Today I would like to tell you about my favorite persons 16 year battle with cancer.
I’m going to tell you about the most important thing that has happened in my life thus far.
Today I will speak about my fathers death.
My father. My Hero. My best friend.
Jeffrey Donald Charron.
September 25, 1963 – November 5, 2011
I would like to preface this with a little something.
This is the first time since my fathers death that I have actually sat down to write about all of it… I have spoken about it to people many times, and openly, but I want you, the reader, to know how much this took for me to write. This is a heartfelt read. There may be tears shed. I just want you to be aware of that. As much as this is documenting his illness and me dealing with it, this is also a celebration of life and struggle. This is about finding beauty in the face of pain. It’s about how you can turn a seemingly terrible situation into one of strength and growth and even happiness.
Thank you for taking the time to FEEL with me. Here is some more of my heart.
…………
Death is something so misunderstood that it causes an amazing fear of life.
We are so frightened of the unknown.
How could you possibly be so afraid of something you have no control over?
This is something that my father struggled with. He was a Christian and believed he knew where he was going when he died but, he was also a bit of a control freak, or as I now like to say Control Enthusiast :). Facing a terminal cancer and an inevitable death is a perfect way to be forced to let go of that false sense of control.
Thanks to his incredible struggle I can now live with peace in my heart.
Jeffrey Charron was a living breathing Superhero.
He wanted so badly to live.
Dad was diagnosed with cancer when I was 8 years old. He was 33. It is an extremely rare form of cancer called Retroperitoneal Liposarcoma. Which pretty much translates to ‘fatty tumors in the abdominal cavity.’ A constantly recurring cancer with difficult to reach tumors.
At 8 years old things such as cancer can be pretty difficult to understand… ‘Liposar.. whaa??’
But when you see your father in a hospital bed having severe, shivering, pain convulsions from having his insides taken out and put back in, it becomes more real than you could ever imagine. They took us out of the room… What a strange feeling that put over my young mind. My big, bad, goofy Dad in so much pain.. This was the beginning of an extremely long road. A road of struggle and growth. A road of love and friendship.
I can’t really recall all of the exact dates and details of what happened after so I’m going back and forth to my Dads facebook notes because he documented it as well as he could. I am so thankful for this since this makes it so I can accurately write about this beautiful mans battle towards the unknown. I calculate this all by how old I was… From when he was diagnosed when I was 8 to when I was 13 he had had 4 extremely invasive surgeries. The first being done in 1997 by a doctor by the name of Samuel Singer in Boston. The other 3, in 2001 and 2003, done by a man whose name I can not recall. The one in 2001 he had back to back surgeries due to a blockage. They both took 8.5 hours.
Dr. Singer had moved to New York City to work at our nations number one cancer hospital. Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSKCC). My father could not make this trek so he stayed with this other surgeon in Boston, who after performing 3 surgeries, told my father he could do no more…
He told him to ‘Get his things in order’ because he was going to die.
I was 13. My Dad, 38.
I remember the day. My father took us to a crappy Chinese food restaurant across from the, once toxic, grounds of Balfour Park in Attleboro Massachusetts. It was our weekend with Dad. He took my older Brother and Sister, and I out for lunch to tell us the news… To tell us the doctors said he was going to die.
I was in 8th grade.
He was told to ‘get his things in order’ he said, but he ‘wasn’t done fighting.’ He was looking into ulterior methods. Experimental drug programs that couldn’t guarantee anything. Chemotherapy. Radiation treatments… I was in shock.
At this point in my life I was familiar with death. Growing up in a relatively poor and secluded apartment complex you end up seeing death all around. Losing friends in terrible accidents. Neighbors committing suicide. Drug deals gone bad. Older family members reaching the end of the road.. At 13 I understood that death meant you were gone. My father was telling me he was going to be gone.
But he wasn’t giving up. Over the next, I want to say, almost 2 years he put himself through the wringer. Experimental drug programs that gave out placebos, radiation treatments on Staten Island, Chemotherapy, he was even scammed by a so called “Doctor” Robert O. Young. Don’t even get me started on that one. If you search his name you’ll find he was arrested several times. Most recently in 2014 I believe.. That man nearly killed my father. Or rather my father was so desperate he let that man nearly kill him. I was 14 when this happened and was completely unaware. I found out that this even happened in 2011 when talking with my stepmother… I suppose that’s a whole other story on it’s own.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Dad somehow got in contact with Dr. Samuel Singer.
