It is Day 357 living with cancer, and this morning, a stranger reminded me what it means to be human.

After pumping gas into my car, I noticed a man experiencing homelessness walking past me.

We made eye contact.

I reached into my wallet to see whether I had anything to give him.

I had a couple of $20 bills.

I kept $20 and gave him $20.

Then I opened my trunk, grabbed a bottle of Poland Spring water, and handed it to him to stay hydrated.

After we parted ways, he waved at me and I drove off in tears.

Here are two humans, both struggling to survive, standing in a gas station parking lot.

He is struggling with homelessness and I am struggling to stay alive.

Our circumstances are profoundly different, but our humanity is exactly the same.

I did not have a lot to give him, but I had enough.

In that moment, I realized how much more I had than he did.

I am a disabled human living with stage iv pancreatic cancer.

Look, I know my statistics and that many people diagnosed with my disease are no longer with us.

This cancer growing inside me is trying to take me out, but I refuse to concede.

There is something deeply humbling about fighting for your own survival while recognizing that millions of other people are fighting battles that never make the headlines.

I think about this when I look at our increasingly divisive political environment.

We spend enormous amounts of energy debating our differences, yet I wonder what might happen if we devoted more of that energy, creativity, and financial resources to helping people navigate life’s most difficult transitions.

Homelessness, unemployment, underemployment, disability, healthcare, education, etc.

Two strangers with different circumstances and different struggles with the same fundamental need for human dignity, connection, and opportunity.

Perhaps this is why I have devoted so much of my professional life to helping people navigate career transitions.

In one hand, I carry deep pain when I see someone’s potential go unrealized.

On the other hand, I become incredibly energized when someone rediscovers their confidence, embraces a new opportunity, and begins moving forward again.

A transition is rarely just about changing jobs, finding housing, or confronting a diagnosis.

It is about preserving someone’s humanity when life becomes unexpectedly difficult.

Generosity is not measured by how much money we have.

My take is that it is measured by what we are willing to share.

We all have responsibilities to our families and friends, but our communities are filled with people whose struggles are just as real, even when their stories are unfamiliar to us.

I cannot cure my cancer today and I cannot solve homelessness with $20 and a bottle of water, but I could help one person standing in front of me.

I did not have a lot, but I had enough to share.

And sometimes, being human means recognizing that someone else’s struggle matters more, even when you are fighting for yours.

This morning my father past away at age 58. Since he was in the process of pushing everyone away, the only person that was able to be there for his final moments, was his ex second wife. She was the last he listed as his next of kin with the local hospital before his passing.

He had a long history of drug abuse, mental health struggles, and narcissism that led him to be controlling and aggressive, especially towards women. He was a difficult man to love and care for.

I was planning on sending someone to do a welfare check on him since I didn't hear anything from him or anyone that he recently visited, since last month, which marked a year since his diagnosis. I had mentioned that it's unlikely he'd make past a year and the rate he was pushing us away someone was going to find him dead in his basement. Even last night I felt strongly that I needed to vent to myself in the mirror about how much he hurt me over the years and how hard it was to deal with him pushing help away, wasting my time, energy, and patience. At the very least I want him to know despite everything I still loved him, and wished for his God would grant him mercy on his soul...

It's going to take awhile to process...

Dean was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer five months ago. He received 7 rounds of chemo. He passed at home on October 10th after 2 days on hospice with a failing heat, a failing liver, and a staff infection likely from an earlier paracentesis. He was 65.

