My Father with Advanced Liver and Lung Metastases Is My Mountain; This Time, I Will Be the Superman Who Guards Him | Patient Story

I will always remember that summer afternoon when my father was diagnosed with colorectal cancer at 55, and I instantly grew up at 24.

I hesitated for a long time about whether to write down our treatment journey, because I cannot offer a beautiful ending for everyone to see. Compared to many previous stories, ours may not be "positive" enough, but I believe we are also a microcosm of thousands of ordinary patients.

Many patients are just ordinary and plain, but to us, they are incredibly precious. Therefore, ordinary people like us will do our utmost for our ordinary families. Even if the road ahead is full of thorns, we will continue to walk forward bravely and firmly!

Author | Mengban (Digestive Group IV)
Editors | Guangguang, Xianning

「 1. Dad Was Diagnosed with Colorectal Cancer 」

Looking back now, many things actually had their signs. At first, my mother noticed my father going to the bathroom over a dozen times a day, accompanied by blood in his stool. Because frequent nighttime trips severely disrupted his sleep, he looked very lethargic during the day. My mother decided to take him to a nearby hospital. When I heard about these symptoms, I already had a vague sense that something was wrong. However, during the consultation, the doctor said it was most likely hemorrhoids and advised him to get a colonoscopy the following week.

On July 7, 2022, while my father was undergoing his colonoscopy, my mother suddenly called me. Crying on the phone, she told me it wasn't hemorrhoids but cancer (the doctor had already informed us during the procedure that it was cancer and at a late stage). The mountain city was unbearably hot in July, yet I suddenly shivered. I didn't burst into tears; at the time, I just thought maybe I didn't have much emotional attachment to my father, which was why I wasn't as devastated as my mother (since I could remember, my parents had gone to Shanghai. When they returned after I grew up, my father only ever scolded or hit me; I never felt fatherly love). But that night, I couldn't sleep soundly. I kept waking up startled, shivering and cold all over. Lying in bed, waking up once again, it suddenly dawned on me: it wasn't that I didn't love my father, but that my heart simply couldn't accept it. My brain had just briefly activated a self-protection mechanism for me.

As soon as dawn broke, my mother and I immediately transferred my father to Xinqiao Hospital in Chongqing. It was my first time visiting such a massive hospital; it was so large that I couldn't find my way. Standing in front of the outpatient building, the sun made me sweat profusely, yet my body couldn't stop trembling.

The doctor quickly ordered more comprehensive tests for my father. While accompanying him, I saw his pants stained with blood from passing gas. Soon, the test results indicated T4aN2. The tumor in his intestine was large and poorly positioned, adjacent to a major blood vessel. Surgery was temporarily impossible; only chemotherapy was an option. I knew I could no longer hide the truth.

However, my father probably guessed it while hospitalized, after all, the uncles in the adjacent beds all had colorectal cancer. I was terrified he would refuse treatment, because not long ago, his best friend had been diagnosed with liver cancer and passed away suddenly after half a year of treatment. I still remember my father saying at the dinner table after returning from the funeral that if he ever got a serious illness, he would absolutely refuse treatment. But to my surprise, after learning of his cancer diagnosis, he was unexpectedly cooperative: he not only had a port-a-cath implanted but also underwent genetic testing.

Soon, the genetic test results came back: KRAS mutation. Because the primary tumor was located at the rectosigmoid junction, radiotherapy was not needed. So, my father directly started chemotherapy with oxaliplatin combined with capecitabine. The first four cycles went very smoothly, with no major adverse reactions, until the fifth cycle.

「 2. The Difficult Treatment Journey During the Pandemic 」

I still remember it vividly: he threw up less than half of the congee I ordered for him, followed by increasingly severe chills and violent shivering. The nurse immediately called his attending physician, but it was the peak of the pandemic, and the doctor was forcibly quarantined after testing positive. Within two minutes, my father was shaking so badly he couldn't speak or walk normally. The nurse immediately took him to the ICU, told me to pay and process his admission, and advised me not to stay too far from the hospital that night. I didn't dare tell my mother the truth, so I lied and said he had a slight cold and the doctor wanted him to stay overnight for observation. I stayed at a nearby hotel. Fortunately, a night of anxiety ended with my father safely discharged from the ICU.

