A Cancer Journey Under the Shadow of Family History: An Eight-Month Life-and-Death Battle Between Mother and Daughter Against "Linitis Plastica" | Patient Story

Cancer can sometimes hide risks within a family's bloodline. Ningmeng’s mother’s journey began under the shadow of a gastrointestinal cancer history: her grandfather passed away from esophageal cancer, her grandmother from colon cancer, and her uncle from lung cancer shortly after diagnosis. The successive loss of three close relatives not only left the family in endless grief but also made the "pain of chemotherapy" and the "outcome of losing both loved ones and wealth" a lingering fear in her mother's heart, planting seeds of resistance for future treatment decisions.

What was even more distressing was that the family history brought not only high physiological risks but also a heavy psychological burden. When the doctor mentioned that "chemotherapy could only prolong survival," her mother immediately proposed giving up treatment. Her core concern was "not wanting to suffer and waste money"—the painful images of her father and uncle during chemotherapy were deeply etched in her memory, causing an instinctive resistance to treatment. This fear, rooted in family experiences, nearly pushed their cancer journey to a dead end at the very start.

But a family history is not an unbreakable destiny. Ningmeng knew that facing the risk was the only way to fight it. Through her persistence, the mother and daughter traveled from north to south to Shanghai for medical care, seized an opportunity in a clinical trial, adjusted the treatment plan under professional guidance, and ultimately controlled the disease, far exceeding the doctor's predicted survival time.

A family history of GI cancer is not a final verdict from fate, but a health warning that demands vigilance. It reminds us: For those with a family history of digestive tract cancers, regular screening should start earlier. If abnormal symptoms like weight loss or gastrointestinal discomfort appear, immediate investigation is necessary. Do not delay due to wishful thinking or emotional avoidance; at the same time, the psychological shadow brought by family history must also be addressed. Treatment decisions should be based on scientific judgment, not swayed by past painful experiences.

Ningmeng’s mother’s story tells us that even under the shadow of a family cancer history, as long as we stay vigilant, act decisively, and trust science, we can break the chains of fate. A family history is an unchosen past, but the courage and methods to fight it are always in our own hands.

Author | Zhong Lala
Editor | Xianning
Reviewer | Guangguang

「 I. The Hidden Illness Under the Family Shadow 」

Ningmeng’s mother’s family had long been笼罩 (shrouded) by the shadow of cancer: her 73-year-old grandfather passed away from esophageal cancer, her 81-year-old grandmother from colon cancer (diagnosed without general anesthesia), and in 2023, her uncle was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away just a year later.

The hidden impact of this family history quietly delayed the optimal time for early detection when her mother first showed symptoms. In early 2024, her mother began experiencing weight loss and stomach discomfort. However, the family dismissed it as a normal reaction to "low spirits" after the successive loss of close relatives. Given her mother's originally robust build (1.72 meters tall and 180 jin), the initial weight loss did not raise any alarms.

In August 2024, her mother underwent a gastroscopy at a traditional Chinese medicine hospital in Yantai, Shandong. Only a positive H. pylori test was found, with no other abnormalities. However, after eradication therapy, her discomfort persisted, yet no further in-depth examinations were pursued.

Looking back, this family history of GI cancer had already sounded an alarm. While esophageal and colon cancers differ pathologically from gastric cancer, they all belong to the digestive tract. The familial clustering should have made the family highly sensitive to related symptoms. Yet, the grief of losing loved ones led them to subconsciously avoid the word "cancer," attributing obvious physical abnormalities to emotional distress. This ultimately allowed the highly insidious "linitis plastica" to progress rapidly over half a year, evolving from a "normal gastroscopy" to late-stage metastasis.

From the New Year to May 2025, her mother's weight plummeted by over 30 jin. Only then did the family realize the severity. After repeated persuasion, she finally agreed to hospitalization. A small polyp was removed during a colonoscopy, and a faint ulcer in the gastroscopy report led the doctor to quietly warn the family: "I suspect it's not something good."

