July 2019 Update

I suppose it is time, perhaps past time for an update.  There are times when I tend to even bore myself with some of these, I can only imagine how you must feel upon reading them.  But this journal must persevere if it is to ever be of some sort of usefulness to another.

As you already know, I have pledged to tell it like it is and the truth is this:  Over the past several months since the last radiation treatment… I have suffered.  Now… I know that every individual in the world probably has their very own definition of suffering and no… I’m not being persecuted, starving… or living in a war zone, so yes… I completely understand that there are those who have suffered far greater and in many more ways than I could even imagine.  But… health wise… I have indeed suffered.

Serious illness seems to never have any positive value whatsoever.  Now, it is true that you may meet some kind and gentle people along the journey, those who are wandering their own yet similar pathways… and those who offer their caring hands and knowledge in their attempt to make your journey just a bit more tolerable.  Beyond that… serious illness just plain sucks.

On Tuesday of last week, I journeyed across the still swollen river to receive a Cat Scan of the chest area… (in place of a PET Scan because Medicare wouldn’t cover another PET Scan this soon after the last one).  It all went well except for having to hold my arms over my head for an extended period of time.  I’m not very good at that anymore… my arms go numb and it causes my heart to have more skipped beats and arrhythmias than its usual 10 or so per minute, which in turn causes a serious shortness of breath.  Otherwise… it was okay.

The very next day I received a letter in the mail from my radiation oncologist that I have respected and trusted with my life for the past six years with metastatic cancer in six different locations of my body… all of them serious with horrible expectations from the medical professionals and cancer organizations.  I have respected and trusted her because after six years… I am still in this world when the first tumor I encountered (lymph of the neck and tongue with an unknown primary) had a prognosis of 12 months.  The remaining metastatic tumors have been even more serious with survival percentages ranging from 5 to 15 percent.  Having a heart and immune system too weak to endure chemotherapy or surgery, it only served to decrease those percentages.  So… you can understand my trust in her.  However…………. the letter I received did tilt the pedestal that I had her on for a very long time.  In brief… this is what it said:

“I am writing to bring you up to date on the current and ongoing plan for my medical practice…..

As of July1, 2019 the Radiation Oncology part of my practice will be closing.  I have elected to take a position which will allow me more time off.  The last 30 years have been rewarding but challenging.
…for your medical care please follow up,, as usual, with your primary care physician, retaining medical and surgical oncologists if problems should arise…”

Wait………………….. What?……………………

Receiving this letter on June 26th was quite disturbing… this was on a Wednesday… That gave me just Thursday and Friday to find out how to get records… what other oncologists would she recommend… what do I do now?  The day before this letter I had a CT scan that was scheduled “by her”.  I had an appointment with her the next day to discuss the results of the scan and what I thought would be a discussion of “how to proceed from this point as far as treatment”… radiation… if necessary.  Let’s say… my attitude about that visit was quite negative at that moment.  I wanted to wait in the treatment room until she came in and then say… Really?………… Two days notice?…………… Is that really fair to your patients… especially those who are currently in need of treatment with tests already in process?  Really?……………..  Then I thought I would spring from my chair and choke her.  (just kidding….. sort of)… I did behave myself, although… I was quite disturbed.  She came in the room and asked how I was….. After a few very uneasy seconds of silence… I responded by saying… “Lost!..  I feel lost.”  Then she had the audacity to ask me “Why?”  I said… “There’s a rumor that I’m losing my doctor.?  She said… “Oh”.  She then awkwardly sat down on the roll around stool and opened my file to discuss the CT scan results.

Here they are in all their blooming colors with hues of crap…

First… the good news…………………….. Oh… wait… there was no actual good news this time.  The good news column of the report seems to be rather… well… empty.

So… the rest of the report…

Mediastinal adenopathy… Oh… sure… they had to start the report off with something I had to look up.  Mediastinal is the part of the chest that lies between the sternum and the spinal column, and between the lungs.  This area contains the heart, large blood vessels, windpipe (trachea), thymus gland, esophagus and connective tissue.  Adenopathy (lymphadenopathy) is disease of the lymph nodes in which they are abnormal in size.  Whew… too much knowledge for an old man.

