Looks like it’s the end of the line. I went into Hospice two months ago.

SV

https://youtu.be/C2owEGUNas4?si=TJy23OUankauJMD_

VascodaGama

Hi Glen,

Nice to see here another entry of yours.

I wonder where you are heading next. Why were you in an hospice?

I saw the video. You sing well. How about creating another video but singing Gloria Gaynor's "I will survive ". You could do it motorbiking in europe this time. The road distance between Norway and Portugal is 3650 km.

You're a fighter. Hope all goes well for you.

VG

SV

thank you my brother. But I had too many tumors on my bones to count and out of options. It finally migrated to my liver. I’ve been losing a pound a day for the last two months.

csjchas

Loved the video and the inspiration… peace.

SV

The Dalai Lama said, "It's not important what you believe but rather that you believe."
When doctors declare a patient has absolutely less than six months to live with zero chance of a cure, Medicare pays for deluxe home hospice care. The stipulation is that no future treatments would be covered even if a miracle cure surfaced. On a video call with one of the best oncologists on earth as she was reviewing a recent MRI scan of my liver, I asked her “How many tumors do you see that have migrated from my bones?” As she counted off, “One, two, six, eight, ten…” until her face went pale while suddenly fighting back tears, “Oh my God Glen, I’m so sorry.”
Yet I always said, “Go big or go home.”
From UCLA, to Mayo to MD Anderson to City of Hope, the best of the best oncologists diligently treated me while searching for cures or ways to delay progression. But between them and my creator this gave me another six years of a wonderful adventure packed life. However, out of options a year ago, it’s only been futile shots in the dark with blind faith ever since. Yet, sucking up the failures it was I who sympathized with very caring doctors watching hope fade and having to deliver bad news. It often seems as though life is one big test after another, or a preparation crisis to come.
Almost to the day, twenty-four years ago I was taken prisoner by Marxist rebels in the Colombian civil war. Five weeks chained to a tree while being tortured daily was probably preparing me for something later in life. Now I know.
Oddly, I now awaken in the middle of the night, wide eyed and super alert. Bursting with mental energy I feel as though I could leap out of bed and go for a hike. But then, commands to my atrophied limbs fail to respond as a realization comes back into focus. However during that moment, a mental clarity fills my mind with ideas on things to write about. Writers don’t write because they want to, we write because we have to. To inform and put at ease my loved ones, the goal here is to chronicle my final moments with love and positivity.
Unable to type as fast as I think, much disappears into the ethos while I’m still giddy with delight, and relieved that I’ve postponed the mind clogging morphine. Better to suck up a little discomfort in order to maintain mental clarity. Besides, I don’t want to miss the experience of my last minutes until blissfully sinking into a coma that my body won’t awaken from. It doesn’t matter, I spent a lifetime as a warrior walking tall with my chest out, even though I must now do so horizontally.
So content am I that if you gave me a Magic Wand, I’m unable to think of what to wish for. With an attitude of gratitude, my cup is always half full and I see nothing but silver linings as I have so much positive energy that I glow in the dark. It’s as though I lay here eagerly waiting, almost impatiently for an anticipated journey across the cosmos. I love you all.
Glen Heggstad November 2, 2025

SV

Nina

It’s well known about the sacred bond between father and daughter which presumably extends into eternity. The last six years since being diagnosed, my creator has blessed me with one gift after another. And finally in my hour of most critical need, my daughter Nina, a trained surgical nurse is here caring for me. In the long course of this cancer fight I’ve never come close to crying. But when Nina assured me that she had taken an indefinite leave of absence from work to help me transcend, I broke down. What greater experience than to pass under her care.

Nina dotes over me every waking moment and stands by through the night scanning the silence for a fateful thump of her father taking a fall or any other ailment that gets me twitching. As a trained medical professional she is alert for anything out of place and is constantly checking for nose bleeds, bed sores or whatever. Maintaining personal dignity while attending to bathroom needs is important but since my atrophied leg muscles no longer can support me without collapse, Nina and her husband Dan help me to the bathroom.

My three daughters share the same ancestral blood with Norwegian royalty. As super-alphas they can dominate and outperform most men who underestimate them. When meeting them in person it’s easy to envision them in command at the helm of a Viking ship. Soft and loving until a crises arises and then they transform with an unmistakable ferocity. Challenge them at your peril. And yet all three are natural born, gentle caregivers with remarkable desires to help others.

Although I’ve resisted the morphine in order to remain cleared-headed, Nina suggests a minimal dose fentanyl patch to help me sleep better. In the mornings I awaken slightly groggy but still slowly coherent enough to count the seconds until I can see her. Not wanting to disturb me prematurely Nina quietly paces outside my bedroom door straining to hear if I’m awake yet. But I hear her bare feet squeaking against the hallway wooden floors. I want to tell her that I’m awake but radiation cooked vocal cords allow only allow faint whispers. I bang a glass on the nightstand loud enough for her to recognize that it’s ok to come in.

