What Happens when Cancer is Caught Too Late

I was a 25 year old newlywed with a great husband and wonderful 6 year old daughter. We had been married for only a few months but were together for over 5 years. My husband had been ill for quite some time. He was diagnosed with many different things, panniculitis, shingles, heart problems, everything but cancer.

But I knew him; I knew that he was not breathing well. I kept telling the doctor, he is sick, there is something wrong with his lungs, I think he has cancer. I said this for months before I finally told them I would figure the x-ray machine out and do it myself if they did not. They take the x-rays and see a huge mass, larger than his heart. It is in his right lung and also in between his lungs. They say they will do a biopsy next. It was cancer, stage 4 lung cancer.

They will treat him, they say, but he will die anyway. I told them! I knew it, why didn't they ever listen to me? He is so sad; he loves me and our daughter so very much. He is going to fight this and he will get every treatment available. He starts chemo and gets sicker. I sit and watch the chemo every day. I watch these lethal chemicals enter my husband's body and want to scream.

Then the headaches start. I know it is in his brain, he has been saying things recently that make no sense at all. I tell the doctor to do an MRI of the brain. They listen to me this time. There it was. It is everywhere in his brain. So they start radiation to his head.

I take a leave of absence from work and do everything with him. We go to comedy shows, cuddle all the time, and show our love in every way. He holds our daughter all the time. He tells her how perfect she is, that she always will be. We still haven't told her. She knows Daddy is sick, just not how sick.

I notice one night that he is very swollen. He had been moaning in pain for hours. I kept a log of the medication that I was giving to him and he was not yet due for his meds. Our daughter lies in her bed crying. Tomorrow is her kindergarten graduation, and he refuses to go to the hospital, "I have to be there", he says. So, I hold him and talk to him. We reminisce about old times. I try to distract him from the pain.

The next morning, we are getting ready for this special day. He just can't do it. He is in too much pain. My mother brings him to the hospital while I go to graduation. I fill with pride watching my daughter, how strong she is to smile when Daddy is so sick. I admire her strength, at such a young age. We go directly to the hospital and she gets Daddy a stuffed bunny. He is in good spirits and has had some morphine.

We hang out for a while, and he seems ok so I take my daughter home for dinner. He calls me late that night to tell me that they want him to sign a DNR (do not resuscitate) and that he is afraid that they are telling him he will die. He is sobbing and I go to him, leaving my scared daughter with my brother. I talk to all of them and they explain the situation. He is very upset and we decide not to sign the papers.

The next day goes quickly, too quickly. My family is there and we are all together. He is telling jokes and so happy. He was rallying. That night, my mother and I stayed with him. He told us how crazy we were to be there. But we stayed.

By morning, he was unresponsive. They say he will die soon. I read him the first husband card I got him for Father's Day, which was in 8 days. I call people. Then all of a sudden, he is talking again. He wants manicotti. We feed it to him and he goes back to sleep.

During the night, he is fighting. Hitting the bedrails, hitting me, saying let me up, and then saying no, not yet. He drifts in and out. The next day they tell me it is time for me to sign the papers, to give him more morphine and no other medications. He is now on comfort measures only, and my job, as his wife, is to help him die comfortably. I remember trembling when I signed the papers. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. The papers that he was so afraid to sign just two days ago, I am signing now. But they tell me it is the right thing to do.

I bring my daughter in and the hospice worker helps me to tell her that Daddy will not get better. She sits on his bed and cries softly before kissing his cheek and saying goodbye. She goes to my friend's house and I give him a few minutes alone. The nurse checks, and says, "he's still there, still alive". I wait a little longer, she checks again, "he is waiting", she says.

I go in the room with my mother and sister. I hold his hand and tell him it is ok to go. I tell him that we will be ok. I cry and tell him that I am giving him to God now. I hear my mother and sister crying behind me. I hold his hand. He takes his last breath. That's it, he is gone.

In his other hand, squeezing tightly, he is holding on to the stiffed bunny that our daughter gave him.

I lost my husband to cancer and it was so horrible and scary, but he had a beautiful and peaceful last day. If only it had been diagnosed in time, maybe my story would be one of survival, not death..

Thanks for listening to my story.

Katherine Pallone

In memory of Anthony Pallone