May 15, 2025, was a major watershed moment for Ningmeng. That day, she received the news of her mother's gastric cancer diagnosis—the pathology report revealed poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma with signet ring cells. In that moment, only one thought crossed her mind: immediate surgery.

At that time, everyone believed that gastric cancer could be cured simply by cutting it out. Holding the idea that "a total gastrectomy would solve everything," the local doctor recommended a full stomach removal. However, Ningmeng believed Shanghai offered superior medical resources, which might be her mother's only chance. She immediately decided to take her mother to Shanghai.

「 II. Journey to Shanghai: The Interweaving of Hope and Despair 」

After arriving in Shanghai, through a friend's recommendation, they found Dr. Zhao at Fudan University Shanghai Cancer Center and were successfully admitted. After admission on May 23, her mother underwent a contrast-enhanced CT scan, and surgery was initially scheduled for May 26.

During the pre-operative discussion, one sentence from the doctor left Ningmeng bewildered: "Your mother's condition is 'linitis plastica.'" Seeing Ningmeng's confused look, the doctor patiently explained: "Unlike typical gastric cancer that forms a mass on the stomach lining, linitis plastica involves cancer cells diffusely infiltrating the entire stomach wall. The whole stomach becomes thick, hard, and loses elasticity, just like leather." This simple analogy outlined the most dangerous scenario—it was not a localized lesion, but a "comprehensive erosion" of the stomach by cancer cells.

"If there's no metastasis, we remove the stomach; if there is, we just close it up. We can't cut it out," the doctor added. "Linitis plastica has a high probability of metastasis."

[Linitis plastica is a special type of advanced gastric cancer, medically corresponding to "diffuse infiltrating gastric cancer." Due to the diffuse infiltration of tumor cells throughout the entire stomach wall, the wall becomes rigid, loses elasticity, and the gastric cavity shrinks, resembling leather. Its core pathological features are clear: 1. Cancer cells are mostly poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma or signet ring cell carcinoma (Ningmeng's mother's pathology aligns perfectly with this); 2. The infiltration range is wide, often involving the full thickness of the stomach wall and surrounding tissues, with early metastasis being common (her mother already had peritoneal and pelvic metastasis at diagnosis); 3. Clinical symptoms are insidious, making early diagnosis difficult, and most patients are diagnosed at mid-to-late stages.]

The doctor's words made Ningmeng's heart sink. What worried her even more was the doctor's mention that her mother's gastroscopy from August last year was "completely normal." In just over half a year, the disease had progressed to this extent. "It grew too fast."

That night, Ningmeng couldn't sleep. She frantically searched for all information on linitis plastica, and the more she read, the heavier her heart sank—it is a highly insidious, aggressive gastric cancer type with a poor prognosis. It is often missed due to unclear early symptoms, and when discovered, it is usually late-stage and frequently accompanied by abdominal metastasis.

She recalled her mother's weight loss starting in late 2024, the persistent stomach discomfort after H. pylori treatment, and the shocking 30-jin weight drop. These were all warning signs of "linitis plastica," masked by the grief of losing relatives, initially mild symptoms, and the illusion of a "robust build."

On May 26, surgery day. Her mother was wheeled into the operating room in the afternoon. Based on the experience of other gastric surgery patients in the ward, such procedures usually take six to seven hours. Ningmeng went home to shower and change, leaving her husband at the hospital. But just two hours later, her husband called: "The surgery is over." Checking the time, Ningmeng instantly understood: "Only two hours from being wheeled in to being wheeled out? There's no way they had time to remove the stomach. It definitely wasn't cut."

As expected, the lead surgeon Dr. Zhao was straightforward: the cancer had metastasized to the peritoneum and pelvis, with a PCI score of 10-15, making it unresectable. Only an exploratory procedure was performed before closing. "There is basically no surgical opportunity. Chemotherapy can only prolong survival. Without it, survival may be only six months to a year."

This result made the mother, already resistant to chemo due to relatives' experiences, immediately propose giving up: "I don't want to suffer and waste money, only to end up with nothing."