After this emergency, the surgeon transferred my father to the medical oncology department. Domestic oxaliplatin was switched to imported oxaliplatin, and the chemotherapy regimen was adjusted: capecitabine was changed to intravenous fluorouracil. Because the initial chemotherapy response was mediocre, irinotecan was added. However, the triple-drug chemotherapy still fell short of expectations. The tumor even progressed, compressing lumbar nerves and causing back pain. The attending physician decided to add bevacizumab. However, my father had an allergic reaction to the domestic version, so we switched to the imported one.

Soon, the pandemic broke out completely. After my mother and I got infected, we didn't dare go home, fearing we would infect my father and grandparents. We found a hotel to stay in. When it was time for my father's chemotherapy, he needed to be admitted. This was the first time I almost broke down in front of my mother. My father couldn't remember his phone number or ID number, didn't know how to use mobile payments, and certainly couldn't handle admission procedures. I couldn't find any relatives or friends to accompany him for admission and chemotherapy. I worried this would delay his treatment, as his rectal bleeding was quite severe at the time. In the hospital, he could receive hemostatic drugs, and he was constantly on the verge of bowel obstruction. All I wanted was for him to receive his treatment on schedule.

Finally, I managed to find a medical escort sister who helped get my father to his ward. At that time, hospital policy required a three-day quarantine and clear tests before chemotherapy could begin. Unexpectedly, the patient in the next bed got infected, and my father caught it too. To this day, he still blames me for sending him to the hospital, where he tested positive and was locked in the ward.

Because the chemotherapy response was less than ideal, radiotherapy was added to my father's treatment upon the attending physician's recommendation. After radiotherapy, I saw a post in the Panda Group chat saying Professor Deng Yanhong would be holding clinics in Chongqing. I quickly booked an appointment, took leave, and went to consult her. After I explained my father's treatment plan, Professor Deng was somewhat surprised, as such an aggressive regimen was usually reserved for cases with distant metastases. She also mentioned that the scans brought from the treating hospital were unclear and recommended my father get new scans at Chongqing Medical University Hospital.

I immediately paid and queued for an appointment. The following week, I couldn't secure a slot with Professor Deng, but I still went to the hospital hoping for a walk-in addition. That day, she was rushing to catch a flight and didn't have time to review the images, but she had her assistant note my father's ID number, promising to reply after reviewing the scans. I was deeply moved. Later, her assistant messaged me on WeChat, saying Professor Deng felt the tumor shrinkage was good and we could consider consulting surgery for an operation.

At that moment, I was torn about whether to continue treatment under Professor Deng. Although I had only seen her twice, both times she was extremely busy. Considering how hard it was to get her appointments, and that our original attending physician, Director Guanghui, knew our case better and was highly responsible, I ultimately decided to continue the treatment journey with our original doctor.

Soon, the MDT results confirmed that my father was eligible for surgery. I was overjoyed. The moment I walked out of the hospital, I felt that my life suddenly had light again.

「 3. The Reversal Crisis After Successful Bowel Surgery 」

In the month leading up to the surgery, my father could eat, sleep, and walk well, and his mood was exceptionally good. However, during the pre-op consultation the day before surgery, the doctor informed us that a stoma would be necessary. Because the tumor was high up at the rectosigmoid junction, a stoma shouldn't theoretically be needed. So, before radiotherapy, I kept telling him not to worry and that he definitely wouldn't need one. The moment the doctor mentioned the stoma, my father's eyes dimmed. I knew he couldn't accept the reality of needing a stoma, but he couldn't accept not having the surgery even more, after all, it was a precious opportunity we had worked so hard to achieve.

On May 10, 2023, my father underwent the primary colorectal cancer resection as scheduled. The surgery went very smoothly. The pathology report showed no cancer at both resection margins, no cancer in the pericolic lymph nodes, and no lymphovascular invasion or perineural invasion. When I excitedly showed the results to my father, our family naively thought the nightmare was over and we had finally defeated the tumor.

Looking back at the hardships along the way: because my father wasn't classified as a late-stage patient initially, bevacizumab was out-of-pocket. One cycle of imported oxaliplatin, imported bevacizumab, fluorouracil, and irinotecan was expensive, costing 10,000 RMB out-of-pocket. I sold our family car. I thought if we really ran out of money later, I would sell the house. No matter what, I had to ensure my father continued his treatment.

