Bill Odien - Glioblastoma

My father, Bill Odien, is dying. My sister, Zoe Odien Hanlon, and I, are asking for help. Please read our story. 


On July 19th, dad was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme: the same brain cancer that took John McCain, Beau Biden, and Ted Kennedy. This cancer knows no political boundaries.  12,000 people are diagnosed with this rare cancer every year, and Bill Odien is one of them.


Last year he was misdiagnosed with a garden variety dementia, but we found out recently the diagnosis was wrong; it's much worse than just dementia.  He's got a very large inoperable cancerous tumor that encompasses his right temporal lobe and limbic system. He's got so much inflammation in the brain that his right ventricle is closed. The tumor has destroyed brain tissue and the inflammation is causing more damage as it expands into the skull. This has resulted in dementia, seizures, loss of spatial awareness, loss of visual perception, aggression, hostility and memory loss. His care has gotten more and more difficult to manage by just family members. He is unable to function in any capacity. My mom never asks for help but we’ve gotten to the point where we’ve got to step in and ask for her and for our dad. 


For those of you who are interested, I’ll provide more details about the disease and about my father’s fight with it a little farther down below-- before that though, I want to talk about him. I’m not trying to raise money for a sickness, I’m trying to raise money for a man whom many of you love. I’m also trying to help my mom who has been his primary caregiver, and while she can do a lot, she cannot humanly do all the care 24/7 anymore. They need the community’s help. They need your help. 


My father has been a lot of things to a lot of people.





For years he was on stage. He was most himself when he was someone else. He was Don Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha; he was Tony, in love with Maria; he was El Gallo in the month of September; and while he was all of these people, he was singing. Bill Odien was there, and he was loud enough that you would know it. 





For decades he was a teacher. A beloved, popular, successful teacher. This is when he had his biggest impact. Thousands of kids were affected by him, and he was proud of it. He loved the creativity of his students, and tried to foster their talents, whatever they were. My dad provided pens and paper, art supplies, and prompted kids to create whenever they could. He gave them time and space in his classroom to write, and draw, and sing. He didn’t do that because he had to, or even because he wanted to. He supported his students because he was compelled by something greater to support them, and love them, and to help them become what they wanted to become.


My dad created the Woodcrest Elementary School Ukulele Orchestra with those kids in mind, and I had never seen him prouder. He gave kids instruments and instructions and let them play their hearts out. He organized concerts for them. A decade later, some of the kids still play. 





For his entire life, my father has been a musical man in a musical family. He has always sung, and played guitar, and when we bought him his first ukulele, a chintzy, orange, plastic monstrosity, he took off running and never stopped. He co-founded the Riverside Ukulele Liberation Ensemble, and ran the Tuesday night Open Mic at Back To the Grind Coffee for 10 years encouraging Riverside musicians to always keep playing. Nothing in the world brought him joy like music, and nothing in the world brought me more joy than his music.








Lastly, before we get into the heavy stuff, my dad is a dad, brother, and husband. He is singular in the love he has for his children. I cannot imagine being raised by a more supportive, caring, kind man than he; he took us to soccer games every weekend for nearly 15 years. He drove us to choir and marching band and water polo at any hour that we needed him to. He gave me my first guitar, an old thing from when he was a teenager, and no matter what we did he would remind us that he was proud of us, and that he loved us. He’s still proud, and he still loves us, and my mom, and my aunt and uncles, and my cousins. He still loves his students. And yes, he loves all of his friends. 


That’s the thing about my dad. He loves.


So here’s the heavy stuff. 





In December, my dad had his first big seizure. He was found and saved by a family dog (thanks, Hercules!), and hospitalized. This was the beginning of an extremely fast decline. Over the next few months he developed seizures, hallucinations, delusions, and a rapidly progressing dementia. The dementia took huge swaths of memory in days and weeks, he was unable to care for himself, and by March he had difficulty recognizing his family. In May he fell down, and was admitted as an inpatient -- in July he was transferred to UC Irvine for a higher level of care, and diagnosed with aplastic Glioblastoma Multiforme, stage 4. A few days later we were told that he has 3-6 months left - but he could last longer. Full brain radiation treatment was an option, but it’s risky, and may not provide any benefit and could make all his symptoms worse. We have decided instead that he would prefer to be kept comfortable until he passes.


We’re setting a high goal because we need to cover his medical bills, and an expensive stay in a hospice facility for 6 months or more where he can receive the care and comfort. Hospice care may cost up to $10,000 a month; all of which is out of pocket. 


If any funds remain, they will go towards funeral arrangements.


We ask that you please, please consider donating what you can, if you can, and share this campaign as widely as possible, Bill Odien had an outsized impact on this world, and now we’re hoping that he can be repaid in kind, and be allowed to pass comfortably, and with dignity. We are devastated, and want to provide him with end of life care befitting him.


Thank you for taking the time to read and share. Please share widely. 

Liam Odien and Zoe Odien Hanlon