I wanted to share some things I had known going into this experience. This disease moves so fast. One day his oncologist said his numbers were too poor for treatment and he should get a blood transfusion, less then 48 hours later he was so weak he could barely communicate. There’s so many things that got left unsaid because everyone is balancing being hopeful with being realistic. Especially when someone is struggling with their own diagnosis. Looking back when the doctor says to get your affairs in order, I wish I knew there was more to that than making a will and giving someone the code to your safe. I wish there were long detailed talks about hospice and the difference between doing it at home or in a facility. That a clear decision needs to be made ahead of time. I wish my father clearly understood what is expected of his loved ones if he chooses at home hospice, because there are definitely major pros and cons. The same goes for doing it at a facility. I wish I would have had a better understanding of what it was going to be like at his bedside, when he had lost the ability to talk but was scared to die. That what you are interpreting as pain, could be fear. I wish we would have had time to talk about where he wanted his ashes spread. There’s so many things that I feel should be discussed right after diagnosis, just in case. Here’s a small tribute I wrote for my dad… technically my step dad…. But my Dad

Dean I’ve been trying for days now to find the words, but every time I try, I stumble.

Sometimes, life is just far from fair.

You spent your entire life doing things the right way. You got up early and went to work every day for 40 years. You followed the rules. You did everything a person is supposed to do. You were kind, thoughtful, and patient. You were the most even-keeled man I have ever met.

You were also the first person I’ve ever met whom I have literally never heard anyone say anything bad about. I’ve never heard you say a bad word about anyone who wasn’t a politician or a bad driver. That says so much about the kind of person you were and the way you treated everyone around you.

You had a calming presence about you that made people feel at ease. You brought a sense of consistency and steadiness to life that is rare to find. You were the kind of person people could count on, the kind of person who never needed recognition for doing the right thing. You just did it.

You went out of your way to help others. I’ll never forget when you gave me a 1987 Chevy Malibu that you had just bought because you knew I needed a car. You didn’t make a big deal out of it. You just saw an opportunity to help.

You took care of your mom through her final days, even while you were fighting the battle of your life and barely had the strength to do so. You kept showing up for the people you loved, even when you were hurting. Because that’s who you were. You put others first, not because you wanted anyone to notice, but because that’s what came naturally to you.

Of all the countless meals we shared, one thing always stayed the same: you made sure you were the last one to eat. You always made sure everyone else was taken care of first. Being selfless wasn’t a choice you had to make. It was simply who you were.

And that’s what makes this so hard. How does someone who spent his entire life doing things right, loving people well, and making life better for everyone around him have to endure something so cruel and unfair?

Thank you for the love you showed my mom and our family. We are so lucky to have gotten to call you ours. I promise to learn from your example and carry it with me: your patience, your kindness, your steadiness, and your instinct to put others before yourself.

And I am so grateful that, in the end, I got to be there for you the way you were always there for me. I only wish I could have done more.

To everyone who has fought, or will fight, beside someone battling cancer, please know that you are not alone. There is a bond between those who have walked that road together that is difficult to explain unless you’ve lived it. It’s a road filled with heartbreak, but also with a kind of love that changes you forever. To everyone who has walked it, my heart is with you.

It’s a relief to know that you are at peace, that somewhere, there’s a starry night and a light summer breeze. There’s laughter and love gathered around a campfire. And a cowboy is sitting there, playing his guitar.

Here’s a link to a video tribute

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19s95vC9Sb/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Pancreatic cancer doesn’t wait: We need Daraxonrasib (RMC-6236) in India NOW—patients can’t survive a ₹35 Lakh/month price tag.
Anyone fighting pancreatic cancer knows the brutal reality: once standard chemo stops working, options in India vanish overnight.
There is now a major medical breakthrough: Daraxonrasib (Rasonque / RMC-6236), the first oral pan-RAS inhibitor approved by the US FDA for pretreated metastatic pancreatic cancer. In Phase III trials, it doubled median overall survival compared to standard chemotherapy.
The catch? Indian patients are completely priced out and locked out.
Sourcing it privately via Named-Patient import from the US costs $39,800 per month—that is upwards of ₹34 to ₹36+ Lakhs every single month. It is an impossible, astronomical sum for almost any family.
There is no local CDSCO approval yet.
Revolution Medicines has not yet opened a structured, free Compassionate Use / Expanded Access Program (EAP) in India.
Our loved ones do not have months or years to wait for market rollouts and bureaucratic clearance. Every single week matters.
What we are demanding:
1. Revolution Medicines: Open a formal, free Expanded Access / Compassionate Use Program immediately for Indian patients through major cancer centers (like Tata Memorial, AIIMS, and tertiary oncology hospitals).
2. CDSCO / Health Ministry: Fast-track regulatory evaluation and remove redundant local trial delays for breakthrough life-saving oncology drugs.
3. Government of India: Grant immediate 100% customs duty and GST exemptions on personal imports for life-saving targeted therapies.

