After My Mother Passed Away, I Quit My Job to Care for My Wheelchair-Bound Father as He Battles Rectal Cancer Again | Patient Story

Author | Taozi & Zhong Lala
Editor | Xianning
Reviewer | Guang Guang

[ A photo of my father and me at Tiananmen Square in 2017 ]

「 Part I: Father's Rectal Cancer Diagnosis 」

In late February 2025, my father suddenly experienced difficulty urinating, constipation, and a small amount of blood in his stool. As a former healthcare worker with limited mobility, he initially self-medicated with diuretics and anti-inflammatory drugs. After more than ten days, his symptoms worsened instead of improving. Suspecting hemorrhoids, we visited the proctology department. After a digital rectal exam, the doctor asked my father to wait outside and told me privately: "There's a rectal mass, highly likely malignant."

In that moment, my head spun. The warm air in the clinic felt thick and suffocating, yet a deep chill ran through my bones, making me shiver. Confusion, fear, and overwhelming helplessness washed over me: Should I tell him? Could he bear it? But how could I hide it from a seasoned medical professional during the upcoming tests and treatments? Countless questions swarmed my mind like an out-of-control swarm of bees, finding no exit.

It wasn't until I stepped out and saw his eyes, which already understood everything, that I found a lifeline named "honesty" in the chaos. We had to face this together. It was the only, and strongest, fortress left between us.

He asked me directly: "Is it rectal cancer?" I nodded. He put on a brave face and said, "After all these years, I can accept anything. You're grown up now. I can handle it."

[ My father in 2017 ]

The details of our subsequent conversation have blurred in my memory. I only remember following the doctor's advice to immediately schedule a colonoscopy at the endoscopy center. However, the city hospital had a one-week waiting list, so we decided to return to our small hometown county to seek alternatives.

Fortunately, a provincial endoscopy expert was scheduled to visit the county hospital in three days. Even more coincidentally, a physician at the endoscopy center was my father's former colleague. With his help, we secured a colonoscopy slot and arranged for an expedited pathology test.

「 Part II: Clarifying the Treatment Direction 」

During the three-day wait for the colonoscopy, I frantically searched for rectal cancer treatment options. As a heavy user of Bilibili, I stumbled upon the "Panda and Friends" organization and watched Director Han's video—"What to Do After a Colorectal Cancer Diagnosis: Examinations Are the Foundation of Treatment." Since we hadn't received the pathology and colonoscopy results yet, I couldn't join the Panda group. Instead, I repeatedly studied the "Panda Colorectal Cancer Guide" series on their official account, gradually clarifying our next steps:

1. First, undergo a colonoscopy + biopsy. If it's misdiagnosed as a polyp, remove it directly. If confirmed as malignant, go to Shanxi Provincial Cancer Hospital, and transfer to Beijing if necessary.

2. After confirmation, complete all necessary tests: CT, MRI, tumor markers, and immunohistochemistry. None can be skipped.

After the colonoscopy, I held my father's hand and spoke openly: "Colorectal cancer isn't terrifying. At worst, we just remove a section of the intestine. If the pathology results aren't ideal, we'll go to the provincial cancer hospital, and if needed, to Beijing. We will definitely find a cure."

On March 18, the colonoscopy and pathology results finally came back: adenocarcinoma, moderately differentiated, with the tumor located 6 cm from the anus.

As soon as I received the results, I applied to join the "Panda Group's" Digestive Group 7 and Low-Position Group 2. Following the group's shared experiences, I borrowed tissue slides and unstained sections from the county hospital's pathology department and had them sent to Shanxi Provincial Cancer Hospital. That afternoon, I took my father to Taiyuan, booked a hotel near the hospital, and registered for the next day's appointment.

The next day, I brought the colonoscopy and pathology reports to Dr. L's team. He indicated that direct surgery would likely not preserve the anus and advised further examinations first. He ordered a contrast-enhanced MRI, contrast-enhanced CT, and a pathology consultation. When I checked the orders and noticed immunohistochemistry was missing, I requested it. The doctor glanced at me and said, "You know about this?" He didn't know that behind me stood a reliable support network like the "Panda Group."

We had originally rented a homestay near the provincial cancer hospital, planning to complete the tests and finalize the treatment plan step by step. But fate threw us another curveball—the contrast agent for the enhanced CT caused a severe allergic reaction in my father: dilated pupils, inability to speak, and complete inability to sit up. After half an hour of emergency resuscitation by the medical staff, he was stabilized.

After discharge, my father discussed going to Beijing for treatment. In his view, the provincial cancer hospital had become a "place of misfortune." Additionally, one night's hospital stay made me uneasy about the outdated facilities, so I agreed to transfer to Beijing.

「 Part III: Heading North to Finalize the Treatment Plan 」

Every cloud has a silver lining. This "unexpected hospitalization" at the provincial cancer hospital actually helped us smoothly obtain an outpatient special disease certificate, significantly reducing the financial burden of seeking treatment in Beijing.