Now… to continue… The right hilar mass and post-obstructive changes are similar to the previous PET scan.  There is right pleural effusion with strandy densities in the posterior right lower lung with air bronchograms.
Bronchograms… refers to the phenomenon of air-filled bronchi being made visible by the opacification of surrounding alveoli.  It is almost always caused by a pathologic airspace/alveolar process in which something other than air fills the alveoli… usually blood or fluids from infection.
Pleural effusion… the build-up of excess fluid between the layers of the pleura outside the lungs.
I’ve had a bit of difficulty in defining strand densities… however… it appears to be associated with collapse or consolidation of an area of the lung.

Now… to continue… The actual mass is somewhat difficult to delineate, although I suspect it measures at least 4.5 cm medial to lateral.  It does abut the right side of the left atrium. ((this particular finding is new and certainly concerns me greatly… considering the current condition of my heart.))  Progressive, irregular nodules in the medial right lower lung are seen measuring 1.4cm, another 1.5cm long axis… and another about 7mm.
Calcified granuloma in the posteromedial left lower lung.  Calcified granuloma in the spleen.

Now… you must be in complete understanding of this entire report… just as I am…… NOT!

In summary:

Right hilar mass… ill defined with post-obstructive changes extending posteriorly and laterally from the mass and the right hilum.
Right pleural effusion.
Medial right lung base nodules somewhat progressed from the previous exam.
Evidence of granulomatous disease.  ((just for the record and a better understanding of this journal in general… Granulomatous disease is an inherited (genetic) immune system disorder that occurs when a type of white blood cell (phagocyte) that usually helps your body fight infections doesn’t work properly.  As a result, the phagocytes can’t protect your body from bacterial and fungal infections.  People with chronic granulomatous disease often may develop pneumonia, lung infections, skin infections, lymph node infections, liver infections, gastrointestinal inflammation or other infections.  They may develop clusters of white blood cells (masses) in infected areas… granulomas.

I found that to be most interesting considering my age and the fact that not one single doctor I have seen throughout my lifetime has ever even mentioned this… although my white blood cell counts are often… well… weird.  Hmmm….

So… here’s my interpretation of the whole damned thing…

The tumors are still there in the hilum and subcarina… now pushing against the left atrium… fluid surrounding the right lung… tumors in the lower lining have increased in size just a bit.  Fluid in the partially collapsed lower lobe that can’t escape… collapsed middle lobe partially surrounding the hilar tumor making the determination of an accurate size rather difficult.

Currently… and apart from all other symptoms past and present… I am experiencing severe bouts of lightheadedness, dizziness and extreme weakness particularly in the legs.  When these bouts hit, I often experience my vision closing in from the peripheral to sometimes… nearly complete loss of vision.  During these occurrences… the closing in is accompanied by various colors with the predominant color being a pale green but may contain a number of different colors.  I know that sounds weird and I’m not at all sure that this description really tells it accurately, but you get the idea.  It happens when I cough real hard, which is often these days.  It happens when I lean over or when I rise from squatting down to pick something up or to do my daily kitty chores.  It’s not pleasant and it does concern me a bit.  This has been occurring far too frequently over the past three days particularly in the morning hours.  I have no idea what the actual cause may be because there are too many possibilities.  Perhaps it is low blood pressure, but that would be really weird considering my BP history.

Here’s the thing…
It appears that I am a bit ill… but determined and filled with hope.  I haven’t survived this long by giving up… and with your support… caring… well wishes… and hugs… my vision of hope will carry me and those who care about me… through to better days.

Most of you know someone having to deal with cancer… maybe a friend, just an acquaintance or someone very close to you… please… give them a hug and let them know that you care and that you are there for them.  Call them and ask how they are doing… even if they are like me and don’t want to really talk about it… it will still mean something special to them that you care enough to ask and have the courage to do so.  That is some of the very best medicine you can give to them… and always remember… laughter is so very healing… no matter the circumstances.

Hug Someone

Wishing you all wellness, happiness… and a vision of hope.



Follow up with Doc – April 2019


Well… the appointment with the doc went nothing like I expected.  I guess I’m a bit stunned… or disillusioned… disgusted… frustrated… perhaps “discouraged” – would best describe how I really feel.