Dr. Samuel Singer.
Just saying that mans name in my head fills me with an amazing love and joy. For, Dr. Samuel Singer saved my fathers life 3 more times.
2005 was my fathers next surgery. I had just graduated from high school.
During my high school years my Dad and I became extremely close. Being the youngest of three and only seeing our father on the weekends I strove for his attention. We are a family of talkers, if you haven’t noticed, and most times I sat in the back listening and staring out the window because my siblings also had a lot to say. I spent a lot of time trying to talk but being talked over. I just happened to be last in the pecking order. I waited.
Over the years my Dad saw less and less of my siblings. Them hitting their teenage years and having other things to do than hang out with their father on the weekends. It happens. My sister, being the oldest, was first to pull away. Leaving my brother and I to go with Dad. My brother is probably the biggest talker of us all so it was still difficult to get a word in. As I said we only saw him on weekends so we had a lot to say… Then my brother started to pull away in his mid teens leaving me in the passenger seat. How I longed for this position. I adore my siblings with all of my heart
but it was my time to get Dads attention 🙂
He even made comments to me about how all those years I sat in the back. His little Bug he called me. Just quiet and listening. So I had years of catching up to do 🙂
I am such a Daddy’s girl for sure. It’s weird how that happens..
So through high school my bond with my father grew immensely. We shared thoughts and music… And laughter. So much laughter that if you put it all together you could save the world with it. My Father then became my best friend. Therefore, in June of 2005, at the age of 17, when my 42 year old Pops had to go in for surgery you better believe I went with him.
This time we made the trek to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center where Dr. Samuel Singer would work his magic.
In order to accurately tell you what happened in all of these years I would have to go over it in detail with my stepmother, which I hope to do soon. Our past ends up this blurry, muddled, movie that is all changed by perception. What I remember from that trip was exhaustion. I think that was one of the surgeries that lasted around 10 hours.. These operations consist of them cutting my fathers abdomin from just below the sternum to just above his genitals. Removing all that is in the cavity onto a table and removing the tumors before putting everything back in. In other words, extremely invasive with a long road of recovery.
My stepmother and I stayed in the hospitals hotel building across the road. With frequent trips back and forth. Sometimes going and spending time with my Dad and relieving one another so we could have some alone time. This was very trying for all involved. Especially my amazing Pops.
This surgery bought him some good time. Bought him some more life. Thank you Dr. Samuel Singer.
So we were mostly free from the cancers grip on our minds once he was fully recovered. Some frequent check ups for a while. CT Scans and blood drawing but we were back on a normal road. As normal as normal is in my family 🙂
Jeffrey Charron was a body builder. After being diagnosed with cancer and having to claim disability, his job was to work on his physical form. His job was to be strong enough to withstand these terribly invasive surgeries. Looking at this man you would’ve never been able to tell he was filled with cancer.
This photo is from 2009. In this photo he has a massive tumor in his abdominal cavity. One in his lower pelvic area, and one that traveled through bone tubular and into his gluteus maximus. AKA Butt muscle.
Can’t even believe it can you… neither could he.
I stole these photos from his Facebook.
Here, without flexing, you can see how bloated he looks from the cancer. With his 12 inch long scar. This cancer is still being studied. They don’t know what causes it and so far the only known treatment is surgery. Chemo does not help. Neither does radiation.
“August 2009. sometimes,, to look at me .. I can’t believe there is a ton of cancer in there. Not bad abs for having most of them removed and told I would not have them anymore.. I think I proved somebody wrong.” (his caption on this photo)
Clearly you can see why I talk about him. Clearly you can see why this man is my hero… and I got to call him Dad.
My fathers death was a very unique situation..
After his last surgery in 2011, of which even his surgeon said to him “I don’t know too many people who would even show up for this surgery”, of which took 15 hours, he was on Hospice care. They told us the surgery would only buy him a couple months. That IF they could get anything out at all, the oxygen would most likely make the cancer spread like a wild fire and end up taking his life in about 2 months.
