Help Us Beat Cancer, Please!
Doação protegida
My name is John Patton. My wife, Teresa, and I thank you for taking the time to considering helping us fight the biggest battle of our lives. Although we are terrified, in many ways, of the unknown future we have, we are thankful each day for the prayers and support people have been giving us. I thought it would be helpful if you knew about me and Teresa and why we need help right now. So, here's my story:
December 31, 2013
A family friend seemed to be on some sort of personal mission to get me and my wife (her best-friend for over twenty years) to go to the doctor for a physical. As long-haul truckers, Teresa and I had not been able to afford health insurance and healthcare, other than a physical required by law once a year. But our friend went so far as to find out that I was eligible for veterans care as a result of my honorable service in the early seventies. So, on this day, I dutifully/reluctantly drove the thirty plus miles to the VA center in Ft. Worth and let the physicians there poke and prod me.
January 7, 2014
Cancer. In my tonsils, of all places. And a fast growing malignant (that's the bad one) tumor on my neck. Stage four, whatever that means. Teresa and I walk out to the truck like zombies. We quiz each other on the ride home: "Where did he say it started?", "Did they say it was curable?", "Will I lose my hair?", and so on. In her hand, Teresa gripped the half dozen slips of paper which held my future...appointments with Eat, Nose, and Throat specialist, chemotherapy, radiation, dental, the IV specialists, a time to have a feeding tube installed, and more. Our lives were suddenly changed. Those trips we already had scheduled with dispatch, the ones that paid our bills and allowed us to eat...all must be cancelled. It was surreal.
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As you can guess, life has been unlike anything either of us expected or planned. I had to have all of my teeth pulled because the radiation in my neck would cause then to disintegrate anyway. I couldn't eat. Teresa tried to become an expert on fattening up my now toothless and poison-filled body. It was a noble attempt on her part though I still came through on the very thin side. I'm six feet seven inches tall. That's a lot of body to fill. So, I applaud her for keeping me on this side of skeletal.
Though it took much longer than we for the tumor to shrink and for me to have enough energy to walk across the room, a year after the initial treatment, I felt hopeful. Our truck sat outside, beckoning us to hit the road. Our bank account didn't fare as well as I did on its change of diet. The starvation it was subjected to had taken its toll. We found ourselves at a place we never thought we'd be: unemployed and broke with no prospects. We felt as low as we thought we could ever feel. We were wrong.
March 21, 2015
My follow-up appointment at the VA today provided Teresa and me with news we refused to believe would happen: the cancer has returned, this time, in my lungs. Once tiny, now growing, spots have appeared throughout both lungs. The VA doctor who broke the news to us also told us there was little that they could do. She suggested we check into civilian cancer hospitals and specialty research centers. Perhaps, she said, they might have a program to help. Otherwise, twelve months is what I have left. One more summer, one more Thanksgiving, one more Christmas. It's not enough. There's the house I have to build for Teresa. Sure, the plans will have to be modified; smaller and more simple, but a home of our own. There's the jokes I have yet to share with her. There's the grandkids I have yet to see graduate. It's much too soon.
The weirdest part of this whole thing is that life outside of our cancer bubble just keeps going along. The electric company still demands payment, as does the mortgage company, water company, car loan people, grocer, and so many others. We have cut costs wherever possible but with little coming in, the expenses necessary to survive seem insurmountable. When this site asked me to choose a goal amount, I had to just pick a number because I truly don't know how long we are going to need help. Based on the first go-around, $15,000 will help pay the absolute minimal necessities for a year. Coupled with my social security pension of $1,100 a month, we will get to keep our home and car and eat with lights instead of in the dark. It's just a guess, but I believe it to be close.
May I tell each of you that we are not the type of people who ask for anyone else to take on our responsibilities. However, our friend (the same one who pushed me into the VA, thank God), told us that she gives openly to many requests from people just like us. She helped us to see that it is wrong to let pride keep us from asking for and accepting the generosity of contributors like you. And, while I still feel a tightening in my stomach when I think about how little I planned for this kind of catastrophe, my feelings of gratitude and appreciation far outweigh any thoughts of hesitation.
Teresa and I sincerely thank each of you who are coming to our rescue. You are heroes, most of whom are known to us only by the words we read on the screen. You have become an important part of our family and, if we can ever return the help, we will do so. I have one last request, though you've already done so much to help: would you please pray for us? Pray that this terrible disease be driven out completely from my body? Pray that no other person has to take on a battle with cancer now and in the future. God bless of you.
