MSI Press Blog

  When my beloved Murjan was dying from cancer , I was desperate for information, but my husband was dying from cancer at the same time, which gave me very little time for seeking out answers. Murjan was almost 19 years old and had been on chemotherapy for three years. His vet did not know how to help him further, but she apparently did not want to admit that -- and subconsciously I did not want to admit that she did not know what to do and had essentially given up on him. I was unable to get timely appointments, or any appointments at all, even in the emergency room. We do not have any vets in town. I have to travel no matter what. Murjan's vet was located an hour north of us. To get help, I contacted other vets. A vet to the west of us recommended hydration, and so we stated hydrating Murjan every other day. His vet to the north allowed as to how that might help. But Murjan kept losing weight. He was down to 5 pounds (from 16 pounds) when he died.  Finally, a vet to the south of

  Carl dozing with his beloved cat, Intrepid both died of cancer, were cremated, and share a vault in local cemetery's columbarium Carl was often dozing during the last months of his life, perhaps as much as the last year. He had had uncontrolled sleep apnea and restless leg syndrome for years. For the former, her refused treatment; the CPAC and his beard battled for dominance, and his beard won. RLS was tames with medicine.  When Carl would doze off, I just assumed he was tired because he did not get adequate amounts of sleep. However, something else of which I was completely unaware was probably at work: dying. The dozing off became longer and more frequent during the last 2-3 months of his life, and during the last week, he moved from being mostly interactive to being mostly somnambulant. Carl dozed off and on during the day a lot even as much as a year before being diagnosed with advanced stage 4 cancer of unknown primary . Indeed, some of it was very likely a manifestation of

Carl frequently complained of being cold during the last two months of living/dying with cancer. Even with the heat at, for me an uncomfortable, 72 degrees (when we typically maintain it at a comfortable 66 degrees). Even when wearing a sweater or even something heavier and smothered in blankets. He was always complaining about being cold, and only after he died did I find out why -- and that he really was very cold because body temperature drops when someone is dying. We were constantly struggling over how to compromise on temperature. My son and I were extremely uncomfortable with the amount of heat Carl would set the thermostat for, as well as having concerns with the cost of the amount of gas needed to keep the house so hot (dying can create immense financial stress -- a topic Cancer Diary will address in the future).  In general, cold registered for me, having grown up in Maine and having spent a few winters in Siberia, pictured above, on a very different scale from the perceptio

Carl, so proud in his new, smaller, fully fitting Scott vest   Indeed, several months before Carl was diagnosed with advanced metastatic cancer (stage 4), he lost quite a bit of weight. Nearly 50 pounds overnight. Now, he was big, very big. Any weight loss, in our thinking at the time, was to be applauded. And so, he ordered s smaller Scott vest and showed off his new slimmer self. (Not slim, mind you, but slimmer -- he was still nearly 300 pounds when he died.) What we did not realize -- and I certainly wish we had is that such a weight loss is not to be celebrated. It is a sign of dying, or at least, of advanced cancer. Instead of showing off his success ("achieved" -- more accurately, "experienced" -- though he was not on a particularly regimented diet), he should have been rushing to his doctor and asking, "What is wrong with this picture?" Perhaps, hopefully, the doctor would have figured out the cancer diagnosis early enough to do something about it,

  From Dennis Ortman PAIN PATIENCE “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces character, and character produces hope, and hope will not leave us disappointed.” Romans 5: 3-4   What is more natural than to seek pleasure and avoid pain? We Americans entertain high ideals. We aspire to greatness, to being the best, number one. These aspirations, however, may at times shade into excess.    Our remarkable advances in technology promise to fulfill our dreams. So we seek lives of the most pleasure with the least pain. The pharmaceutical industry invests billions of dollars to help us attain this goal. Their medications promise wellbeing and the possibility of killing all pain. This mentality and the easy availability of drugs spawned the opioid epidemic. We sought a better life, a pain-free life, through chemistry. Soon, the dream of wellbeing turned into a nightmare. The more pills we consumed to escape the pain, the more we needed to take, until we reached a limit. The p

SADNESS, THE PAIN OF LIVING  Because we live in bodies which constantly change and interact with the world, we have feelings. We naturally have emotional reactions to what happens to us. Unpleasant experiences repulse us, moving us to withdraw to protect ourselves. Pleasant experiences energize us to seek more of what we desire. In our ever-changing world, we naturally feel joy as new life unfolds and sadness as the old and familiar passes away. Our sadness and sorrow are natural reactions that serve survival purposes. In fact, they are signs of intelligence. Animals live by their instincts, only in the present moment. Because we are conscious, we humans are aware of the passage of time, alert to loss and gain. We are aware of changes around us and their consequences on our wellbeing, and so we make adjustments. Hardwired into our brains is a built-in threat protection and safety-seeking system. In the experience of loss, sadness prepares us to let go of the past and prepare for

  excerpt from Harnessing the Power of Grief (Potter) Introduction Grief, the process by which we adjust to the losses in our lives, is often one of the most devastating and life-changing experiences in a human being’s life. Like all who have come before us, each of us will suffer important losses and will experience grief. A fraction of us will experience complicated grief and will benefit from professional help. Treatment of complicated grief is beyond the scope of this book, as discussed below. Most of us will experience normal grief, still very difficult, but manageable without professional help. In time, with our inner and outer resources, we will make a satisfactory adjustment to our loss. How do we do this? We harness the power of grief, and that is the subject of this book. In my career, I coordinated a hospital-based wellness program including a spousal bereavement program. Volunteers, who themselves had been widowed for at least two years, provided help and support to t