2010. This photo is from his 47th birthday.
My sister and I in the background.. my brothers shoulder. This will be his last birthday with this type of energy… By the next September he is facing many challenges. The tumors have been choking off his kidney ureters. The things that help to drain your kidneys. They put stents in every so often to hold them open under the pressure. They wanted to schedule his surgery for the spring of 2011 but Dad pushed it off.. knowing he wasn’t mentally ready for it. It ended up being scheduled for June 6, 2011. Another 2 weeks in NYC.
When we got to the hospital his kidneys failed. If we hadn’t been there he would’ve died from kidney failure.. This is why putting the operation off was such a tough call… They immediately put drainage tubes in his back into his kidneys.. We prepare for surgery.
Waiting in the waiting room with my stepmother while he was in surgery is… difficult. Just waiting for any news. A Death Cab for Cutie song plays in my head while I wait.. ‘What Sarah Said’…
15 hours of surgery… 15 hours of waiting.
We don’t know what to expect… the words play over in my head
“IF we can get anything out at all…”
“2 months”
My father is going to die…
I think I was about 19 here. Here I am 23.
At some point the nurse comes around and everyone lifts their heads… She finds us and pulls us aside. Now this nurse is doing her job. She has no clue of our history. No idea what we’re expecting or even who we are. Just that she’s supposed to tell us about patient Jeffrey Charron’s condition.
My stepmother and I follow her with anxious anticipation. The first words she utters I am stuck to. Everything that flows out after I can not hear, but I don’t want to interrupt her with a question. I just latch on to that first sentence and wait til her mouth stops moving…
She starts with, “Well, they got the main mass out…” then she turns into Charlie Brown’s teacher.
Her mouth stops and I say, “I’m sorry, you said, ‘They got the main mass out?’??” I’m choking on my own words.
A huge smile crosses her face. Nodding, she calmly says “Yes.”
Strangely enough, this may be one of the happiest moments in my life.
I burst into tears and hug my stepmother, but I am incapable of pulling my shit together at this moment.. unaware of where the bathroom is I find a private corner to release this energy… by the empty elevators.
An elevator door opens while I am crouched in a corner balling my eyes out. 5 people in lab coats walk out, both male and female. They see me and one of the women is extremely concerned for me. I look up with a huge sobbing grin and point at my eyes, “Happy tears.” I say. I’m sure they’ve seen this before. They smile and nod and walk off about their business.
They got the main mass out.
Dr. Samuel Singer the fucking miracle worker.
People had prayed that the cancer would just ‘peel’ away. When we spoke with Dr. Singer at around 4am, when the surgery was finished, that is exactly what he said happened. He had amazed himself. He was exhausted. Looking at my fathers insides for around 15 hours, but he was glowing.
“It peeled away” he said in amazement. Though this was a miraculous surgery it may only buy him a couple months and he now had both a Urostomy and Colostomy bag along with a stomach drainage bag. Meaning he no longer uses a toilet at all. All bodily functions are now draining into bags hanging on his body… How’s that for control?
When he is able, they send him home on hospice.
This recovery is one of the hardest. Being under anesthesia for 15 hours didn’t settle well with Dads brain. He comes out of it hallucinating. As I said in the beginning, my father is a control freak. Tripping may have been enjoyable to him in his teens but now he is not okay with this.
Laying eyes on him in this vulnerable state for the first time in years is very difficult and I turn around and walk out of the recovery room. My stepmother, panicked, runs out after me and asks if I’m okay. I just need a minute… She sits with him for a bit and I come in. She looks exhausted and I tell her she can go eat, I’ll stay with him.
I sit by his bed in the recovery room. He’s having a hard time with his sensory. He thinks a nurse is talking to herself because the other person is out of sight. There is a laptop at the foot of his bed someone is typing on. My father is not only a control enthusiast but a little paranoid. He’s suspicious of the person at the end of his bed. He asks me what they are doing. I say “He’s using a computer at the foot of your bed.”
To which he responds, dazed, “Where’s the foot of the bed?”
My poor Pops.
I try to calm his anxiety by petting his head and humming to him. He tells me he likes this. It’s working to calm him. I love this moment… but he has been hallucinating for so long and they can no longer keep him in recovery. They have to send him up to his room.
He’s nervous. Vulnerable. Like a child.
I tell him everything is okay and they’re just going to bring him to his room. I tell him it would probably be best if he just kept his eyes closed because everything going by will probably overwhelm him.