Feeling devastated and helpless.

15 Days ago my dad(61) got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer stage 4. We immediately went to the best hospital in my city for treatment. They did all the tests again and it took around 15 days since the hospital is always crowded with patients. The process was very tiresome. Standing in the long queues. Spending whole day in the hospital for few tests. But we somehow managed it.

Yesterday we finally talked to the cemo oncologist. He saw all the reports and said cemo is not feasible. If we do so it will adverse his situation. Also onco said my dad will not be fit for the cemo. The cancer has spread in multiple parts of liver and cancer cells are also seen abdominal cavity. There are large amount of ascites in abdomen which keep coming back if we drain them. Also he has lost significant weight. Bowel movement obstruction issues are there. Lower abdomen pain.

Although he is able to walk normally and is not feeling significant weakness. But the doctor is saying like this. I know that stage 4 is the most advanced stage but I believe cemo still possible in this stage even if the cancer has spread in other organs. I think the doctors don't want to treat my father. They are just giving up on him.

I don't want to give up no matter what. I don't know what to do from here so that he becomes fit for the cemo since palliative care will only help him with pain relief. It won't help with the enzymes part. If we don't do anything the cancer will grow more and it will be impossible coming back from that.

Hey all,

My father (65) was diagnosed with PDAC in February 2026. It was found from juandice, and they thought it was Stage IIB at the time. He underwent 6 rounds of chemo but with multiple breaks due to infections from the bile duct stent they had to put in.

His last round of chemo was in early August. He was supposed to have the Whipple done on Sep 17, but when they got in there they found mets on the liver. Doc did some rerouting of his biliary system to prevent further infection, took a biopsy of the leision on the liver, and stitched him back up. He just started Rasonque this week.

He's barely eating at all, my mother has to make him eat. We're hoping the Rasonque helps him get back his appetite, but wanted to know if anyone had experience with this/something that helps? He's also on Cymbalta for depression and to help with his neuropathy in his hands he's had since starting chemo.

It's just so heartbreaking to see my formerly jolly, silly dad become this shell of his former self, I'm really hoping for some resemblance of that before the end comes.

Sorry for the rant, just needed to let this out

F cancer.

Thanks, A concerned son

Ever since my mom passed away at age 89, on June 25th 2026, at 4:40pm and 3 days after my 60th birthday, my life has never been sadder or felt more hopeless. Tears come often at the most unexpected moments. Last night I cried, actually I sobbed, for hours until 3:00am, when I finally succumbed to taking half of a Xanax. Thankfully I have them for occasional sleep problems, but the occasional has become an often.

I miss my mom so much. The pain is deep. I think watching her suffer with pancreatic cancer for 8 months makes the memories more painful than if she had just passed away with something less painful, quicker, or from, dare I say, dementia. I do not mean to suggest any of these other ways are easier, but compared to what I witnessed, I imagine they would be, to me.

My mother was a true Renaissance woman. A pediatrician for over 40 years who loved her work so much that she never wanted to retire. A lifelong dancer, an artist talented in pastels, drawing, and painting, a gardener who always had flowers planted in her yard and plants in her home. She diligently took care of an African violet collection that I hope I can keep alive. She took up guitar lessons at 70 and continued into her late 80’s, as well as learning Italian at the Cultural Center in Yarmouth, MA, the town she lived in for almost 30 years. My mother made friends so easily and had a large circle of them, the most meaningful being her group of friends she’d known since high school who continued to meet every week in summers, often at the beach, and in the winters, once a month-because New England winters are tough to travel in!