Ningmeng understood her mother's concerns too well—three close relatives had died from cancer, and the agony of chemotherapy was deeply etched in her memory. Yet, she could not accept the word "give up." From the day of diagnosis, she had been driven by the thought of "I must save my mom." She traveled across the country to Shanghai to find a chance for survival. How could she stop at this final hurdle?

Ningmeng knelt by the bedside, tightly holding her mother's hand, and tearfully pleaded with her to continue treatment: "I know chemotherapy might be painful and hard to endure, but the doctor said there's a small percentage chance of a miracle. How will we know if we don't try? What if we are that lucky one? Our family's finances can handle it now, so don't worry about money. I just want you to hold on a little longer. If we don't try now, and I look back on today, remembering a chance to save you that I didn't seize, I will live with regret for the rest of my life. Please give me one more chance, and give yourself one more chance, okay?"

Her mother's eyelashes trembled, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She wasn't unfeeling toward her daughter's efforts. From Ningmeng's frantic research and cross-country journey to her days and nights by the bedside, her mother saw and remembered every hardship. Ningmeng's words, "so I won't regret it later," pierced the softest part of her heart.

After a long silence, her mother slowly opened her eyes, looked at her tearful daughter, and nodded: "Alright, Mom will listen to you."

This "yes" was not a simple agreement, but a promise of mutual support in desperation. It was this obsession with "giving each other a chance" that kept them from retreating, even when facing severe side effects and countless hardships on the chemotherapy journey.

On the cancer journey, the most moving part is never earth-shattering feats, but this two-way devotion of "I don't want you to leave, and you can't bear to see me suffer." Ningmeng's plea held a daughter's deepest attachment; her mother's compromise carried a mother's profound love. This family bond became the strongest armor against the disease, carving a path to survival out of despair.

「 III. Turning Point in Despair: Joining the CLDN18.2 Clinical Trial 」

This failed surgery became a turning point of fate. It stripped Ningmeng of any illusions and strengthened her resolve to seek other treatments. Just then, she met the first benefactor of this journey—Dr. Gao.

"He didn't act cold like some older doctors, but patiently talked with me for nearly an hour." Dr. Gao gave Ningmeng a glimmer of hope: "Everyone's sensitivity to chemotherapy is different. Although the probability is small, what if you are that few percent miracle?"

What moved Ningmeng even more was that this doctor, whom she had just met, proactively offered to help. Upon discharge, Dr. Gao wrote a handwritten referral letter, detailing her mother's condition and formally recommending her to Dr. Shi at Ruijin Hospital. "In this day and age, to still write a handwritten referral letter, I am so grateful to him," Ningmeng said with heartfelt thanks.

On June 2, Ningmeng took this letter to Dr. Shi at Ruijin Hospital. Despite his heavy outpatient schedule, upon seeing the referral, he immediately added her to his list. "Dr. Shi reviewed the materials and said, 'Listen to my arrangements, don't worry.' He then directly added me on WeChat, saying he would contact me when the results were out."

What surprised Ningmeng even more was that the expedited immunohistochemistry results came out the next day—her mother's IHC showed a CLDN18.2 expression of 80%, perfectly meeting the criteria for the IBI343 new drug clinical trial targeting this marker. This sudden opportunity presented Ningmeng with the most critical and difficult decision of her journey.

Ningmeng began to weigh the pros and cons: her mother's "linitis plastica" was highly aggressive, and conventional chemotherapy had limited effects. The doctor had clearly stated it "could only prolong survival." The clinical trial before her was a targeted therapy matching her mother's specific marker. In a situation with no other options, this was undoubtedly the choice closest to hope.

She researched the CLDN18.2 target overnight, learning it was a current hotspot in gastric cancer treatment. Her mother's 80% high expression meant she might be more sensitive to the new drug, potentially yielding a better response.

What further strengthened her resolve was the professionalism and honesty of Dr. Shi's team. Dr. Shi thoroughly explained the trial process, potential efficacy, and risks, neither exaggerating hope nor hiding dangers. This rigor made Ningmeng feel respected and valued. She remembered Dr. Gao's words, "What if you are that few percent miracle?" and her own plea to her mother for "a chance to avoid regret."