Nina glides into the room behind a cloud of dazzling subatomic particles which immediately connects with my own. Our spirits fuse. Her eyes wide open behind thick black framed glasses with her electrifying smile she flows into the room cheerfully announcing “Good morning Dad!” I’m so elated I nearly levitate. The room fills with love and caring so thick one can almost see it. With an attitude of gratitude I quietly thank my creator for this gift from God. Now two weeks into hospice care Nina reviews the days schedule of medical visits and some close friends pleading for one last goodbye. She gets the dubious task of determining if I’m strong enough for five-minutes each.

Nina agrees to a few, admonishing, no hugs, sanitized handshakes only. And absolutely no crying to bring me down from my glorious high as I eagerly await the final journey. With an attitude of gratitude, the cup is always full and thus I’m busy counting the days blessings as Phil arrives putting on his best stoic demeanor.

Nina and I spend the day making the most of what little time remains. Staring out the windows, we are mesmerized by early dawn, fiery sun rays setting ablaze the steep, rocky Santa Rosa Mountains. Later, we binge watch Netflix, speaking in faint whispers or just sitting in silence absorbing each others energy.

To avoid IVs I must forcibly sip two liters of water over the course of the day but gulping down four soft boiled eggs is a disgusting experience. “What’s the use?” I ask. But Nina assures that it may not slow down hungry cancer cells, but it will keep my brain functioning even while my body continues to rapidly deteriorate. Life is full of tradeoffs.

It’s Nina’s birthday soon and I demand that she take a few days off to attend a function in the mountains planned a year ago with friends. 24-hours a day care-giving for the rapidly deteriorating terminally ill can be so emotionally taxing, it’s often severe enough for therapy of their own, Nina shows no sign of buckling, yet I know this has to be a painful helplessness watching her father die. We both share the same pragmatism. But another Calvary is on the way as my other angelic daughter Skye, arrives soon to temporarily take over. A mother of two, Skye is qualified to handle all my needs and has been patiently waiting her turn at this opportunity. They too, will perform a Vulcan Mind-Meld when seeing each other. I’m both elated and sad at Nina’s departure.

Fifty-four laps around the sun ago, a tiny, giggling infant danced into the arms of an anxious young mother. There had to have been a magical vibe permeate the planet at that moment. This gift from God was born onto a mission to change the world through caring for others. What a job she has done!

centralPA

I had a dream where I fell in the river above the Niagara Falls, and for a long time I was able to swim and fight the current, even moving upwards, but then I tired and started drifting down stream. Once I knew, I turned and faced the cascade and enjoyed the ride.

Good fight, SV.

VascodaGama

LIVER FAILURE

SV,

Thanks for introducing us Nina. She is wonderful and you are fortunate to have her on your side. I recall you mention about your daughter in past posts.

I have been "healthy" busy this year too, mostly of the time absent from the forum, but read some of your posts occasionally. The one most intriguing was the results of the 68Ga PSMA PET.

I wondered if the diagnosis of the cancer in liver was metastases of PCa or else. We know that PSMA can be detected in liver hepatocellular carcinomas (HCC), which could lead to possible treatment.

Surely, your doctors know better on these matters and I think you trust them as you have "thrown the towel on the floor" when you decided to choose hospice (from your insurance) instead of further treatment.

And yes. You did well after so many fights trying everything that most of us survivors wouldn't even dare.

I like your viking character. It is a pity that we didn't had the chance to meet for the dinner and wine event (you promised to invite me to).🤪

Well, you know that I will be here on the other side of the internet.

Best wishes for the continuing journey.

VG

Josephg

Your positive embrace of end stage PCa is truly inspiring for me, as I know that my time will come, as well.

Enjoy your last days as well as you can, and I wish you the best of everything on your final stage of your PCa journey.

centralPA

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/to-hell-and-back-02-04-2002/

Indeed, shipmate

Marlon

Thank you for sharing your story with us. You have made a difference by doing so.

SV

Thanks for the kind words my brothers. There is still a tremendous amount of satisfaction with how life is playing out. My final crowning achievement was designing, building and donating a 1.8 million dollar martial arts center in Palm Desert, California. Half of that center is for jiu jitsu and the other for youth wrestling.

Over the years, we have put ten young wrestlers through full-ride university scholarships and this is just the beginning. Imagine what the future holds for us now. Here is a short video of my last appearance at the dojo to present my senior black belt with a significant honor.

black belt honor

centralPA

SV, I live near central PA, which has turned into the center of the grappling universe, with Penn State and then all of the athletes that branched out.

Did you ever visit out here? Send any of your wrestlers here?

swl1956

SV

You are an inspiration! After viewing this thread I believe very few of us have lived our lives with the vigor and adventurous spirit that you have obviously been gifted with. Seems to me that you are a lucky man. The way I look at, after being beaten down enough times, at some point it may be wiser to no longer keep getting up. A decision we can only make for ourselves. Your strength facing your end of life struggles is amazing. You are very fortunate to be blessd with your loving daughters. I wish you continued strength and minimal discomfort in completing your journey. Not sure I'll be able, but I aspire to have the same resolve when my time comes. Thank you for articulating your story.

SV

https://csn.cancer.org/discussion/comment/1725235#Comment_1725235

Yes of course. The Mantanona family

Old Salt

I went to a Memorial Service last Saturday. One of the poems (by Mary J Oliver) that was read during the ceremony finishes with

knowing your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go