Choosing a hospital and doctor became our next challenge. Considering my father's wheelchair dependence, we needed to "get it right in one step." Based on group recommendations and past lectures, Dr. W at Peking University Cancer Hospital became our top choice. His lecture, "Curing Rectal Cancer Without Surgery: Stratified Management Strategies for Neoadjuvant Therapy in Rectal Cancer," showed me that surgery-free cure was a possibility.

Following group members' advice, I successfully booked a consultation with Dr. W. However, the brief five-minute visit brought a double blow: first, due to my father's underlying cerebellar atrophy, the hospital could not admit him; second, his tumor stage might not be curable with neoadjuvant therapy alone, and the doctor recommended a permanent stoma directly. My father and I were lost again: I didn't know where to go next, and he was deeply worried about potentially losing his anus.

Fortunately, comrades from the "Panda Group" promptly reached out, recommending several experts at Peking University First Hospital, Peking Union Medical College Hospital, and Beijing Friendship Hospital.

Perhaps guided by fate, we first met Director W at Peking University First Hospital. He was willing to take on our "complex case" and suggested initiating an MDT (Multidisciplinary Team consultation) to formulate the best treatment plan.

Given the excellent consultation experience and positive feedback from group members who had undergone surgery with Director W, my father preferred not to travel further. We decided to settle at Peking University First Hospital for treatment.

After joint discussions by experts from various departments, the final treatment plan was proposed: According to the T3N+ staging, the standard protocol is neoadjuvant radiotherapy + chemotherapy. Considering the patient's mobility issues, direct surgery is also an option.

Before making a final decision, I carefully studied the standard treatment protocols in the CSCO Guidelines for Colorectal Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment and sought online consultations with Dr. Z at Zhejiang Cancer Hospital and Dr. L at Fudan University Shanghai Cancer Center. Dr. L's words left a deep impression on me: "Sometimes, treatment efficacy and safety need to be balanced, especially for patients with underlying conditions."

With the help of multiple experts and group members, after careful consideration, I reached an agreement with the attending Director C: adopt a treatment plan of "short-course radiotherapy (5 sessions) + oxaliplatin + capecitabine double-drug chemotherapy."

「 Part IV: The Journey Through Radiotherapy, Chemotherapy, and Surgery 」

On April 27, we officially began radiotherapy. Due to high patient volume, treatments were scheduled around 8 or 9 PM daily. I pushed my father's wheelchair from the hotel across the street to the radiotherapy department. Flowers were in full bloom along the way, and the weather was pleasant—as if foreshadowing life's imminent rebirth.

The side effects of radiotherapy were more intense than expected: rectal bleeding, tenesmus, and needing to defecate several times a night. My father became anxious, lost his appetite, and even resisted taking medication at one point.

Before chemotherapy, we had a port-a-cath implanted for my father. Without external tubing, daily care became much easier. Outpatient chemotherapy took only a morning, but for the following three to four days, he experienced drowsiness and poor appetite. Chemotherapy also caused bone marrow suppression, leading to low white blood cell counts, requiring regular injections of leukocyte-promoting drugs.

Encouragingly, these months were actually the best period for my father since his illness. With medication support, he felt energetic, had a great appetite, and his bowel movements improved significantly. I even secretly wondered: could the tumor completely disappear?

After three chemotherapy cycles, my father had an MRI follow-up. The results showed the tumor had significantly thinned but not completely vanished, and its lowest point remained the same distance from the anus. Seeing the results, I knew we couldn't avoid surgery after all.

After four chemotherapy cycles, at the Daxing Campus of Peking University First Hospital, we met Director WT—a straightforward doctor who prefers to lay out the worst-case scenarios upfront. He frankly advised against forcing anus preservation, noting that even if preserved, function might be poor, and irradiated intestines could leak during anastomosis...

Initially, I was somewhat intimidated by this "blunt" doctor. But a family member of a former patient told me: "Director WT's skills are top-notch, and his medical ethics are impeccable."

Before surgery, my father was so nervous his hands were ice-cold. After months of smooth chemoradiotherapy, he even felt "maybe skipping surgery is fine." I encouraged and gently "threatened" him: "Without surgery, drug resistance will quickly develop. If the tumor grows and blocks the intestine, it will be much worse."

After admission, Director WT arranged a series of preoperative tests. Due to my father's cerebellar atrophy, consultations with neurology and anesthesiology were specifically scheduled. The medical staff at Peking University First Hospital were patient and meticulous, and the ward was clean and tidy, putting us at ease. Ultimately, the anesthesia assessment passed smoothly, but the doctor informed us that postoperative ICU observation for one night might be necessary. The surgery was scheduled for September 2. During the preoperative discussion, my father's main concern was whether his anus could be preserved. Director WT explained the three possibilities: preservation, temporary stoma, and permanent stoma, asking us to mentally prepare for each outcome.

At 7:10 AM on September 2, I pushed my father into the operating room. Seven hours later, Dr. WT walked out in his surgical gown, confidently and proudly telling me: "The surgery was a success. I opted for a temporary stoma—it's the safest approach."

In that moment, I finally breathed a sigh of relief and truly felt Director WT's dedication and endearing commitment to medical excellence.