He smiles at me. God, I love that smile.
Back up in his room he’s still trying to get back to normal. Even resorting to shaking his head occasionally trying to shake this heavy weight of anesthesia and drugs. The next week is so strenuous on all of us. I stay at night with him sometimes so he’s not alone. He would often wake in the middle of the night with bad dreams and sit on the side of his bed. I’d get up right away and sit with him. Rubbing his back to calm him.
I am so drained.
I come to a point some days later that I’m becoming of no use. I have given all I can give and all I want is to go home to Attleboro and spend some time with my boyfriend. I needed a loving refill. I planned on getting that and then coming back to him as soon as I could. Dad doesn’t want me to go and this breaks my heart.
“I’d be willing to pay ya.” He says with a smirk. My heart shatters at this. I wish I could say I could stay but I can’t. I know where my breaking points are and I’ve about reached it. He understands and says he’ll miss me. I ride back to MA with my grandfather and hes girlfriend, who are a much needed distraction.
I get home and fall into my boyfriends arms. Exhausted. Sad. Overwhelmed and so drained. I feel terrible I couldn’t stay. Luckily I speak with my stepmother the next day and she says they’re letting him go home on the weekend. Hospice Care. Hospital bed in the living room. Lots of pain meds. This is nice to hear though. I won’t be going back to NY and Dad gets to go home.
The next couple months are difficult as well. Lots of family visits.
We’re now all just waiting. My birthday comes and goes. (july 2)
“IF we can get anything out, it can buy you a couple of months.”
How long will he last?
He makes it to his birthday. September 25, 2011.
I’m 24 years old. My father just turned 48.
I’m watching him disappear.
The cancer is growing fast like expected but it has a lot more room to grow now. Which means more time.
They say Dad’s heart is as strong as a horse. In the end that was almost worse.
The tumors made it so he could no longer eat very much without feeling too much discomfort. Choking off his organs like Retroperitoneal Liposarcoma inevitably does.
He started to starve to death.
I’ve watched him change before my eyes.
48 years old. Dad and my niece Meg. His best little bud.
Time seems to be passing slowly. He enjoys cartoon movies with my niece, Despicable Me being one of his favorites. The occasional video game, but these soon become too much for his focus. He’s vision starts to become double. He wears an eye patch to help with his focus.. His brain is beginning to fail. He lacks the proper nutrition to continue.
This is such a unique situation and for it I am so blessed. I have a chance to say goodbye to my father. A chance to tell him how much I appreciate him. A chance to tell him his struggle is not in vain. That it had strengthened my heart. I was able to thank him for struggling.
He went back and forth between acceptance and depression. Understandable. On one of his more depressed days he asked me “Are you ready for this?”
hmph. Am I ready for my father to die. I’m 24 years old. I’ve discovered true happiness. While my best friend was starving to death in a bed in his home I still had to go to work. I still had to wait the same damn tables at the same shitty restaurant with a smile on my face.
This is when I realized that happiness was a choice.
Life can be extremely trying. It is difficult and sad. We have two options. Be happy? Or be sad. What is the most logical? Regardless of how often you smile things can still be difficult, but I’d rather face this things with a smile than wallow in my sadness. I’ll face the bitterness life has to bring me with happiness in my heart because it is the better option.
“In any given moment we have two options: To step forward into growth or to step back into safety”
Abraham Maslow
I choose growth. I taught myself happiness with the help of my fathers difficult struggle.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks
I give a little sigh and say “As ready as I possibly can be.”
Which was true.. but no matter of preparation can ready you for losing a parent. For losing anyone for that matter. I was as ready as I could be.
The morning of November 5th I get a call from my stepmother.
“If you want to see your Dad you should come today.”
This hits me like a ton of bricks.
Okay. I’m sitting with a few friends of mine. They all know what I’m going through. I tell them I have to go see my Dad. One of my girlfriends gives me a ride.
When I get there my fathers family is there. His sister. His father. My sister.
I had called my brother and told him of the situation. My brother is very sensitive. This is something I absolutely love about him. We were all raised to have so much heart. The last time my brother came over my father was still doing pretty okay. He was weak of course but he still had some good time left. It was too hard for my brother to see. It was so hard… and I completely understand. So when I called him, I told him the situation, “If you want to see Dad you need to come see him today, but you don’t have to.”
