Support Mike Pruitt (Glioblastoma)

Story

Two weeks ago, my dad was flown from Gettysburg Hospital to the trauma center in Sioux Falls after experiencing a series of falls. At the time, the symptoms all pointed to a stroke—he couldn’t use his left hand, he was falling constantly because his left leg couldn't hold his weight, and he couldn’t dress or feed himself without effort and injury. After a very stressful phone call with his youngest daughter (Megan) in Montana, two of his incredibly kind and caring neighbors were able to carry him out of his house and get him to the Gettysburg hospital. (You all know who you are, and we are beyond grateful.) In Gettysburg, CT scan revealed that it was not a stroke at all but instead was a large mass in his brain, and he was flown to Sioux Falls, where myself and Becca, his other two daughters, both live. We've been able to come and go as we please and help him with whatever he needs, and despite the circumstances, it has been lovely to have him near. The MRI confirmed what the scan had shown: a tumor, about the size of a large egg, lodged deep enough to be affecting both movement and behavior. We didn’t know the name yet, but the doctors seemed to. Glioblastoma was their quiet, early guess. He had brain surgery on May 22 to remove as much of the tumor as they safely could. The mass had a couple of branching tendrils that the neurosurgeon explained would be too dangerous to extract. They took what they could and sent it off for pathology. While we waited for the results, Dad stayed in the hospital on a cocktail of medications. Steroids helped bring down the swelling in his brain, and within days we could see the difference—he had less pain, a little more control over his body. But the talking didn’t slow down. Anyone who knows my father knows that he's always been a chatty guy, and that has only increased. The tumor affected his brain in a few odd ways, one of which is that he just physically cannot stop talking. A simple question from a nurse might lead to a 30-minute story about an ex-girlfriend from 1976 or an episode of Ancient Aliens. It's hard not to laugh sometimes, and he's laughing, too. The pathology came back over Memorial Day weekend and confirmed what they suspected: It was indeed a very malignant and aggressive Glioblastoma. It's the kind of diagnosis that doesn’t leave much room for wondering. The doctor was careful but clear—six months, give or take. The oncologist thinks he might be around for 12-18 months after treatment, but these are all averages and estimates. Megan flew in from Montana, thanks to the generosity of our aunt and uncle who covered her flight. It gave all three of us a chance to sit with the news together and with him. On May 29, he was admitted to a rehabilitation facility where he’s been making steady, visible progress. The swelling has gone down. He can now walk with assistance, get dressed under supervision, and feed himself again. His left side is still unreliable, but his muscle memory is returning a little each day. In the midst of all this, they discovered a pulmonary embolism during a full-body scan. It was a surprise, but also a relief that nothing else looked cancerous. The blood clot will be treated now that surgery is behind him, and then the real work begins—daily radiation for a month, followed by chemotherapy. This GoFundMe is to help him with the medical bills that I know are coming. We are also looking at long-term care for him, which I know will also have a hefty price tag attached. I know my father has a rough road ahead of him, and I also know that he's touched the hearts of a lot of people who want to help him in an effective way. I hope that this GoFundMe can be that outlet. I cannot thank you all enough for the kindness and support he has received already.