"Since there are no other markers on the IHC, and now we have 18.2, getting into the trial group is a great honor." Ningmeng convinced herself and patiently persuaded her mother. She honestly shared the uncertainties and possibilities of the trial. Seeing the hope in her daughter's eyes, her mother nodded: "Mom will listen to you. Let's take a gamble."

However, not everyone can have such courage. Ningmeng later met another patient's family member in a similar situation on Xiaohongshu. When she warmly recommended they go to Ruijin Hospital to join Dr. Shi's trial, she received a firm refusal: "I won't use my mother's life as an experiment." This reply stunned Ningmeng and made her deeply realize the differences in human choices.

For many, the four words "clinical trial" mean uncertainty and risk. They may have seen too many treatment failures, harbor doubts about new drug safety, or fear the worst possible outcome of an "experiment." In their view, rather than letting a loved one become a "test subject," it's better to choose known treatments, even if hope is slim, rather than gamble on an uncertain future. This attitude stems from cherishing and protecting loved ones, and an instinctive retreat from unknown risks.

Looking back at that crucial moment, Ningmeng said, "The opportunity to join the trial is fleeting. If you miss the chance to treat, it's gone." Clinical trials are never "experimenting with lives," but a new track opened for patients in desperate situations. In the fog of cancer treatment, sometimes the hardest choices illuminate the farthest paths. Ningmeng used her courage to pry open a door of hope for her mother.

「 IV. On the Chemotherapy Journey: Challenges and Adjustments Go Hand in Hand 」

On June 9, Ningmeng's mother was admitted to Ruijin Hospital, and the first chemotherapy began on June 10. After joining the trial, her mother adopted the IBI343 + sintilimab + SOX regimen.

The first two chemotherapy sessions became the most agonizing time for the mother and daughter. They embarked on this journey holding onto the belief of "seizing the last hope," but unexpectedly, the fierce onset of side effects instantly plunged them into physical and mental exhaustion. Every minute and second was filled with struggle and pain.

The oxaliplatin in the regimen brought unbearable neurotoxicity. Her mother's legs felt like lead, numb and weak, completely unresponsive. She wobbled when standing and would fall if she wasn't careful. At first, she could barely shuffle while holding the wall, but after two sessions, she was completely bedridden, needing Ningmeng's strenuous help just to turn over.

"At that time, I even wanted to jump off a building. My legs didn't work, and my feet pointed upward when I walked. What kind of feeling is that?" Her mother later recalled the pain, her voice still carrying a trace of lingering fear. Beyond the physical agony, the psychological breakdown was even more torturous—once a robust, 1.72-meter, 180-jin woman who walked briskly, she was now confined to bed. This drastic contrast plunged her into deep despair.

To make matters worse, to nourish her mother, Ningmeng carefully selected nutritional drinks like Ensure and Nutren, but unexpectedly triggered severe diarrhea. Nausea, vomiting, extreme weakness, and constant diarrhea compounded her mother's suffering. She rapidly lost weight, her face turned pale as paper, and she barely had the strength to speak.

Life at home grew dark. Her mother often kept her eyes closed, unwilling to speak, her gaze filled with exhaustion and resistance. She repeatedly told Ningmeng: "Stop the treatment. I really can't endure it anymore."

Ningmeng's suffering was no less than her mother's. Watching her mother tormented by illness and hearing her desperate murmurs, she fell into deep self-doubt, questioning her own decision: "If we didn't do chemo, Mom could still eat and drink. Even if she only had six months left, at least she could comfortably fulfill her wishes. Now, with chemo, she's bedridden. Even if she lives ten years, what's the point of suffering like this?"

During the third follow-up, the CT scan showed the cancer cells in the stomach wall had thinned out, indicating the treatment was effective. But Ningmeng still insisted on discussing her mother's quality of life with the doctor. After comprehensive consideration, Dr. Shi decided to stop oxaliplatin: "You are already experiencing grade 3 suppression. There's no need to be completely bedridden."