He says “I’ll come if you want me to” in the saddest voice I’ve ever heard from him. I tell him with all the compassion in my being that it is okay and he doesn’t need to come. “You don’t have to come for me. You only come for you. I’m okay and it’s totally okay if you don’t want to.”
He said he couldn’t and I told him I loved him and I would let him know how it went.
I walk into my fathers dining room and my aunt comes to greet me. We hug. I ask her how he is.. He is catatonic.. unresponsive. She tells me that his eyes are a bit off center and kind of going in different directions. I am very happy she told me this because it would have been quite a surprise… I haven’t spoken with anyone about why his eyes did that but I’m assuming it had something to do with the loss of brain function and he was still trying so hard to live… He wrote notes up until he could no longer physically do it. I still have them.
There was so much energy in that room… I think it made him even more overwhelmed.. There were lots of tears and love.
Eventually everyone left and it was just me and my step mom. As it always had been. The three of us seeing this through to the end.
His breath became so slow. Every once and a while, out of nowhere, he would reach his arms out and moan as if begging to stay. He was easily calmed with a few caresses and and some easy “it’s okay, it’s okay”s
When I was alone with him I spoke to him. I told him It was okay. I told him not to worry. He was so worried about my stepmother. So worried about her life without him. He tried to leave her as prepared as he could. Even in death he tried to control life.
I told him I would look out for her… which sadly hasn’t been as easy as I’d hoped..
I told him he could go. That it was okay. Around 20 minutes before he died his cat came in the room… The hospice nurses said this might happen. We knew the end was coming.
I held his hand in mine while I watched him slowly move from this body into whatever is next for us.
His slow breaths starting in his belly… then moving to his chest.. Then slowly moving to his throat. All we could see was a tiny movement of air in his throat.. Occasionally it would stop and we stare at each other for a moment. Did it happen?
Then another breath… This actually made us laugh at one point. A nervous and sad laughter.
Til finally, at 11:25pm, the breath was gone. His eyes went back to their normal place and some bruising appeared in their corners.
That’s it.
He was free. No more pain. No more suffering, no cancer, no surgeries. Peace.
I’m 24 years old and I’ve just experienced one of the most beautiful experiences there is. I saw my best friend off this earth. I don’t believe you can be any closer to anyone than by being by their side when they leave.
Luckily in the loss of my father there is an amazing sense of relief. A lot of people don’t get that sort of closure.
I am so blessed.
This doesn’t mean at all that this was easy. My fathers body lay empty in the middle of the room.
Some days I’d give anything to be in the hospital again. To feel the drained feeling. At least then he was still here. I miss him. I miss him so much.
I am 27 years old. It is March 25, 2015. My father has been gone for almost 4 years. I miss him every day. I appreciate him every day. If it weren’t for his struggle and suffering I would not be the positive person I am today. Happiness is a choice. We have a chance to be on this earth. We have a chance to breath. Of course that means sometimes we have to feel pain.. but I’ll take it. I’ll take having the opportunity to have a man as beautiful, strong, and amazing as Jeffrey Charron being my father. Hell, even my friend. We are so blessed to have this chance to exist. How can anyone possibly take that for granted?
If you can face life’s obstacles with a positive perspective they don’t seem nearly as bad. Like pushing through waves. When you smash through the first one with positivity the next one doesn’t seem as bad. I promise you this is true. It’s all a matter of perspective. Notice you have this beautiful existence… Now, what were you complaining about?
My father died with so much grace. He was definitely frightened and I am so sad he had to leave us but I thank him every day for having gone through what he did to make me who I am.
I am the daughter of a superhero.
In closing I would like to share a few notes my father had written. He liked to keep everyone posted on how he was. Some of this may be difficult to read..
“The stent was put in my right kidney, I have to have it changed in three months. At this point today, it has been in for two weeks. The clinical drug trial I was supposed to start on the 5th of Nov. was delayed to the 16th but I’m still not sure if that will change also. I know its coming,, just not sure when at the moment. I signed all the paper work for it.
The stent causes more pain than I had before, but dealing with pain is something I have been doing for numerous years. Its weird to say, I have normal pain.
