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You never know when heartbreaking news will come knocking at your door. Mine came in 2014. It was winter and a blizzard was preparing to come through. I was shopping when I felt sharp pains pulse through the right side of my abdomen. I had no car and was afraid to take the bus home. So I called for a friend to give me a ride home. When we got to my apartment, I could not sit up. When I tried to lay down, the pain got worse. In spite of the pain, I eventually laid down and feel asleep.
The next morning my niece called and I told her about the pain. She told me not to worry, that it was probably just constipation. Reassured by her advice, I took a laxative. A short time later, I went to the bathroom and was shocked to see black stool.
I immediately called my niece to inform her. My niece said, "This is serious Tia (Aunt)! You have to go to the emergency room!" Alarmed by her tone, I called my primary doctor and he ordered testing to be set up immediately. But before the results came back, disaster struck again.
On January 29, 2014, I went to the emergency room because the black stools came back. I was terrified and alone, praying for a miracle. After hours of lab work and a CT scan, I heard the worse news of my life. The doctor came in and said, "I believe you have cancer. You'll need to have a biopsy done immediately."
I made an appointment for the biopsy the next day. When the results came back, another bomb was dropped on me, "YOU HAVE CANCER." And not just any type of cancer, but a cancer so rare that a team of specialist had to be called in to analyze my results. My surgeon, Dr. Tuttle, then gave me my diagnosis in a slow, deliberate voice, “LEIOMYOSARCOMA – CANCER OF THE SOFT TISSUES OF THE STOMACH.” I detected fear and uncertainty in his voice when he said it was a cancer he rarely sees and, for that reason, not much research has been done on it. Nonetheless, Dr. Tuttle told the team to get me in as soon as possible for surgery.
My heart was pounding with fear and anxiety about the next steps. But I wanted to live, so I did whatever my medical team advised me to do. There clearly was no time to waste. After two surgeries of my stomach, I began to feel like the worse was over -- that somehow I had beat cancer and gotten my life back. But on December 23, 2014, the cancer came back. I was devastated.
Discouraged, but not defeated, my medical team and I decided to try radiation. After six brutal weeks of radiation, five times a week, every Monday through Friday, I was exhausted, but still hopeful. But unfortunately, follow up tests showed that the cancer had now spread to my liver.
Luckily, my strong will to live helped me to persevere. On February 15, 2015, I started chemotherapy treatment. When I met my oncologist, Dr. Skubitz, I asked him what the goal of all this suffering was? When was I done? When was enough enough? I was shocked to hear that there was no cure. "This type of cancer does not go away," he said. "At best, we will try to shrink it and keep it from spreading."
My cancer journey then took me to more difficult treatments -- 10 different types of drugs and a range of unexpected and difficult side effects, as well as two chemo embolization procedures-- over the last two years. Throughout this journey, I was comforted by the love and support of family, friends, and colleagues. You all kept me strong and helped me to fight to survive.
But on October 16, 2018, I felt like an atomic bomb dropped on me. In a consultation with Dr. Skubitz, I was told the following: "ROSARIO, I AM SORRY TO SAY THAT THERE IS NOTHING MORE I CAN DO FOR YOU.” I struggled to process what he was saying as he continued to explain, "The cancer has spread to your right lung and the cancer that is still on the outside of your left intestine has spread out of control."
I desperately looked for some ray of hope in all the gloom that engulfed me. "Could there be a mistake?" I asked. Dr. Skubitz hesitated and then replied, "We doctors are human too and can make mistakes, but I don't think any mistakes have been made in your case." My mind raced as he continued,"You will have to meet with a palliative doctor to manage your pain. It could be three to five months of living, it just depends on what surfaces. If the palliative doctors can’t do much more, than you will be admitted for hospice care."
I had stopped listening. My mind was fixated on my grim prognosis. How much time did I have left? Dr. Skubitz's words repeated in my head until they became an internal scream, "Three to five months ?"
Despite this devastating news, my cancer journey is not over. Neither is my life. I'm still here. And I'm thankful for that.
But all the stressors of every day life are still here too . . . like bills. The only difference is that I have new obstacles and fears to contend with that grow stronger every day. Which brings me to why I was advised to do a GOFUNDME account.
I am still working full-time to keep the health insurance going. However, from all the years of side effects, my poor body has taken a beating. Every day, I try to savor every moment and remind myself, "I'm still here" and I thank God for another day. I force myself to get up even though my feet and legs are so swollen, that it makes walking difficult. I look forward to coming to work, even though the cancer in my lung makes it difficult for me to breath and talk.
And I try not to sweat the little things like my worries over money. But those worries and questions still creep into my head: "What will I do when I can't get up anymore? How will I pay my rent and other bills when I become incapacitated and have to transition to hospice care? How will I pay for all my final expenses?" With everything happening so fast, strangely, my worse nightmare has become being a financial burden to the loved ones I will leave behind.