A few months before my father's diagnosis, housing prices in Chongqing skyrocketed. After looking at houses for years, we bought one at the peak, and it was still under construction. We used all our family savings for the down payment, thinking that in two years, my parents and grandparents could move in, and we could sell our current place to pay off the mortgage. At the time, we thought paying the monthly installments wouldn't be too hard for the family. But plans can never keep up with changes. Within just a few short months, my life changed drastically.

At that time, each chemotherapy cycle required a hospital stay of about 5 days because fluorouracil needed a pump. Every early morning, I had to pack my father's meals for the day and my own lunch, take them to the hospital, and after he finished lunch, I'd take the containers to work. After work, I'd go home and cook the next day's meals with my mother. My daily commute took over 5 hours. During those days, I not only struggled to sleep but also cried every time I got in a car. I absolutely hated being 24.

Looking back at that phase now, what sustained me was the hope that my father would be cured. I firmly believed that once he had the surgery, he would get better.

After surgery, my father went through a long recovery period. For the first three months post-op, he constantly passed mucus, which ruined his appetite and sleep. My father, who is 177 cm tall, once dropped to around 50 kg. Lying in one position for too long, his bones would even ache from pressing against himself. Meanwhile, prolonged difficulty walking and being bedridden led to pressure sores on his body.

One evening, two weeks after discharge, I had errands and didn't come home for dinner. Just that one meal unsupervised, my father ate a steamed bun. The next day, Sunday, he told me his stomach hurt and his stoma hadn't passed anything. I anxiously asked in the group chat, and everyone said it was likely a bowel obstruction. I immediately took him to the emergency department. He was in so much pain he couldn't walk. I wheeled him for a CT scan, which confirmed the obstruction. My father was immediately told to fast and avoid water, and the doctor said a nasogastric tube was needed.

Seeing my emaciated and suffering father, I couldn't bear to see him endure more torment. I discussed with the nurse whether we could try IV fluids first to see if it would clear. Fortunately, by the afternoon, the obstruction eased, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Because he had to fast, a large amount of IV fluids was prescribed. Due to the slow infusion rate, it took a day and a night. By midnight, my father had another allergic reaction. The toll of previous chemotherapy made him allergic to many post-op medications. I immediately went to the on-call ER doctor for medication. One dose wasn't enough, so I got another, barely managing to control it. After surgery, I also struggled with whether to continue consolidation chemotherapy, as my father's body simply couldn't withstand more.

Throughout my father's illness, the most overwhelming thing for my mother was caring for his stoma. Since I handled almost all his medical visits, she had barely been to the hospital. Moreover, my father has a very bad temper and would fly into a rage at the slightest inconvenience. So, my mother desperately hoped he would get his stoma reversed as soon as possible.

Initially, the doctor said the reversal surgery could be done in as little as three months, so we had high hopes for the first follow-up. But fate often plays jokes. The first post-op tumor marker test showed elevated CA199. My heart skipped a beat, but I still clung to a sliver of hope that it wasn't a recurrence, just inflammation.

I nervously waited for the imaging results. The CT scan revealed a 1.1 cm nodule on the liver, suspected to be metastasis. I instantly felt like I was plunged into an ice cellar, unable to believe it. Pulling myself together, I immediately contacted the lead surgeon to organize an MDT, keeping it a secret from everyone. The surgical team said that due to severe intestinal edema and a high likelihood of liver metastasis, reversal was off the table for now. The priority was to treat the liver metastasis, followed by continued chemotherapy.

I stood at the light rail station and cried for a long time. I couldn't help but think that if my father knew he might never get his stoma reversed in his lifetime, he would definitely break down. Crying, I typed with trembling hands in the Panda Group, asking Teacher Cui if my father still had a chance for reversal. Teacher Cui told me that once the condition stabilized, there was a very good chance. Teacher Guang also comforted me. I can't quite remember if Teacher Guang's father had a reversal back then, but their words were like a beam of light on my solitary walk through endless darkness, instantly reigniting my hope.

But I still couldn't bring myself to tell my father this cruel truth. Just three months ago, I had told him we had won. Now, was I supposed to personally tell him about the recurrence and metastasis? I truly couldn't do it.

「 4. Diagnosed with Recurrent Advanced Liver Metastasis 」

I chose to lie to him. I told him that because the intestinal edema was too severe, reversal couldn't be done yet, and we needed to undergo some detailed tests and a minor procedure. After watching educational videos on liver metastasis in the group, I learned that my father's liver lesion was solitary, and its size and location were suitable for ablation, which is minimally invasive and allows for quick recovery.

