My dad was diagnosed with stage 4 small cell lung cancer on May 15, 2024. He was given 6 weeks, they actually were shocked he made it through the night. From the beginning, it was blow after blow — it had already spread to his pancreas, liver, bones, and later his brain. Treatment stopped in October. He chose not to have radiation to the brain, and although we were warned his cognitive function would decline, he stayed completely himself until the very end.   The dexamethasone changed him at first — I felt like I lost my dad the day he was diagnosed. But a few months later, he came back to us. He battled shingles for 9 months, lived with constant back pain from the cancer spreading to his spine, and went completely jaundice near the end… but even through all of that, he stayed strong. Stronger than anyone should ever have to be.   He originally wanted to pass away at home, and we were ready to honour that. But the palliative care team gently advised us that his passing at home would likely be very confronting and heartbreaking. After a terrifying 24 hours of him gasping for air in his sleep, he quietly said while sitting on the back lounge chair, “I want to go to hospital.” He was scared, and we knew he’d had enough. We organised the ambulance, and I told him I loved him. He said, “I love you too, mate.” They were the last words he ever spoke to me.   When I arrived at the hospital, he was already in a morphine coma. He never woke up. I lay down on the floor of his room, heavily pregnant, not wanting to leave his side. Eventually the nurses gently let me know there was a lounge two doors down if I needed to rest. We honestly didn’t think he’d go so quickly — he was only in palliative care for less than 24 hours. I took the chance to lie down and rest. And that’s when he left us. Peacefully. Quietly. He waited until I left the room. He didn’t want me to see him go.   He died the way he lived — brave, selfless, and thinking of others.   He passed on the 28th of March, I gave birth just two weeks later. And in his honour, we named our baby girl Poppy.   He was such a legend. The most Aussie bloke you’d ever meet. Loved a Tooheys. Loved his family. Loved his grandkids something fierce. He would do anything for anyone — if he saw a little kid down at our local swim spot watching others with paddle boards or fishing rods, he’d go home, grab ours, and take them back down so no one missed out. I’m sure his positive outlook and attitude contributed to him beating the odds of his doctors prognosis. And although we didn’t know he was given 6 weeks until 6 months later. This is how much he wanted to protect us all.   Even in his final days, his words were: “Mate, it could be worse.” That was him. He always found the positive. Always found the light. Always helped others see it too.   I’m just so heartbroken. I miss him so much it physically hurts. My two girls are keeping me going — I haven’t had time to grieve yet, but I know when it hits, it’ll hit like a tonne of bricks. Life is so unfair. Watching him go through this for 11 months was so hard, and seeing him on those final days are scarring and heartbreaking. But I know how lucky I was to have him.   If you’ve lost someone like I have and ever felt them around you, or watching over your children… I would love to hear your story. I think I just need a little reminder that he’s still close. That he sees my girls. That he sees me. And that he’s proud.   Theirs only one good thing that comes from cancer, and that’s the chance to say goodbye. I’ll carry his goodbye with me forever. 💔 ... View more

Hello,  sorry for the Novel.  Not really sure what my intentions are here.. I guess just some support and to not feel alone.  My dad was diagnosed with terminal stage 4 SCLC at the start of May 24. It was horrible, like my whole entire world just crumbled.. aswell as my mum and brothers. We are all so close, and the 4 of us are bestfriends. It’s weird how it works your so sad then you forget about it for a minute and then just remember that their is this huge gray cloud on your shoulder and it will never go away. The doctors were surprised he made it through the night, the night he was diagnosed, it was that bad.  However my dad has been so supportive and positive through this journey, in his words, “I’m not just going to lay down and die, and theirs no way I’m laying in bed all day sad and morbid and thinking to myself I’m going to die.. what’s that going to achieve” and his so right. He got us through these first couple of months, he is an absolute legend my dad! However, my dad, was the most calm, cool collected person ever, he would talk to anyone and everyone, always had time for everyone. If he seen a kid at our local without a standup paddle board he would drive home get ours and take it back down there just so that kid can enjoy himself for a few hours. He is just the kindest person you would ever meet, this is where it gets so heartbreaking.. he is on Dexamethasone and his whole personality has changed. He is angry, irritable, hyper manic, false sense in well being, spending money like we don’t have to pick up the peices, he doesn’t even really acknowledge his grandchildren which just is not him what so ever, they are his everything - just completely different in every single way.. I thought my dad would get sick and slow down a bit, I never thought I would lose my dad still living, which is the hardest part for all of us to deal with right now. He has never spoken to me how he does now he’s just so angry. We understand it’s not his fault and that he can’t help it. He doesn’t even know he’s being like this obviously, I don’t know I guess what I’m trying to say/or get support in. Has anyone changed there steroid and they have gone back to themselves? Or have I lost my dad forever. Because I miss him, selfishly. I know what he’s going through and I know how tough it is on him and I’m so grateful he’s still with us and pray we all have years to come with him, but this personality change is so sad and I just want someone to tell me something positive that I haven’t lost my dad, if this cancer diagnosis wasn’t the hardest thing, how can it now change my dad completely, just a heartbroken daughter.  ... View more