Sincerely,
John Patton
December 31, 2013
A family friend seemed to be on some sort of personal mission to get me and my wife (her best-friend for over twenty years) to go to the doctor for a physical. As long-haul truckers, Teresa and I had not been able to afford health insurance and healthcare, other than a physical required by law once a year. But our friend went so far as to find out that I was eligible for veterans care as a result of my honorable service in the early seventies. So, on this day, I dutifully/reluctantly drove the thirty plus miles to the VA center in Ft. Worth and let the physicians there poke and prod me.
January 7, 2014
Cancer. In my tonsils, of all places. And a fast growing malignant (that's the bad one) tumor on my neck. Stage four, whatever that means. Teresa and I walk out to the truck like zombies. We quiz each other on the ride home: "Where did he say it started?", "Did they say it was curable?", "Will I lose my hair?", and so on. In her hand, Teresa gripped the half dozen slips of paper which held my future...appointments with Eat, Nose, and Throat specialist, chemotherapy, radiation, dental, the IV specialists, a time to have a feeding tube installed, and more. Our lives were suddenly changed. Those trips we already had scheduled with dispatch, the ones that paid our bills and allowed us to eat...all must be cancelled. It was surreal.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
As you can guess, life has been unlike anything either of us expected or planned. I had to have all of my teeth pulled because the radiation in my neck would cause then to disintegrate anyway. I couldn't eat. Teresa tried to become an expert on fattening up my now toothless and poison-filled body. It was a noble attempt on her part though I still came through on the very thin side. I'm six feet seven inches tall. That's a lot of body to fill. So, I applaud her for keeping me on this side of skeletal.
Though it took much longer than we for the tumor to shrink and for me to have enough energy to walk across the room, a year after the initial treatment, I felt hopeful. Our truck sat outside, beckoning us to hit the road. Our bank account didn't fare as well as I did on its change of diet. The starvation it was subjected to had taken its toll. We found ourselves at a place we never thought we'd be: unemployed and broke with no prospects. We felt as low as we thought we could ever feel. We were wrong.
March 21, 2015
My follow-up appointment at the VA today provided Teresa and me with news we refused to believe would happen: the cancer has returned, this time, in my lungs. Once tiny, now growing, spots have appeared throughout both lungs. The VA doctor who broke the news to us also told us there was little that they could do. She suggested we check into civilian cancer hospitals and specialty research centers. Perhaps, she said, they might have a program to help. Otherwise, twelve months is what I have left. One more summer, one more Thanksgiving, one more Christmas. It's not enough. There's the house I have to build for Teresa. Sure, the plans will have to be modified; smaller and more simple, but a home of our own. There's the jokes I have yet to share with her. There's the grandkids I have yet to see graduate. It's much too soon.
The weirdest part of this whole thing is that life outside of our cancer bubble just keeps going along. The electric company still demands payment, as does the mortgage company, water company, car loan people, grocer, and so many others. We have cut costs wherever possible but with little coming in, the expenses necessary to survive seem insurmountable. When this site asked me to choose a goal amount, I had to just pick a number because I truly don't know how long we are going to need help. Based on the first go-around, $15,000 will help pay the absolute minimal necessities for a year. Coupled with my social security pension of $1,100 a month, we will get to keep our home and car and eat with lights instead of in the dark. It's just a guess, but I believe it to be close.
May I tell each of you that we are not the type of people who ask for anyone else to take on our responsibilities. However, our friend (the same one who pushed me into the VA, thank God), told us that she gives openly to many requests from people just like us. She helped us to see that it is wrong to let pride keep us from asking for and accepting the generosity of contributors like you. And, while I still feel a tightening in my stomach when I think about how little I planned for this kind of catastrophe, my feelings of gratitude and appreciation far outweigh any thoughts of hesitation.
Teresa and I sincerely thank each of you who are coming to our rescue. You are heroes, most of whom are known to us only by the words we read on the screen. You have become an important part of our family and, if we can ever return the help, we will do so. I have one last request, though you've already done so much to help: would you please pray for us? Pray that this terrible disease be driven out completely from my body? Pray that no other person has to take on a battle with cancer now and in the future. God bless of you.
Sincerely,
John Patton
Organizador
Terri West Kelley
Organizador
Granbury, TX