MSI Press Blog

  Carl died of cancer. That much is true, and terrible, and simple on the surface. But the story is more complex than a single disease. COVID-19 didn’t cause Carl’s cancer—but it surely made his path to diagnosis, care, and support harder. It distorted the shape of the last chapter of his life in ways that were subtle, cumulative, and unforgivable. Carl’s cancer was diagnosed late. How late, we’ll never know. But we do know this: in the early months of the pandemic, Carl’s doctor wasn’t seeing patients in person. Like many, he was doing only virtual visits. So when Carl started losing weight—quickly, inexplicably—it was easy to dismiss it as something positive. Carl himself believed it was a good thing. He looked thinner, healthier even, after years of carrying extra pounds. In a regular year, a doctor might have seen the warning signs: how the weight was distributed, how Carl moved, how he looked close up. Maybe they would have ordered tests earlier. Maybe they would have caught i...

  Emergencies don’t always come with flashing lights. Sometimes, they come with silence. My son—45, living with CHARGE Syndrome—was eating in a booth at Fosters Freeze when he began choking. He stopped talking and sat perfectly still, rigid. A super example of hyperactivity, he does not know to sit still; this was not normal. Then, his body turned rubbery. His skin changed color. His eyes locked and rolled back. He wasn’t breathing. We were the only customers. I asked twice— please call 911 . No one moved. And so, I stopped speaking. I stopped asking. I did what decades of caring for him trained me to do. I tried to save him. He was wedged into the booth. I couldn’t lift him out—I couldn’t fully lift him at all. I managed to pull him partway out, enough to get his head hanging down over the bench. I hit his back, again and again, and waited for breath to return. It took minutes. I’m not sure how many—time doesn’t tick normally when your child is blue. Eventually, his lungs be...

  Not everyone wins their battle with cancer. As painful as that is to say—and even harder to write—it's true. For those of us walking this road alongside someone with cancer, we carry hope, strength, and belief for as long as we possibly can. But sometimes, the ending isn't triumphant. Sometimes, it's simply… the end. That was the case with Carl . Carl had Cancer of Unknown Primary ( CUP ), one of the most elusive and aggressive forms of cancer. With no known origin, it hides in plain sight and resists targeted treatment. Fewer than 15% of patients with CUP survive beyond one year, a statistic that, while low, has improved considerably since Carl fought his battle. When Carl knew the miserable odds, he believed he would be one of the rare exceptions. He expected to win. That expectation, though inspiring in the early days, slowly became a barrier. As his body declined rapidly over five short months, the signs were all there: treatment wasn’t working, strength was fading, ...

  When Carl first died, a friend sent me a little book, wonderful in its pragmatism and understanding of the immediate-after-death emotions and psyche. That book pointed out that widows (or widowers) have a tendency to turn the former spouse into an icon. (Well, some of them do, anyway, and that, according to the little booklet, makes it difficult to move on or even to maintain a normal range of sanity. I realize that I was doing just that -- not wanting to change anything in the house or how anything. I also put a picture in every room. Reading that booklet, I realized that I was indeed iconizing Carl. In an opposite manner, some people, perhaps many people, completely change their life and lifestyles after the death of a spouse. This was clearly expected of me. I cannot begin to count the number of real estate agents who contacted me for the first weeks and months after Carl died, offering to sell the house for me. I guess that would be a form of minimization. I had no desire to ...