I’m pressing on one day at a time. Still hoping for a better tomorrow. Anyone can say,, “hey.. any one of us could die any day,, you never know.” But not everyone has something reminding them of it on a daily basis. When your well, it does not cross your mind daily… its not an issue that gets your attention by causing discomfort. Before I had cancer, I was not concerned or reminded daily about my possible death in the near future. ( Not that I fear it,, I don’t ,, I just prefer to stay around a while.) But it does effect how you plan out and live your life. Certainly can’t make long term plans definite right now. I do keep seeking to see myself in a cancer free life in the future. Despair is something I don’t give a place to. Though it can attack,, I refuse to let it have a grip on me. All praise goes to my God.”
So I’ve been doing this for near 14 yrs now. I have had 4 resections of this Retroperiteneal Liposarcoma. I have had 5 surgeries over all. 1997, 2001 I had two in a row, both 8.5 hours long. 2003, and 2005.Some of the surgeries were over 10 hours. Cancer in me is currently worse than it has ever been. I have 6 tumors in my abdomen and pelvic area and now one in my left glute. None of which is very noticeable to look at me. I have been on 3 different chemo’s in the past 3.5 yrs. I am on a drug called Brivanib now. Fortunately, it is not one of those horribly toxic ones that make me lose weight and my hair.
My surgeon at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center says that surgery at this point would do more damage than good. So treatment drugs (chemo) is my only solution at present. I am waiting for new drugs to be released for human testing. One of which my surgeons team are developing, could work wonders for me. I hope it gets released before I require surgery to save my life. If I do have surgery again… .it will likely change my life forever. If I survive the recovery.
I know where I’m going when I die. We all have to die sooner or later. I prefer later, but have come to terms with it possibly being sooner. God loves me. He has shown me His mercy and grace over and over through the sufferings I have endured. My wife has stood by me and has been a blessing in helping me to recover each time I was knocked for a loop by surgery or toxic chemo.
My faith in the Almighty Creator (Jesus Christ) has been the source of my strength to handle this on a daily basis.
I thank God for the prayer chain and closet prayers at my Church, New Hope Christian Church in Swansea, MA. Also for all the friends and family that pray for me.
I keep pressing on.
(A year after the last post he added to it.)
Jan 2011
Now a year since I first posted this. I am amazed I have not had surgery still. The pain has increased with time though. I’m taking full advantage of the time I have to keep myself strong both physically and spiritually. I’m not superman. Some days I just want to give up, asking WHY me? A lot of reflecting on life goes on when month to month you don’t know what is coming your way with your health. Want to talk about shattered dreams? Everyone has some sort of expectations for life as they grow up. I did not expect my life to be here now. So many things I could want to do, or plan for the future that I can’t plan for. Its difficult, but a lot of people face similar, if not worse, things that change the course of their lives. This cancer impacts everyone that loves me.
Its great to get the compliments I’ve gotten for faith and ability to press on when its hard, but I really just want a somewhat normal life. I thank God for MSKCC. Without that cancer team, I may not be here. Its strange looking at pictures of me and seeing some great physical shape (with limitations of course) and think of the tumors inside. Its like a contradiction. Friends at my Gym “General Fitness” in Fall River, occasionally say to me that they can’t believe that I have all the things wrong that I do. Because I look ok on the outside. Its the old, “don’t judge a book by its cover” thing. Just moving around is painful. Internal scarring, adhesions, the pressure these things are causing and the fact that it is growing onto my kidneys, ureters and bladder, it also encases the femoral nerves and my left sciatic nerve. It wraps around my liver and pancreas also. The biggest one is 20×10.4 cm on last CT scan.
I keep praying and hoping for a drug to work before its too late. I fear it may be already too late for surgery. I’m still waiting to hear from my surgeon. I really don’t want to walk around looking like a pregnant man with muscles.( lol. but not really.) I won’t give up, so long as I breath there still is some hope. The rest of my hope is in Eternity. But it seems so far away. Some distant world I have only had a glimpse of through the knowledge of Christ. Yet a very present world. The Lord gives and takes away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord!
The very surgery that has been avoided for four years is now upon me. I was told I currently have a 2-6 maybe 2-8 month life expectancy. I feel it is more like 1 month before an intestinal blockage forces surgery or my death.
I have been having all too much pain and discomfort for a long time and have put off the idea of surgery until I absolutely had to.
