Hi, this is Molly. Most of you know our story - it's a long one. John was hospitalized on April 5, 2023 after not being able to get out of bed for any length of time. He was immediately taken into an emergency room where tests began. First and foremost, it was determined that he was in atrial fibrillation. Then it was determined that his hemoglobin count was at a precipitously low count of 5.3 - normal range is between 14-18 for men. The hospital then ran the appropriate tests, and cross-matches to start a blood transfusion. Before the night was through, he had 2 full pints of blood transfused into his body. He was put in a room, and a day and a half later was getting a colonoscopy and endoscopy to determine where the blood was coming out of him. The endoscopy came back clear, but the colonoscopy revealed a mass in his colon. An MRI was then run. And it was determined that surgery needed to happen soon.

Following a weekend of waiting, his surgery to remove the mass was scheduled for Monday afternoon. When they got him on the table and had put him under, his heart rate shot through the roof - to the point of almost coding - so they scrubbed the surgery. He then had to go on to the CCU floor to get his Afib under control with heavy medication (mainly a very strong intravenous dose of digoxin) for a week. It was finally determined, after being in the hospital at that point for 12 days that he could get that mass removed. The surgery was a success 3 inches of his colon and 33 nodes were removed from his colon. The resectioning, which is dangerous at best, was successful. Following a couple of days of recover, John was discharged after 17 days of hospitalization. Recovery ensued and the diagnosis came soon after.

John has Stage 3b Colon Cancer. The stages are determined by size and spread. It is confined to the one place in his colon, and has spread to 5 nodes. The FOLFOX chemotherapy regimen was prescribed. His port was put in in June. A PET scan was completed and while they found a couple of very small spots of concern, they were entirely too small to biopsy, so chemo started at the end of July.

This means he will get 12 treatments of chemo, every other week - he goes into the clinic on Wednesday for 3-4 hours, and comes home with a pump that pushes chemo every 30 seconds or so for 46 hours. It is removed at the clinic on Fridays. Each and every treatment so far has been different. He has endured 5 sessions so far - and literally every one of them has been different. This last time, the steroids were the frontrunner of the weirdness. He was more angsty, jittery, roid-y than ever. But his appetite was more elevated too, which was weird, but we'll take it. He knows he needs to eat what he can when he can to keep his weight somewhat normal.

Last weekend, on Sunday, two days after chemo ended, we woke up like normal. Enjoyed a very quiet and slow morning. I needed to mow all the yard, and basically do chores around the house. John was going to watch football with a friend and a pizza. Almost like normal. He decided to take a late morning nap - not unusual, it was Sunday after all. But a couple of hours later I realized that his friend would be arriving soon and John might want to be awake. So I woke him up. He was agitated - which is unusual. Then he sat straight up and said something that I couldn't quite understand. I asked him to repeat himself, and he did but with more agitation. When I couldn't understand him again (I mean I have lost a little hearing thanks to all the live music I've seen over the years), I turned on the light (read his lips? or like turning the radio down when you need to focus while driving? I'm not sure) and asked him to repeat himself again. This third time I realized it wasn't me. I got closer to him, and said just play along with me. "Smile" he did. "Raise both of your arms like this" he did. I looked in his eyes, they looked normal. Nothing was wrong except the words coming out of his mouth. During all of that, Maybelle started baying indicating our guest's arrival. So I finally told him to come upstairs and I'll let our friend in. I told G what was going on and my concerns. He showed himself to the porch because we didn't know what to do. John came out, and got stuck on his feet and kind of fell into our guest on the couch. When he started talking, it was clear something was wrong. Our guest left with the promise to help if needed. I decided that John needed to go to the hospital. So we got him dressed and I helped him into the car. I drove to Northside's Emergency Dept entrance, and stopped in front of the door. A nurse came out, and I told her that I thought he might be having a stroke, and that I needed help, and she brought a chair out. Weirdly the ED was empty, so he got immediate attention, and was put in an ER room immediately. Right off the bat, they accessed his port, put in an iv, and started asking timing questions. Over and over and over, I told them the time line as best I could - knowing that time is of the essence with strokes... not knowing how much of the essence until a little later. They immediately wanted to do a CT scan. Questions were asked about time and medications again. I could only narrow down when the last time he was speaking to when I woke him up to about 2.5-3 hours. The medications, well, those are pretty straightforward, and I have a picture of the bottle of meds he takes for this exact reason... just didn't know it'd be necessary. During the CT scan, the attending MD came out to talk to me about everything, including the desire to administer tPA. tPA is a miracle drug in the world of strokes. It is a clot-buster, and has only been utilized for maybe the past 15 years. The trick, though, is that the patient can't be on blood thinners, and the stroke event has to have happened within a timeframe of 4.5 hours or less to administer the drug. Hence the refinement of timelines etc. The risks are HUGE. The success rate, 85%, is not a comfortable number, the other 15% is worse off than before or death. This is my husband, my love, my best friend, my person. It was not a question - it's just gut-wrenchingly, horrifyingly frightening. They administered it successfully. Within hours his speech was coming back - though there was still some confusion with numbers and words. Because of the severity of the drug, John had to stay in ICU for 24 hours, being closely monitored, and tested every 30 minutes to insure his brain functions were there. By the time I went home, things were wonderfully different than they were 7 hours before. By the time I got back in the morning, they were even better. I spoke with the Neuro, the PT, the OT, the Speech therapist, and the heart MD.

They had to wait almost a full 24 hours to perform the MRI to see what had happened and what was going on. There were no bleeds, but it showed that he had several small strokes. It is all of the involved professionals' opinions that the cause was the combination of his Afib and cancer (even though stroke is a side effect of chemo). He continued to show HUGE leaps of progress in his capacities - I got to walk a quick lap around the whole floor Tuesday afternoon with him and the PT to great reviews, and that was one of the last hurdles. Wednesday early afternoon, I got to bring my baby home!

So, now, add a couple of small glitches in the hardware to the list of side effects which include: neuropathy in his fingers, hands, and feet; peeling skin in his extremities; digestive discomfort; complete intolerance of cold (anything surfaces to food to drink); and the full range of (both of our) emotions that go along with willingly poisoning yourself so you can live. It is apparent that we really don't know what the future holds. I had hoped we'd be able to scrape by, but he needs to be able to rest and take care of himself, and we need help providing that space and comfort without the concerns of a small to no paycheck at all.

The money, whatever the amount gathered, will be used for bills. Right now, it will cover utilities, groceries, some small home maintenance costs (gutters and hedges that I can't get to), and incidentals through January in that order. If there should be any left, then I will use it on the medical bills that are just piling up, and will continue to pile up until we get well on the other side of this.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts to the top of our souls for considering any gift. Your love and energy have sustained us, and I know will continue to sustain us through this journey. We recognize and give thanks for all of the light that has surrounded us, and that continues to show up in the strangest of places. We LOVE you!