After 3 PM, the seven-hour surgery concluded successfully. My father was wheeled out of the OR, fully conscious after anesthesia. The first thing he asked upon waking was: "Was my anus saved?" I nodded vigorously, and he instantly smiled like a child who had just received a beloved toy. After a brief exchange with Director WT, my father was transferred to the observation room. Family members were not allowed to accompany him there, marking the first night in months that I had to myself.

Returning to our rented apartment, I took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and found a nearby old Beijing copper-pot hotpot restaurant. I ordered my only meal of the day, even getting a draft beer to celebrate. While eating, I shared the joy of the successful surgery with comrades in the low-position group. It was perhaps my most relaxed day of the year.

On September 3, Beijing's sky was awakened by the majestic music of a military parade. I returned to the ward early, the air filled with the grand melodies from the TV and heartfelt praises from fellow patients. Yet my heart was tightly bound to another "battle"—my father was gradually recovering from a critical life-saving procedure.

At exactly 10 AM, my father was successfully wheeled back to the ward. He was conscious, with a stoma bag, drainage tube, and urinary catheter attached—these were the medals of his heroic "fight." While roommates cheered for the grand parade, I was moved to tears by his first spontaneous bowel movement after leaving the ICU. His body was following the ancient rhythm of life, step by step, toward recovery.

Because cerebellar atrophy prevented my father from walking, a caring nurse added an anti-bedsore air mattress to his bed. On the second day post-op, he managed to sit up on his own, clutching his stomach. To prevent venous thrombosis, the doctor arranged daily leg massages. I often watched quietly as those legs, which once guided me through the world but now could no longer walk, seemed to regain vitality and hope with the help of professional equipment.

The next ten days were a slow ritual of "returning to normal." We started with clear nutritional fluids, like a newborn entering the world; then moved to warm rice broth and delicate steamed egg custard; finally, he could enjoy soft semi-liquid foods. Each dietary upgrade was a small, silent celebration between us.

Before discharge, the drainage tube was successfully removed, and the wound sutures were taken out. On September 12, we were officially discharged. The sunlight was perfect that day, warmly shining on his tired yet profoundly peaceful face.

[ May my father accompany me for another five, ten, fifteen, twenty years... ]

Postoperative pathology showed clean margins and no lymph node metastasis. Considering my father's underlying conditions, subsequent treatment was adjusted to single-agent chemotherapy. A few months later, we will undergo stoma reversal surgery to completely end this battle.

「 Part V: Acknowledgments 」

Today, my father's condition continues to improve. His weight is gradually returning, stoma care is becoming more proficient, and his appetite is even better than before his illness. I write this record not only to thank everyone who extended a helping hand but also to tell everyone walking in the dark:

"Even in a wheelchair, one can win a battle against cancer; even when fate is harsh, never give up hope—because life will always find a way to bloom again in the darkest places."

Looking back on this year, we have actually been quite fortunate. We met "Panda and Friends" right after diagnosis and joined the Panda group as soon as the test results came out. Although we took a few detours along the way, in the grand scheme, these minor setbacks are insignificant. At the right time, we chose the most suitable treatment plan and attending physician, ultimately achieving a satisfactory outcome. May my father accompany me for another five, ten, fifteen, twenty years...

Finally, I want to specially thank Dr. M at the county hospital's endoscopy center for helping us process the outpatient special disease certificate, and the young man in the pathology department for enthusiastically mailing the unstained sections; thank Director Z and Dr. L for their careful online treatment advice; thank Sister Tongxin, Brother Hao, and Director Hu from Digestive Group 7 for recommending Peking University First Hospital and excellent experts; thank volunteers from Low-Position Group 2 like A-Zhong, Sister vv, Da Congming, Sister Susu, and Sister Shengjiang for their selfless help; thank comrades Fei Ge, Tangtang, Miaomiao, Sister Zeng, and Sanshui from Low-Position Group 2 for their spiritual and material support; thank fellow group members in Beijing like Brother Kang, Brother Nian, Brother Gui, Sister Lin, Baobao, and Sister Xiangcai for their care; thank Zhizhi from the Panda group for helping me get Xeloda prescriptions multiple times; thank Professor W, Director C, Director WT and their team from the Gastrointestinal Surgery Department, Director J and Dr. Q from Medical Oncology, Nurse LD from the Stoma Clinic, and Nurse LN from the Gastrointestinal Tumor Ward at Peking University First Hospital for their superb skills and meticulous care—Peking University First Hospital is truly a warm hospital, with a clean environment, standardized treatment, excellent technology, and a heart that always cares for patients and families.

Last but not least, I want to specially thank Teacher Xiao Zhou from Low-Position Group 2. He is an indispensable soul figure in the group, participating in our family's entire treatment process, sometimes even taking risks to give clear advice, and patiently guiding us through every detail. Although he occasionally "scolds" me, I have truly learned a great deal about cancer knowledge and medical navigation from him. Thank you, Teacher Xiao Zhou.

Images containing patient portraits have been authorized by the patient. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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