Lost my brother Bill a couple weeks ago, to a wicked cancer, which was discovered at stage 4 already. He was initially given 18 months, by a doctor my brother dubbed “Dr. Doom.” He promptly switched doctors, and with the help of my wonderful and attentive sister-in-law, even switched insurances to get the best doctors who handle his type of cancer.
He went through chemo, which he handled like a champ, and eventually got approved for genetic tests, which revealed a damaged chromosome, but also led to him getting on immune therapy.
It worked for a while, almost removing the initial tumor (in his esophagus), but he still had a spot on his spine.
Ultimately, the gene therapy didn’t work on the spine and it turned out that the cancer had gone to his brain, which required more treatment.
He never wanted to stop treatment; wanted to live. I don’t blame him.
He passed 1 year after his diagnosis. I wondered very briefly if he should’ve taken “Dr. Doom’s” initial diagnosis and he wouldn’t have gone through a year of painful and debilitating treatment. But, it gave him hope. It could have given future patients guidelines to treatments. It might have given hope for immune therapy and perhaps gave them more clues to developing better cancer treatment.
F**k cancer. I’m hopeful though for advancements in immune and other non-aggressive treatments in the future.
I will miss my brother and hold him fondly in my heart.
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