At the age of 61, my husband passed away on January 22, 2010 from complications of esophageal cancer. I say that because the first 28 radiation treatments he got in 2008 got rid of the esophageal cancer but he had a reoccurance on the area between his shoulder and neck in March of 09 at which time a Nurse Practioner I believe misdiagnosed him by saying it was a muscle spasm, she gave him a muscle relaxant that didn't work so we tried topical creams, heating pads and a chiropractor. The cancer pressed on his brachial plexus which is a group of nerves in which he was in excruciating pain which gradually increased over the past Summer and Fall all down his right shoulder, his entire arm, his elbow and hand and it felt burning and tingling and numb which was inoperable and he ended up just not being able to use his arm or hand at all and he moved it around with his other hand and all Dan's PCP could do was give him pain medicine which didn't always work. The 11 treatments he got for this reoccurance which ended on August 6, 09 didn't get it but we didn't find that out until December 18th, 09 when the radiation doctor at Dan's follow-up said the cancer went into his lymph nodes. He said there was nothing else he could do and he don't know where the cancer would go from there or how long it would take and neither did we because Dan was in too much pain to last the 35 minutes in the cat scan as he had to get out of the scan machine after only 30 seconds. I think the cancer spread to inside his head and his neck because he could only lean his head at an angle and whenever we had to move him to get him comfortable it was the most awful sights as he thrashed around and the guttoral sounds that came out of his mouth were worse than any horror movie I ever seen because this was real life, it was awful. He continually lost a considerable amount of weight in the last 2 years and muscle mass as well because he was about 100 lbs, maybe less because he couldn't stand up to get on a scale. Things happened kind of rapidly as I remember he leaned on me as I walked him into the bathroom and helped him, and his knees buckled under him when he was in the kitchen one Saturday and he couldn't go to his appointments any more, he started to have to use the commode but soon after had to stay in the hospital bed that hospice sent to our apartment because he was so weak he'd fall if he tried to just sit up on the hospital bed. Once I was afraid he'd hit his head on the other rail but I caught him in time. At about 1:00 a.m. on January 22 at least the last few hours of his life I think he didn't feel much pain because he just breathed evenly and steadily because he was in that transition of aspirating until he passed away. His eyes didn't even close, which was really eirie and that's the way the coroner took him and they must've closed his eyes at the funeral home. Before they came for him, his mouth stayed open for about 4 hours when those of us who stayed there with him noticed it closed. That was it. All this pain and agony and going to the hospitals and doctors and cat scans, and pet scans and the needle biopsy in his neck that Dan said was the worst pain he ever had in his life and the pharmacy trips and the insurance saying he can't get the medicine because it was too soon until Hospice came into the picture. I honestly believed that Hospice was suggested only for pain management. We were always hoping for a miracle or a cure or a healing. All the healing services we went to, the 9-hour surgery on December 21, 2007 for another doctor to remove a different kind of cancer from inside his mouth, (which was when this nightmare started) the muscle graft, and skin grafts, and removing a 12-inch vein from his left arm to put inside his mouth all for facial reconstructive surgery, the daily trips I took to get to where he had the surgery 20 miles away, the city where he had the surgery and the city we lived in that I came back to was riddled with crime, I asked a priest in the church near the hospital  if I could stay there near the hospital and because the priest didn't know me said 'no', gone was the praying that I requested from prayer lines, the prayers I asked from family members, the flap he had to endure which he had inside his mouth where the tiny growth of cancer once was, where food got stuck at times, the fact that he couldn't laugh the bellowing laugh he once had, the choking and gurgling as he tried to get the tiny piece of food that was stuck whenever his esophagus started to close, the care he was supposed to be getting at a post-op rehab center in which they treated him terribly, the port they had put in his chest, the feeding tube they put in his nose and left in for 11 days, the feeding tube they put in his stomach, the same feeding tube that was too small and came out of his stomach causing him much pain, the port they took out because after his one round of chemo that he would agree to 1 treatment that they never used it for blood work, the reason for it being placed, the feeding tube they took out because it came dislodged and he told them he was in pain and he didn't want it anymore because we had to put ensure into it and clean it, the visits from visiting nurses which we were so glad ended, all the follow-ups when while we were waiting for our transportation and when we had a light lunch and where we had good talks that I miss, the dental work for root canals and crowns so he could eat, the gastroscopies (every 2 months) because he choked from dysphagia as a result of the radiation treatments to his esophagus, the follow-ups with his gastroenterologist, the scare of having a stent placed inside his esophagus which Dan refused, the transportation arrangements, dealing with people that have no clue what pain is or what losing a husband is like, the waiting for the gastroscopy (stretching of his esophagus) in the lobby hoping he didn't die while under anasthesia, the keeping track of all his appointments on my yahoo calendar that I thought would be interesting to look at when Danny was well enough. It all stopped. If he were still alive I'd go through it again and again and for the next 10 or 20 years I would continue to feed him and take care of him and pray for him and pray with him. I don't want to accept that he's gone, that there is no hope for him to get better, that we could go on with our lives and watch our newborn granddaughter and her older brother grow up or our other grandchildren date and marry and get older. Life just stopped. The only reason that I get up in the morning is knowing that he is not in excruciating agony and our 2 sons and Dan's sisters can't see how he looked on his deathbed. I will spare you those details. Now, I'm trying my hardest not to remember how he was in the summer of 2008, when his sister took us to the beach and took pictures of us as it really is too much to bear that we lost that hope of him getting better. I don't know about anyone else but thinking of when we used to talk to my parents and his parents when they were all alive and when Dan's sisters came over to visit with all their hopes of him getting better were dashed when the worst thing in our world happened. I can't look at pictures of him when he was well and when we were at the beach because it is just too unbearable to realize he is only a memory now but only a few realize how I feel. Oh, well. I am getting along in my every day life because I have no other choice, I actually made the plans for the wake and funeral and the church service and the burial and the family get-together after on the days after Danny passed away and I thank the Lord that He got me through it. I am living and going to my appointments, doing my errands, and mourning Danny and saying have a nice day to others and doing what I can to get myself through the day, saying my prayers sometimes weeping through them. God is carrying me and family and a few friends are here whenever I need them and so are all those who know how I feel in my grief. I just thought I'd write this in case anyone would like to know. I know each and every one of us is bearing great crosses and trying to get through each day without our loved one by our side. We are all caring individuals who got a taste of real life and we each have our own story to tell and we are all helping one another. Maybe that's what we are all supposed to be doing. I just wish there was a way we could've figured this out without going through the pain. Maybe there's just no other way. This is the beginning of my story at the age of 56.
P.S. This kind of helped me to get this emotional pain out so I really appreciate being able to say what I needed to say.