has been. But I still find myself thinking about moments I wish I could go back and do differently.

Yesterday, the team I support won an important game. But I couldn’t feel happy about the victory because my dad wasn’t there. I wanted to talk about the game with him, tell him what happened, and ask what he thought about it. There are so many things I want to tell him…

I don’t know whether you would call it a miracle or something else. But there is really only one thing I wish for in life:

I just want my dad to be himself again.