A Hard Chapter — and Why We’re Seeking Another Opinion

We wanted to share a fuller update on what the last several weeks have looked like for Cassidy, because a lot has happened in a very short amount of time—and it feels important to tell the whole story.

Cassidy went into the hospital December 18th for what was meant to be a hopeful step forward: a planned ostomy reversal after months of treatment and recovery. The surgery itself ended up being more complex than expected and required an open procedure instead of a laparoscopic one, but from a surgical standpoint, he recovered beautifully. His surgical team was pleased, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were finally moving into a calmer chapter.

Then things shifted.

During his recovery, Cassidy began experiencing severe headaches, extremely high blood pressure, and dangerously low sodium levels. What initially appeared to be postoperative complications quickly became something more serious. He had multiple seizure-like episodes and ultimately a full seizure, which led to an emergency transfer to a hospital equipped for advanced neurological care.

After extensive testing, imaging, and consultations, doctors determined that Cassidy is dealing with SIADH (Syndrome of Inappropriate Antidiuretic Hormone Secretion), a condition that causes the body to retain water and dilute sodium levels to dangerous lows. While SIADH can have many causes, in Cassidy’s case, the medical teams believe it is likely related to his cancer and possible involvement of the brain or central nervous system, rather than being caused by surgery.

Imaging also revealed hydrocephalus, a buildup of fluid in the brain that doctors believe contributed to his headaches, seizures, and neurological symptoms. Because of this, Cassidy required neurosurgical intervention and is now recovering from the placement of a shunt to help regulate the pressure and fluid in his brain.

At the same time, his oncology team has been closely reviewing scans, lab results, and tumor markers. Based on everything they’re seeing—including rising markers and neurological involvement—there is growing concern that his cancer has progressed in a way that requires a more specialized and comprehensive approach.

By the time we left the hospital, we had spent 18 straight days there.

Eighteen days of constant alarms, lab draws at all hours, fluorescent lights that never turn off, and trying to live life inside a room that offers very little rest or privacy. Eighteen days of watching Cassidy’s body endure surgeries, seizures, neurological complications, procedures, and recovery—all while still carrying the reality of stage 4 colon cancer.

It took a tremendous toll on him. His body has been through more than any 35-year-old should have to endure. The physical exhaustion is obvious, but the emotional and mental weight is just as heavy—the kind that comes from never knowing what the next scan, test, or consult might reveal.

It took a toll on me too.

Living in a hospital is disorienting. Being the constant advocate, decision-maker, note-taker, and emotional anchor while running on very little sleep and constant uncertainty is exhausting in ways I didn’t fully understand until I was in it. There were moments of fear, grief, frustration, and complete emotional depletion—and moments of deep love, tenderness, and resolve that surprised me.

We did not survive those 18 days alone.

Cassidy’s parents dropped everything to be here, surrounding us with steady love, comfort, and unwavering support. My mom and her boyfriend Greg showed up in countless ways—helping with logistics, offering breaks, and grounding us when everything felt overwhelming.

Our sweet neighbors, Margaret and Ole, quietly stepped in with kindness that still makes me emotional—checking on us, helping take care of things at home, and reminding us that community can feel like family.

And then there are the people who carried me.

Jenny, somehow always knowing when to check in from afar, offering love, humor, and reassurance when I needed it most.

And Chelsea—who was there in the most literal sense. Sitting in hospital rooms day after day. Holding my hand through the hardest conversations. Advocating, listening, crying, laughing, and showing up without hesitation. There are no words for what that kind of presence means during a season like this.

While Cassidy is now stable-ish, this hospitalization was a sobering reminder that his cancer isn’t confined to one system or one chapter—it affects his entire body and requires looking at the whole picture. Multiple specialists have echoed the same message: this is complex, and seeking a second opinion at a major cancer center is the right next step.

So on January 15th, we’ll be traveling to Houston, Texas to seek a second opinion at MD Anderson Cancer Center. Our goal is clarity—confirmation of what’s happening, insight into treatment options, and confidence that we’re doing everything possible to advocate for Cassidy’s care.

This decision isn’t about losing trust in his doctors here. We are deeply grateful for the medical teams who have cared for Cassidy through surgeries, seizures, ICU-level moments, and long, uncertain nights. This is about making sure nothing is missed and that we are exploring every possible option.

This chapter has been one of the hardest we’ve faced—but it has also shown us just how deeply loved and supported we are.

Thank you to everyone who has checked in, sent messages, brought meals, prayed, donated, and sat with us—physically or emotionally—through this season. Even when updates have been heavy or sparse, please know that your love has carried us more than you know.

We’ll share more after our visit to Houston. For now, we’re taking this one step at a time, holding onto hope, and moving forward together.

With love,
Leah 🤍