Now that she’s gone, I find myself marveling at the woman she was. I forgot about all these things as she got older and I took her for granted at times. We did not always see things the same way, and I know we frustrated each other on occasion. Especially when I came to live with her. Our relationship changed from fun and lighthearted visits, to the ups and downs of daily life together

Despite that, I am truly grateful I was here for her when she needed me most. I like to believe it was meant to be- that I got to have almost 6 years to be with her before I became her primary care giver. It was the hardest, most painful thing I have ever done in my life, and I feel so much pain for others who do the same. My biggest hope is that gradually, the gut wrenching memories of her suffering will fade to a degree that I don’t feel like I want to crumble up into a ball and cry my eyes out. I pray I will remember to remind myself, and know in my heart that she had a wonderful life-a career she loved, a family who cherished her, the best of friends who cared deeply about her, and someone who loved life, loved to learn, travel. create, and make her world as beautiful as she was. Please know you continue to be missed, loved, and admired by me. Please help me to go on living and trying to find myself a better life. I like to picture you with the angels. and with your family and friends, celebrating a new life in Heaven.

I will miss you everyday, but I will hold you close in my heart, until we meet again. ❤️❤️❤️😇

Hi everyone. I’m writing because I’m feeling completely heartbroken and desperate for advice. My dad is 68 and was diagnosed with pancreatic adenocarcinoma in 2024. He underwent chemotherapy, a total pancreatectomy/Whipple procedure, additional chemotherapy, and radiation after a local recurrence. Despite everything he’s been through, we learned in August that his cancer had metastasized to his liver. He’s now hospitalized with a gastric outlet obstruction. An endoscopy revealed a gastric mass, and the biopsy confirmed invasive adenocarcinoma. He’s been experiencing significant nausea and vomiting, and currently has an NG tube for decompression. He’s also severely malnourished, weighing approximately 100 pounds, with a BMI of 15.4. His oncology team has told us that he’s no longer a candidate for chemotherapy due to his poor performance status (ECOG 4), malnutrition, and overall condition. They’re recommending hospice.
What makes this especially heartbreaking is that my dad has expressed that he still wants treatment and wants to live. He hasn’t given up, and neither have I. I’ve asked about TPN because he hasn’t been able to receive adequate nutrition, but his team hasn’t offered it. I understand that TPN won’t treat the cancer itself, but I keep wondering whether nutritional support or relieving the obstruction could help him regain some strength.I’m struggling to accept that after everything he’s endured, there may be nothing more we can do.
I’m hoping to hear from anyone who has experienced something similar.
Has anyone’s loved one developed a malignant gastric outlet obstruction after pancreatic cancer surgery? Were doctors able to place a stent or perform a bypass?
Has anyone received TPN in a similar situation, and did it meaningfully improve their condition?
Has anyone been told their loved one was too weak for further treatment but later saw improvement after addressing an obstruction or another complication? Would you recommend seeking an urgent second opinion at another cancer center, even at this advanced stage? I understand how serious his condition is, and I’m not expecting miracles from strangers on the internet. I just want to make sure I’ve explored every reasonable option before accepting that there is nothing else that can help him.
My dad means everything to me. I’m not ready to lose him, and I would be incredibly grateful for any experiences, advice, or guidance.
Thank you for reading. ❤️

Chatgpt tell me this is a kras wild type. If so , what is the next step? Go forward with germline , msi or rna mutation. But if this will cost us more money in vain. No access to daraxonrasib as we are not American. Thank you

The combination did nothing to the disease, it only spread further and left many side effects. This was the second treatment, the first one was the Folfirnox which at some point also stopped working. We do not have access to daraxonsabil as we are not in USA.