Although… after receiving radiation treatments… both tumors from December are still present in approximately the same size they were then… with hypermetabolic activity (although the SUV has decreased)… there are three “new” hypermetabolic active nodules in the lower lining of the lung that have developed recently… one of the larger remaining tumors (the hilum area) still blocking airflow to the middle lobe, which is still collapsed, most likely in its entirety… still blocking off the lower lobe making it impossible for the fluid captured there to escape… and according to the doc… it seems there is “nothing that can be done at this time.”

Wait……………… What?……………..

Doc’s explanation was that I’ve received too much radiation in that same area and further radiation without more healing time could cause too much damage to the good parts… I suppose she is most concerned about the heart… or causing further collapse of the lung… or…


Maybe I’m looking at this with a slanted point of view, but how does one determine if possible damage from more radiation would be worse than what the tumors are going to do… like grow and metastasize to other areas… block off air flow completely to the entire lung… cause the lung to completely fill with fluid?  I can think of a thousand more things that could happen if “nothing that can be done at this time” is the final answer.

The doc said to call her if my symptoms worsened.  I told her I was coughing till I gag (sorry about that description)… coughed so hard at times I couldn’t stand… coughed myself into compete fatigue of the entire body… extreme lightheadedness… dizzy… sometimes nearly passing out… and yet… “call me if the symptoms worsen.”

I know that there will be those who advise me to seek a second opinion and that is something that I would like to consider and probably should do… but… those who suggest that, haven’t seen my current stack of medical bills.  I’ve been wrestling cancer since the summer of 2013 when I was given a twenty percent chance of survival.  The next session with metastatic cancer into the lung was a five percent chance and this last round the percentage of survival virtually disappeared altogether… and yet… here I am… beating the odds but not surviving the financial burdens of all the appointments, tests and treatments. 

I suppose this isn’t the best time for me to go into a rant about the cost of health care in the United States, but I will say that it is utterly ridiculous.  Now… they are proposing Medicare for all which may be a good thing for those who are relatively healthy… but for those of us who suffer from debilitating diseases… that remaining 20% of the cost is deadly.  Some tests I must have are almost $7000… 20% of that takes a very big bite out of one’s social security check.  When each treatment that you must have done to even hope for survival costs more than $1595 a day for several weeks… well… it doesn’t take a CPA to tell you that all you had saved is gone and your social security isn’t going to pay the bills.  When you consider the fact that I’ve received more than 100 of those treatments… it’s fairly easy to figure that out. 

One more thing that must be said here… every time I have turned to a nonprofit in search of some assistance… any kind of assistance… all I ever get back in return are emails asking me for donations…….  Really?  And I’ve already talked about how much assistance the wonderful Veteran’s Administration has to offer.

So… where does one draw the line… choosing whether or not to continue going deeper and deeper in debt in a continuous battle with metastatic cancer?  Like the doc stated some time ago… “this is just the way it’s going to be.” 

Sad cat 3

I know… this is a bit of a downer post for a site with the word “Hope” in the title… but this is ‘my’ journal about the trials and tribulations of an attempt to survive metastatic cancer.  There is no loss of “Hope”.  I’m just as hopeful as I’ve always been from the beginning of this journey… I’m just extremely discouraged in this moment.  I’m still going to rise at 5a.m. to feed the kitties and to enjoy my morning coffee.  I’m still going to share a smile with those whom I may encounter throughout the day… I’m still going to enjoy a gentle morning rain… the hues of dawn… the setting sun… and every bud that blooms within my view.  I’m still going to enjoy writing poetry… writing in this journal… and reading every comment that others have to offer.

I’m ‘hope’-full that I discover a better frame of mind soon and do some additional writing in this journal that doesn’t cast such a dim light… Until then… may your days be most beautiful, healthy and happy.


The Report, April 2019


So here’s what I have concluded from studying the report, reviewing the CD of the PET scan and numerous Google explorations in search of reasonable explanations of what I did not understand in the report.  My conclusion is:  I still don’t understand.

Here’s what I do know:

The tumors that were discovered in December of 2018, for which I received twenty something radiation treatments… are still there in approximately the same sizes that they were then.  Not a good thing.  One bit of information that is good however, is that the SUV has decreased somewhat to 5.8 (compared to SUV of 17 previously).

If I compare the picture from today with the one posted in “The Report” of December 15, 2018, I don’t see much difference… sadly.