Last Thursday I spoke to my surgeon and he gave me the news. He feels that a major radical resection of the cancer is the only way to preserve my life. I will likely have a colostomy bag and urine bag too. There is no way to get all the cancer out and if he is successful it may buy me a year or maybe two of life. I hope so. It will take all day and will be very difficult I was told. Being disemboweled is not a good thing if you can possibly imagine. It is very hard on the body. I have had it done 5 times in 14 years and it is a difficult recovery.
This will be by far the hardest surgery and recovery, if I can survive it. Never mind being buried alive in debt that will be far too extensive for us.
I have in my heart a will to survive it. A desire to live but this cancer is very hard to beat.
Hopefully see you when this is all over. I will be in the hospital 18 days to start at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. If things go well I will be home after that.
June 3, 2011 ·latest from the hospital bed.(3 days before surgery)
The staff working on me during the nephrostomy job (Kidney drainage tubes) goofed on my body being like an anatomy chart. I guess they don’t see muscles like mine that often.
Dr. Singer my surgeon had me sign the last paper work today. Said people would be in to mark my body where the colostomy bag and urine bag would best fit in. Scary, not something I want to do, but there is no choice here. Once again, everything I can do to put it all in Gods capable hands.
What can a person do when they are in such a place. I pray almost continuously. I’ll keep praising the God who made me. Cry when I have to. Laugh in between.
No matter what is coming this monday. Donna and Kate are a huge support to me and I am so glad they are here. It is your donations that have helped make it possible. I would be buried in debt if not. Thank you for the help, I do still need more help if my dear friends and family can do anything. Sorry to ask at all. I wish this was not my life. God bless you all.
6/11/11
(5 days after surgery)
With barely the ability to function yet,this is my first entry since surgery. Heavily medicated, and in awful pain bare with me. Please hold your calls, I will call some of u when I can. I lost multiple parts, have illeoconduit n colonostomy bags now. Permanently. Typing this is very hard. I am making good progress, but still in rough shape. My wife can not take the huge amount of calls. Everyone will know the turnout with time. Thank you for all the prayers I am not out of the woods yet, long road ahead with many a painful day and night. God be praised I made it even to a borrowed keyboard. Your kind contributions, are a help that still needs help if u find yourself in the position to help even a little. Without the help of my wife and family I would be suffering far far greater. This has taxed me beyond measure just to type this. Cannot handle any more. Thank you my friends and family.
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And finally, his Farewell note… This is the hardest one for me. ❤ But my father had the opportunity to say Farewell to this world.
Its hard to say goodbye so I say farewell. I am down to skin and bone and the tumors are stretching my abdomen to even bending my spine. I can’t stand up straight and it hurts a bunch to try. My pain meds help me. I have done the best I could to be strong to the end. The time is coming, I can feel it and I can see it in the mirror as I get weaker and skinnier.
I am headed for the Great experience of Meeting God. Letting go of this life and clinging to the next that I have not seen yet, but through Jesus Christ I get a glimpse.
To everyone who has been a blessing to me, both family and friends. I love you all! I would love to stay and be with you all and somehow by some miracle survive this, but reality is in my face. I do walk by faith and not by sight but that does not mean I don’t think rationally. God can do anything. Why these tumors have not shrunk I do not know. God has kept me alive for this amount of time for His reasons. I could have been gone long ago. I am here till He takes me home. I will trust in Him.
Contributions still welcome on behalf of my wife losing work and not having any income, to be with me. I need a constant babysitter now. We have been blessed to have what we have been provided through the loving hands of all of you who have given.
Jeff Charron
❤
You can feel the weight of this I’m sure… But, I can tell you why the tumors didn’t shrink… I shared his farewell note on facebook… these were some comments… A friend of mine who had recently lost her father to cancer responded.
thank you for sharing this
I love you Sarah. You’re very welcome. Thank you for appreciating it. I don’t just thank you for me, I thank you for you. I imagine this would bring on some good feelings for you. Stir us up to learn about ourselves
I could feel this as I read it, I don’t know how to explain that differently but I’m sure you understand. You father seems such a beautiful soul, and I am grateful to him for helping you help me. Seeing you use this loss in such a powerful way has really transformed my thinking and helped me heal and grow.
A Compassionate Life 