In subsequent treatments, Dr. Shi had a heavy patient load, so Dr. Yuan, the attending physician, carefully inquired about the 3-week status before each chemo. This allowed precise tracking of her mother's physical tolerance (like weight changes and side effect relief) and timely regimen adjustments, avoiding medication risks from incomplete information.

She became the "first responder" for Ningmeng and her mother's daily questions. From dietary adjustments (like switching nutritional drinks) to managing side effects, Dr. Yuan provided concrete, actionable advice, solving practical daily care challenges. This spared the mother and daughter from奔波 (rushing around) for minor issues, making the medical experience much smoother.

After adjusting the regimen, her mother's condition gradually improved. She progressed from shuffling while holding the wall to independent self-care, and the wheelchair was never needed again.

As her mother's physical condition improved, a new issue arose: the difficulty of adapting to long-term life in Shanghai.

Ningmeng and her mother hadn't lived together for over twenty years. Their dietary habits differed, and combined with her mother's poor appetite post-chemo, both felt significant pressure. "She feels like she's in prison here, and I'm anxious about her eating," Ningmeng admitted.

To balance treatment and rest, Ningmeng designed a specific rhythm: her mother flew from Shandong to Shanghai every Sunday, had chemo on Monday or Tuesday, observed on Wednesday, and returned on Thursday. This 21-day round trip allowed her mother to recuperate in a familiar environment. This arrangement brought comfort to both—her mother rested in a familiar setting, and Ningmeng could temporarily step back from the pressure of constant caregiving.

True treatment wisdom lies in knowing how to adjust direction based on the patient's feelings. Ningmeng did not blindly insist on "if it works, don't stop," but actively communicated with Dr. Shi, emphasizing her mother's quality of life needs. After comprehensive evaluation, the doctor decisively stopped the highly toxic oxaliplatin. The adjusted regimen preserved therapeutic effects while drastically reducing suffering.

At the same time, the mother and daughter optimized their treatment rhythm: a 21-day cycle, flying to Shanghai for chemo on Sunday, observing on Wednesday, and returning home. The familiar environment, companionship of relatives, and familiar diet allowed her mother to fully relax between chemo sessions. She transitioned from an anxious "prison-like" state to being able to move independently, eat normally, and even enjoy the comfort of a bath.

This balance brought the best results: her mother not only completed 12 chemotherapy cycles, far exceeding the doctor's predicted survival time, but also regained a quality life—from feeling full after two bites to comfortably eating a Big Mac, from being bedridden to independent self-care. Chemotherapy was no longer a torment, but a means to safeguard "living well."

「 V. Deep Medical Bonds: A Two-Way Journey of Trust and Kindness 」

In the eight months of her mother's battle with "linitis plastica," besides their united perseverance, the most moving part was the two-way medical bonds.

"I feel like I've been pushed forward by benefactors along the way, moving forward懵懂ly without having to make decisions myself," Ningmeng reflected. "From Dr. Gao at Fudan Cancer Center, to Dr. Shi and Dr. Yuan at Ruijin, they are all great benefactors we've met."

This cross-country cancer journey made Ningmeng deeply realize: the appearance of benefactors in life is never accidental, but a precious bond woven by kindness and trust. "Medical destiny" is not a one-sided rescue, but a tight bond formed by the doctor's kindness, professional competence, and the patient's trust and active cooperation.

Dr. Gao's handwritten referral letter stemmed from deep empathy and a strong sense of responsibility; Dr. Shi's precise treatment plan stemmed from reverence for medicine and a pursuit of continuous improvement; Dr. Yuan's daily attentive care stemmed from humanistic concern beyond routine diagnosis. The complete trust and active cooperation from Ningmeng and her mother provided the ideal response to the doctors' dedication.