There is still pleural effusion.  (That is fluid that has accumulated between the layers of tissue that line the lungs and the chest wall… I’m beginning to think that it is permanent)

There are new nodular areas with hypermetabolic activity in the right posterior gutter.  (I didn’t realize that I had gutters inside my body.  Perhaps if I’d known… I would have done some gutter  cleaning before they got plugged up with bird nests… or whatever).

I am assuming, which often gets me into trouble, that this means the pleura lining at the bottom of the lung.  Still not sure.

The report then states:  “These may represent distal pulmonary nodules or pleural-based nodules.  These measure about a centimeter in size.  Three discrete areas noted.  Each of these have an SUV of between 3 and 4.

The next part I also did not understand.  It states: “Physiologic activity within the genitourinary and gastrointestinal tracts.”  (Huh?)  I can’t seem to nail down a good explanation for this either and don’t know if that is good or bad.

Diverticulosis with some pelvic fluid.  I understand diverticulosis but don’t know about pelvic fluid.

So… there it is in black and white with a considerable amount of hues of $#!+ mixed in.

The doc appointment is later this week.  Wish me luck in getting a good explanation of it all.

Till then… I’ll be wishing all of you a most beautiful day.


A brief update

Good Morning…

Here’s a brief update with more to follow…

The PET scan was done on Thursday, April 18, 2019 and I picked up the disc and report on Friday.  I have reviewed the report but have not viewed the disc as yet, mainly because I’ve been too tired to deal with it and a couple of factors that an old man shouldn’t have to deal with on his own… but often… reality hits you between the eyes.  The report is very confusing.  I’ve learned a lot about reading these reports over the years and yet… this one has me just sitting here and wondering.  I will need to do a little research and then view the disc before I can fill you in on what I can figure out from amongst the confusion.  It almost seems as if the doc that read the scan just wrote the report as if only other docs will read it… okay… I know… that wasn’t funny.  I know that a doc orders the test and the doc that reads the scan prepares the report for the doc that orders it.  BUT PATIENTS SHOULD BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND AT LEAST MOST OF IT THEMSELVES. 

So… here’s the deal… I’ll be doing many Google searches in an attempt to understand the report… review the disc… and fill you in on what I can determine to be fact… or maybe just confuse my readers along with myself.  Whatever the results… I will post something soon.

My appointment with the radiation oncologist is next week and hopefully… she will be able to un-confuse me.  Perhaps she might even tell me that my own analysis is full of shit.  After all… she already referred to me as a “bulldog” when it comes to finding out information.  I kind of think I fit the “bloodhound” type a little better.  I love their long sad faces and besides… their ears are more like mine.

bloodhound 1

photo credit: Michael J. Belgie Sr. IMG_0187spbh#5 via photopin (license)

In the meantime… have a most beautiful day.


April 2019 update pre-scan

So here we go again.  This is the week of the PET scan.  What will be determined?  Do we start the process all over again?  Has it raised its ugly head for the fifth time?  Am I cured of cancer?  Has my lung regenerated itself?  Is the lower lobe still blocked off by the hilar tumor, keeping the fluid locked inside it?  Is the middle lobe still collapsed?  Do I still have pneumonia?  Is pleural effusion still running rampant between the linings of the lungs and the chest cavity?  Do I ask too many questions? 

Ummm….. NO!

I don’t believe a patient of any serious illness/disease can ask too many questions and if you have a doctor that doesn’t want to answer your questions… all of them… then find a new one.  My oncologist answers “all” my questions… even when she would rather not.  My VA doc tries his best to avoid my questions and attempts to change the subject by telling me I need to take the flu shot or to have a colonoscopy.  Hell will freeze over before I have one of those.  When he tells me that crap… I just say… Doc… I’ve had life threatening cancer in five different parts of my body… do you really think I’m going to voluntarily have a camera shoved up my @$$ just to see if something might be out of sorts up there?  That’s when he hides his eyes in the computer screen and starts asking me why I’m not refilling all my medications.  Then I have to inform him that I haven’t the means to pay the ridiculous amounts that the VA is charging me for them while hearing on the TV… how well the government takes care of its precious veterans.  He then realized… once again… that I can actually see through the bullshit of the Veterans Administration and governmental red tape.  He had the nerve to tell me on my last visit that I needed an MRI done on my spine.  I asked him if I had to travel to get that done and he said “yes”.  I told him I couldn’t travel, I was too ill to travel, and he dropped the subject.  What happened to the VA telling everyone in the world that our wonderful veterans could now “choose” to have treatment locally if they lived more than 40 miles from a treatment center?  What happened?  More lies and misconceptions from our dear and precious government of the United States of America.  Welcome to America.  We care about our veterans…..?