My father's liver ablation went smoothly. Although he grumbled initially, he only knew the doctor "burned" something, not fully understanding why he had the procedure. After two weeks of rest, we embarked on another long chemotherapy journey. From this point on, bevacizumab became reimbursable, as the biopsy confirmed liver metastasis. My father was officially diagnosed with advanced liver metastasis.

After nearly a year of chemotherapy, my father faced another tense moment: the reversal evaluation. The results showed his condition was very stable with no issues, and reversal could be considered. Our whole family was overjoyed. One of the tests for reversal was a TV barium enema. The nurse asked me to help my father infuse the liquid into his intestine and instructed him to hold it. But for my father, who hadn't used his anus for bowel movements in a year, this was very difficult. Halfway through, he couldn't hold it, and it all leaked out.

Although I was devastated, I still patiently comforted my father and begged the doctor to try again. But the result was the same; he couldn't hold it halfway through, leaving white medication stains on his clothes and the equipment. I comforted him, saying it was okay, wiped his body and the machine with tissues, helped him put his pants back on, apologized to the doctor, and took him home.

I have never mentioned this incident to anyone. Perhaps it means nothing to most people, but at that time, I felt like the sky had fallen. Breakdown and sorrow filled my heart. I remembered my childhood; whenever I didn't comply with my father's wishes, he would scold me. Yet at that moment, even if he scolded me, I had to suppress my emotions and continue comforting him.

Fortunately, as time passed, my father gradually shifted from being unable to accept going out with a stoma to being willing to go out and play mahjong. When I heard he was willing to go out, I was incredibly happy. I thought as long as he was willing to go out, anything was fine. Since he couldn't use mobile payments, I even gave him 10,000 RMB from my New Year's money. He happily accepted it and quickly threw himself into his mahjong career, although he mostly lost.

「 5. Diagnosed with Lung Metastasis After Successful Reversal 」

On May 23, 2024, my father finally successfully underwent stoma reversal.

After the reversal, my father insisted on getting his dressing changed at a clinic downstairs. I suggested a nearby hospital, but he found it troublesome and refused to go with me. However, inadequate sterilization at the clinic prevented his wound from healing properly. Eventually, after a few hospital visits for treatment, it improved. My father's mental state improved significantly after the reversal. On the day he was discharged, he went to play mahjong. Later, as his strength recovered somewhat, he even took a trip to Macau with friends.

During this period, although my father still frequently used the bathroom, the whole family's mood improved greatly. We felt life had hope again. I also started renovating a new house for my parents, thinking that once my father recovered, the whole family could move in, and everything would start anew and get better.

After the reversal, my father underwent several maintenance chemotherapy cycles. Approaching the end of the year, he expressed a desire to stop treatment. I also thought maybe this time he would be completely cured, maybe he was the lucky one. Additionally, considering he had been undergoing continuous chemotherapy, his body was indeed struggling to bear it.

But good luck never seems to favor us. Soon, my father's follow-up showed that both the ground-glass and solid nodules in his lungs had grown slightly, though their nature remained uncertain. Because my father had smoked for years and hadn't quit after his illness, we decided to continue monitoring. However, a subsequent follow-up imaging indicated the nodules had grown again, exceeding 1 cm. Yet, his CA199 hadn't risen. I still held onto a final hope and asked the doctor if it could just be inflammation. The doctor suggested we take anti-inflammatory medication for 10 days and repeat a CT scan in a month to check for changes.

The pharmacy only had domestic moxifloxacin. Worried it might not work well for him, I searched everywhere for imported medication. I stubbornly clung to a sliver of hope, thinking what if the anti-inflammatory drugs cured him?

On the second-to-last day of the Spring Festival holiday, my father went for another non-contrast chest CT. Before the CT results came out, the CA199 showed elevated levels. The moment I saw the result, I knew for sure it was lung metastasis.

Ultimately, the imaging results showed no change, but I still decided to proceed with ablation for my father. I knew well that his body could no longer withstand major surgery. The nodule was close to the pleura, making thermal ablation quite painful. The doctor recommended cryoablation, which is more comfortable. After smooth admission, since my father was the first ablation patient of the day, the surgery began before he even had time to feel nervous.