Facing the doctors' advice, they chose full cooperation, without doubt or internal friction. Facing fellow patients' sharing, they opened their hearts, nourishing each other. Facing unexpected turning points, they seized them decisively, without hesitation or retreat. As Ningmeng said: "Why has everything gone so smoothly for us? Because we listen, and doctors also appreciate patients like us."

On the cancer journey, the disease is cruel, but the warmth and strength brought by medical bonds can withstand storms. Those helping hands at critical moments, those precise and professional decisions, those sincere guardianships across distances, made the arduous medical journey no longer lonely. This precious medical bond is not only a salvation of life, but also shows us: in the realm of medicine, technology is the foundation, while kindness and trust are the indispensable bridges between doctors and patients.

Today, Ningmeng's mother has completed 12 chemotherapy cycles. In the difficult days of battling "linitis plastica," fate not only tested their courage but also quietly wrote a warm chapter of "good deeds bring good returns." This kindness not only illuminated their own cancer journey but also unexpectedly warmed another's life, adding a healing power to this painful struggle.

When Ningmeng shared her mother's symptoms at the office—long-term weight loss, stomach discomfort, and a past positive H. pylori test—a colleague connected it to her own recent similar gastrointestinal discomfort. At Ningmeng's strong urging, she decisively went to the hospital for a gastroscopy. The result was both alarming and fortunate: the colleague was diagnosed with early-stage poorly differentiated adenocarcinoma with signet ring cells, the exact same type as Ningmeng's mother. But due to early detection, she only needed a partial gastrectomy and four cycles of oral S-1 post-surgery, successfully avoiding disease progression.

The colleague was deeply grateful, but Ningmeng felt it was the blessing of her mother's kindness. In the face of disease and pain, kindness may not directly heal physical wounds, but it can heal the barrenness of the heart. Blessings may not instantly reverse illness, but they can bring unexpected turning points to life.

「 VI. Living Toward the Sun, Leaving No Regrets 」

Having experienced the blow of a failed surgery and the agony of the first two chemo sessions, Ningmeng and her mother had long moved past the "cure-at-all-costs" mindset, forming a clear and firm treatment attitude: treatment is for living better, not for letting life yield to treatment.

"Even if there are no cancer cells left in her stomach, but she suffers terribly, I don't want that for her." This statement by Ningmeng clarified their core bottom line—quality of life always takes priority over survival duration. The mother and daughter also agreed in advance: "If the disease progresses, we will not undergo excessive rescue measures."

The stomach that once felt full after two bites can now comfortably handle a Big Mac; the body that was once bedridden and unable to turn over can now manage independently, going to the bathhouse every morning to relax; the mind once shrouded in despair can now face life and death calmly. In Ningmeng's view, this is the true manifestation of "effective treatment."

Unlike many families who avoid the topic of death, Ningmeng and her mother chose to face this ultimate proposition honestly, using advance planning and a calm mindset to pave a dignified and peaceful path to life's end. They did not cling to the obsession of "must live a few more years," but focused on "making every day lived meaningful."

Ningmeng said: "For the rest, we just need to live each day to the fullest, leaving no regrets."

Her mother also calmly stated: "I have no regrets now. I've seen everyone I needed to see, and arranged everything that needed arranging."

In Ningmeng's view, true wealth is "simple in material, high in cognition, and top-tier in mindset." She encouraged her mother with the optimism that "each chemo cycle is like gaining another year of countdown," while her mother faced treatment with the clarity that "every extra day is a bonus." They enjoyed life between chemo sessions, found warmth in patient support groups, and used their experience to remind others to value their health.

They did not pursue a "must be cured" perfect ending, but gained something more precious—the courage to face life and death calmly, the family bond that supports each other, and time lived with quality and dignity.

The plane took off again, carrying her mother back to Shandong. Ningmeng knew that in 21 days, her mother would return to Shanghai for her 13th chemotherapy session. The road will continue, but the mother and daughter have found a way to coexist peacefully with the disease, moving firmly forward toward the sun, leaving no regrets.

To protect patient privacy, names in the article are pseudonyms.
Images containing patient portraits have been authorized by the patients. Unauthorized use is prohibited.