My cardiologist… (not VA associated) doesn’t want any conversation at all.  Doesn’t want to go into any detail of tests he runs that cost you a fortune… and certainly doesn’t want any questions beyond what he has to tell you on his own… which is very uninformative.  It’s like squeezing blood out of a turnip. 

Wow!  That was a real rant, wasn’t it?

Okay… I’m done.  PET scan this week.  Results from the doc next week, but we all know that I will find a way to retrieve the results before that appointment.  My laptop loves reviewing PET scan CD’s and on the last scan, the radiologist that read the scan actually gave me a copy of his analysis.  I think the same person is doing this scan so… I’m expecting to get the report before the doc does.  If he does… I hope to share it with you before I talk with the doc.  Could be very entertaining… hopefully on the positive side of things. 

Summary:  Still coughing myself to death.  Chest, side and back all hurt from either internal trouble or soreness from coughing so damned much.  Periods of weakness… fatigue… shortness of breath… fever now and then… some loss of appetite… otherwise… things are wonderful.

See you on the other side of the PET scan.

Miracle paint

Have a most beautiful spring day


Little Things in Life

As I sit here enjoying my second cup of coffee this morning, observing the beautiful soft hues that dawn is providing on this most beautiful day… the skyline ever changing… reflections on the houses… on the window panes along the still quiet street, I wander through my thoughts of how to shine at least a part of that light upon this journal.  I’ve started this update four… umm… five times over the last couple of weeks, a couple of them quite lengthy.  Three of them have been deleted, the fourth remains lurking in a file labelled… “Do Not Post”. 

I suppose I’m often lost in wonder of how to post the truth… the reality of this illness in this journal and not lose those who wander here through the sadness.  Perhaps that is what a journal such as this one is all about… the pain… the sadness… trying so very hard to find ways to deal with all that surrounds it with beautiful soft hues… like the dawn… like the second cup of coffee that tastes even better than the first.  Perhaps it is simply a part of the yin and yang of our humanness.    

It is of course those little things that mean so much to me… they always have.  But these days, the opportunity to sit near the window and watch the break of dawn… to savor the taste of a hot fresh cup of coffee… to see a smile on one’s face with eyes just waking… to hear “Good morning” from a soft sleepy voice… from someone who truly cares… is what I cherish the most.  Those are the very reasons I find hope in every day… these are the simple things that bring me peace… they are what heals me, what keeps my light burning… they are why I still write in this journal.

It has now been about eight weeks since the last radiation treatment… now waiting in wonder for another few weeks before any form of testing can be done to see what has been accomplished… what has been destroyed both good and bad.  I’m not good at waiting… wondering “what if?”… but there seems to be no alternative.  (Oddly… my Oncology nurse just called to inform me that my next PET scan has been scheduled for mid-April.)

My health has actually declined over these few weeks… coughing more and harder than before the radiation… coughing spells ranging from mild to severe with the severe sessions out numbering the mild… chest now hurting around both sides and back 24 hours a day… blood oxygen percentage often falling into the 80’s… can’t sleep… extreme fatigue… blah, blah, blah… running fever mostly in the evening and most of the night.  There are plenty of signs that tell me that I have quite a journey to wander before I can possibly… once again… relax my mind for a few months.

In the meantime… I have the taste of a hot fresh cup of coffee… the ability to sit by the window and absorb the beautiful hues of dawn deep into my being… a very affectionate kitty sleeping in my lap… another, much more ornery… attempting to make his own entries into this journal by walking on the keyboard… and repeatedly butting his head against mine… with his tongue sticking out… of course.


I hope your morning is just as beautiful as mine… and be sure to appreciate the little things in your life that make you smile.





Although this journal speaks mostly to the medical, technical, physical disease aspects of cancer, I think the time has come to begin speaking more about the mental, emotional side of dealing with an illness where prognosis and statistics can put you very near a zero chance of survival.  Wait…………. What?…………. Did someone say near zero chance of survival?