Waiting outside, I was extremely anxious. The liver ablation had taken about 15 minutes, but for the lung ablation, my father had been in the operating room for nearly an hour without coming out. I imagined countless possible complications and spent a long time mentally preparing myself. Later, I learned that because he was the first surgery of the day, the machine took a long time to calibrate, hence the long wait.

I still remember how bitterly cold it was that day. After my father came out of surgery, a light drizzle began to fall. I took off my down jacket, covered him with it, and wheeled him into the rain.

Fortunately, after the ablation, my father had neither a pneumothorax nor a fever, and he was smoothly discharged the next day. Although he coughed up some blood and felt a bit of pain, he recovered quickly. However, this time I probably couldn't deceive him anymore. He likely knew about his lung metastasis, because my grandmother called crying, begging him not to smoke. After the lung ablation, my father indeed stopped smoking in front of me (he only quit for a week and is smoking again now). But when I learned this, I wasn't happy at all; instead, I was utterly devastated. I felt it was cruel to let him know the fact that his life might be limited. I didn't want him to know. I would rather he live each day happily, but there aren't many things in this world we can control.

Less than a week after the lung ablation, my father eagerly went fishing with friends. I was so happy at the time. I unconditionally supported all his travel and outing plans.

「 6. Lung Progression and Liver Recurrence Again 」

On March 14, 2025, during the follow-up after lung ablation, CA199 was even higher, and the ground-glass nodule in the lung had grown larger. I began to doubt whether I had made the wrong decision, whether I shouldn't have done the ablation, whether I shouldn't have stopped chemotherapy, or whether I should have gone to a better, larger hospital from the start. I know people always tend to romanticize the paths they didn't take. But regardless, time waits for no one. We can only move forward and see it through, for better or worse.

Spring came again, and we embarked on another chemotherapy journey. After one cycle of bevacizumab + capecitabine, CA199 began to drop, but unfortunately, it was still above the normal range. I knew something was wrong. For this follow-up, my father had a contrast-enhanced abdominal MRI. Unfortunately, the liver had recurred, and it was multifocal. The radiologist could temporarily see 4 lesions, the largest being about 0.7 cm. The tentative follow-up plan was also ablation + maintenance therapy. I don't know how long this milder regimen of bevacizumab + capecitabine will last, nor do I know the optimal path forward. But no matter what, I will accompany my father and walk forward bravely together.

To this day, my father still doesn't know about his liver metastasis. I have never let him touch a single test report. I handle all consultations alone. I try so hard to keep it from him because I know that once he learns about the liver metastasis, he will definitely feel depressed and believe his time is short. But it has been two years since his liver metastasis diagnosis, and until now, he can still eat and sleep well, with no physical pain. So, I have begun to firmly believe that as long as we hold on, there is hope!

「 7. Words from My Heart 」

Many times, I am unwilling to mention my own situation. Whether in front of family or friends, I carefully continue to play the role of my former self—the me everyone knew before I turned 24. But in reality, alongside my father's illness, I also developed psychological issues. I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression.

The reason I choose to mention this is that I've found most patients and caregivers, especially those with late-stage cancer requiring long-term treatment, develop psychological issues to some degree, mild or severe. Yet many choose to ignore or avoid them. I want to tell everyone that if your body and mind are suffering greatly, please seek medical help promptly. Medication and psychological counseling are both effective.

Actually, I hesitated for a long time about whether to write down our treatment journey, because I cannot offer a beautiful ending for everyone to see. Compared to many previous stories, ours may not be "positive" enough, but I believe we are also a microcosm of thousands of ordinary patients.

In the first week after diagnosis, I found the Panda Group on Xiaohongshu. I still remember Teacher Daqi inviting me in. Back then, I knew absolutely nothing and had barely been to a hospital. I am truly grateful for everyone's continuous help in the group. I joined the main group, stoma group, reversal group, low-anterior group, Sichuan-Chongqing group, liver metastasis group, and lung metastasis group. Every group has many volunteers and members who helped me. You are all the little stars of light on my dark journey.

Ordinary and plain patients, but to us, they are incredibly precious. Therefore, ordinary people like us will do our utmost for our ordinary families. Even if the road ahead is full of thorns, we will continue to walk forward bravely and firmly!

To protect patient privacy, names in this article are pseudonyms.
Images containing patient portraits in this article are used with patient authorization and may not be used without permission.

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