I hate asking for help. I have always been the type of person who helped others, not the other way around. But cancer has humbled me. So, now I am asking for any donations to ease my burdens in my final days. If you can help, God bless you and I thank you in advance. If you are not able to help, please pray for me. Either way, I am forever grateful for your love and support.
God Speed,
Rosario Castano
The next morning my niece called and I told her about the pain. She told me not to worry, that it was probably just constipation. Reassured by her advice, I took a laxative. A short time later, I went to the bathroom and was shocked to see black stool.
I immediately called my niece to inform her. My niece said, "This is serious Tia (Aunt)! You have to go to the emergency room!" Alarmed by her tone, I called my primary doctor and he ordered testing to be set up immediately. But before the results came back, disaster struck again.
On January 29, 2014, I went to the emergency room because the black stools came back. I was terrified and alone, praying for a miracle. After hours of lab work and a CT scan, I heard the worse news of my life. The doctor came in and said, "I believe you have cancer. You'll need to have a biopsy done immediately."
I made an appointment for the biopsy the next day. When the results came back, another bomb was dropped on me, "YOU HAVE CANCER." And not just any type of cancer, but a cancer so rare that a team of specialist had to be called in to analyze my results. My surgeon, Dr. Tuttle, then gave me my diagnosis in a slow, deliberate voice, “LEIOMYOSARCOMA – CANCER OF THE SOFT TISSUES OF THE STOMACH.” I detected fear and uncertainty in his voice when he said it was a cancer he rarely sees and, for that reason, not much research has been done on it. Nonetheless, Dr. Tuttle told the team to get me in as soon as possible for surgery.
My heart was pounding with fear and anxiety about the next steps. But I wanted to live, so I did whatever my medical team advised me to do. There clearly was no time to waste. After two surgeries of my stomach, I began to feel like the worse was over -- that somehow I had beat cancer and gotten my life back. But on December 23, 2014, the cancer came back. I was devastated.
Discouraged, but not defeated, my medical team and I decided to try radiation. After six brutal weeks of radiation, five times a week, every Monday through Friday, I was exhausted, but still hopeful. But unfortunately, follow up tests showed that the cancer had now spread to my liver.
Luckily, my strong will to live helped me to persevere. On February 15, 2015, I started chemotherapy treatment. When I met my oncologist, Dr. Skubitz, I asked him what the goal of all this suffering was? When was I done? When was enough enough? I was shocked to hear that there was no cure. "This type of cancer does not go away," he said. "At best, we will try to shrink it and keep it from spreading."
My cancer journey then took me to more difficult treatments -- 10 different types of drugs and a range of unexpected and difficult side effects, as well as two chemo embolization procedures-- over the last two years. Throughout this journey, I was comforted by the love and support of family, friends, and colleagues. You all kept me strong and helped me to fight to survive.
But on October 16, 2018, I felt like an atomic bomb dropped on me. In a consultation with Dr. Skubitz, I was told the following: "ROSARIO, I AM SORRY TO SAY THAT THERE IS NOTHING MORE I CAN DO FOR YOU.” I struggled to process what he was saying as he continued to explain, "The cancer has spread to your right lung and the cancer that is still on the outside of your left intestine has spread out of control."
I desperately looked for some ray of hope in all the gloom that engulfed me. "Could there be a mistake?" I asked. Dr. Skubitz hesitated and then replied, "We doctors are human too and can make mistakes, but I don't think any mistakes have been made in your case." My mind raced as he continued,"You will have to meet with a palliative doctor to manage your pain. It could be three to five months of living, it just depends on what surfaces. If the palliative doctors can’t do much more, than you will be admitted for hospice care."
I had stopped listening. My mind was fixated on my grim prognosis. How much time did I have left? Dr. Skubitz's words repeated in my head until they became an internal scream, "Three to five months ?"
Despite this devastating news, my cancer journey is not over. Neither is my life. I'm still here. And I'm thankful for that.
But all the stressors of every day life are still here too . . . like bills. The only difference is that I have new obstacles and fears to contend with that grow stronger every day. Which brings me to why I was advised to do a GOFUNDME account.
I am still working full-time to keep the health insurance going. However, from all the years of side effects, my poor body has taken a beating. Every day, I try to savor every moment and remind myself, "I'm still here" and I thank God for another day. I force myself to get up even though my feet and legs are so swollen, that it makes walking difficult. I look forward to coming to work, even though the cancer in my lung makes it difficult for me to breath and talk.
And I try not to sweat the little things like my worries over money. But those worries and questions still creep into my head: "What will I do when I can't get up anymore? How will I pay my rent and other bills when I become incapacitated and have to transition to hospice care? How will I pay for all my final expenses?" With everything happening so fast, strangely, my worse nightmare has become being a financial burden to the loved ones I will leave behind.
I hate asking for help. I have always been the type of person who helped others, not the other way around. But cancer has humbled me. So, now I am asking for any donations to ease my burdens in my final days. If you can help, God bless you and I thank you in advance. If you are not able to help, please pray for me. Either way, I am forever grateful for your love and support.
God Speed,
Rosario Castano