I guess I’ll begin this update with a very brief physical description of…. well… me.  I think what is most concerting at the moment… aside from the pain, the coughing… is that I am very, very tired.  Tired to the point of just being… well… unable to do.  I can’t really place blame on any one factor… the cancer… the obstructed lung… the radiation… the constant pain from a pinched sciatic nerve… lack of sleep… a struggling heart… the mental fatigue of dealing with all of it… probably it is the combination of all of these things.  

I was hopeful that I wouldn’t reach this point in the journey, but it seems it has thrown itself upon me against my will.  I must admit that weakness and fatigue affects absolutely everything else in your life.  Everything.  Just like pain… it seems to never end… never eases your struggle to crawl up from the basement floor and just take a deep breath and think for one single moment… I can breathe… I don’t hurt anywhere… I have the energy to stand up… turn my face toward the sun and thank the Universe for this one single moment in time…………….. While in reality… in this moment of time… in this struggle where I feel as if I am crawling through the pouring rain, the mud… the sludge that sometimes overwhelms our humanness… that moment in time to stand and face the sun… to breathe the breath of well being… to not feel pain… seems to only exist in a dream.

I know that there are not many who wander into this journal, but I know that there are many who have struggled… who “are” struggling… just as I have described.  It’s not easy… and most who have never been in that position or have never had to watch a loved one go through it, may have a difficult time understanding just what one is dealing with every minute of every day.  It’s almost as if our souls are leaving claw marks on the inside of our humanness… in some empyrean attempt to escape into “Dante’s Prayer”.

Sometimes I’m very hesitant to write in this journal, but I feel that I owe it to you… to those who are standing in very similar shoes… to… well… myself… to record some of life’s more unfortunate realities.  But it is all a part of being human.  I’d much rather just tell everyone that “I am fine”… like I do to most who ask.  Those who know me well, already know the answer and don’t need to ask.  Those who don’t know me well and do ask “How are you?” out of habit or ‘just being polite’… don’t really want to hear the truth anyway.  They expect the “Fine, how are you” response.  Most of them don’t even look you in the eye when they ask.  I think it would be most interesting to see the look on someone’s face who asks “how are you”… if I answered by saying… “How much time do you have to really listen to the truths that I could tell you?”  I’m sure it would be a Kodak moment.

One more lousy thing to add to my wonderful health condition is that I have somehow managed to develop a rather major sinus infection… or at least that’s what I am presuming that it is.  Face pain, some serious headaches, blood from the nostrils (oops… sorry about another one of those realities).  Anyway… it’s back on another antibiotic because my body’s immune system has completely vanished.  Zinc isn’t enough to help fight things off any longer and lately… even antibiotics have had a tough time working.  Maybe I’ve just had to take too many of them over the past few years.

My therapy is to spend more time with the guitar (although sitting is painful)….. music makes me smile and I am forever amused to the point of laughter at my lack of talent.  Yet… I will not be deterred from picking my favorite tunes and even singing… which is usually what stirs my own laughter… a literal LOL…….

So I’ll be wishing you wellness, happiness, good music, a most beautiful day… and the ability to laugh at yourself… and always keep “hope” in your survival kit.


P.S.  Eighteen radiation treatments completed so far in this… the fourth tour of radiation therapy.   The number remaining… remains unknown at this time.

A poem I posted in 2017 seems to be appropriate at this moment so I thought I would once again share it with you.

Whenitallgoeswrong 3

When It All Goes Wrong

Perhaps it was I who strayed from the course
Or maybe consulted a misguided source
I mixed up my potion a little too strong
What else can you do when it all goes wrong

The reports arrived in bold black and white
An omen in crystal with darkness of night
Singing an ode with an out of tune song
What else can you do when it all goes wrong

What does one do with such heartbreaking news
Should you start smoking weed or turn to the booze
Or should you just face it determined and strong
Whenever you find that your world’s gone wrong

Perhaps it is I who longs for the place
Where life’s simple pleasures come all wrapped in lace
To forget about time when the day is too long
What else can you do when it all goes wrong

The reports arrived in fluorescent hues
Perhaps it’s all there in the choices we choose
When white ravens rise, you just ride along
What else can you do when things are all wrong

Perhaps it is I who bides in a dream
Where all is not nearly as bad as it seems
Sweet Irish Cream, hot coffee… a song
What else can you do when it all goes wrong