I’m Not Ready to Lose My Wife: Help Us Give Yolanda Every Possible Chance

There are moments when I look at my wife sleeping and barely recognize the life we are living.

The medications are lined up nearby. Medical supplies have become part of the furniture. There are appointments, lab results, procedures, nurses, phone calls, bills—and the constant question of what happens next.

And lying in the middle of all of it is Yolanda.

My wife.

My best friend.

The mother of our daughters.

The grandmother of our grandchildren.

The woman I have loved for most of my adult life.

I wish I were writing something else.

I wish I were telling you about a trip we were planning, something funny one of our grandchildren did, or what Yolanda wanted to do after spending 38 years teaching high school English and mentoring young people.

Instead, I am asking strangers to help me care for my wife and give her every possible chance to stay with us.

That is a sentence I never imagined I would have to write.

Cancer Changed Everything

More than five years ago, cancer entered our lives.

Stage 4 colon cancer.

It spread to Yolanda’s liver.

Then her lungs.

Since then, I have watched the woman I love endure things I would not have believed a human body could withstand.

More than 100 rounds of chemotherapy.

Five surgeries.

One operation lasted about 10 hours.

During another emergency surgery in the middle of the night, a trauma surgeon gave her a terrifying chance of never making it off the operating table.

I remember standing there knowing I might have already heard my wife’s voice for the last time.

She survived.

But cancer does not care how much someone has already endured.

Eventually, the chemotherapy stopped controlling the disease. The tumors progressed. Doctors moved her to immunotherapy.

Then came severe complications, cardiac problems, debilitating weakness, additional procedures, and a medical crisis involving her liver that brought us frighteningly close to losing her.

At one point, we were told she was only days away from complete liver failure.

She underwent another major procedure.

She made it through that too.

After 17 days in the hospital, I finally brought her home.

But bringing her home did not mean everything was suddenly okay.

It meant the next phase began.

The Woman Who Took Care of Everyone Now Needs Someone to Take Care of Her

Cancer has taken away much of Yolanda’s independence.

There have been days when the woman who once stood in front of classrooms filled with teenagers could not lift her head without help.

Her strength has been dramatically diminished.

We have dealt with severe swelling, an external biliary drain, atrial fibrillation, overwhelming fatigue, pain, and the cumulative effects of years of cancer treatment.

There are visiting nurses.

Blood draws.

Physical therapy.

Medications.Medications. And more medications.

Medical equipment.

Constant monitoring.

And there is me, trying to make sure the woman who spent her life taking care of everyone else has everything she needs.

What amazes me is that underneath all of this, Yolanda is still Yolanda.

She still worries about other people.

She still thanks the nurses and counsels them about their problems.

She still encourages the people around her.

She still finds reasons to smile.

That tells you more about my wife than anything I could ever write.

For 38 years, thousands of students walked through Yolanda’s classroom.

Some needed help with English.

Some needed encouragement.

Some were at-risk kids who simply needed one adult to believe they could become more than their circumstances.

Yolanda believed in them.

Teaching was never just a paycheck to her.

Those were somebody’s children, and she treated them that way.

Now the teacher who spent nearly four decades helping other people’s children needs help herself.

Cancer Does Not Just Attack a Body

There is another part of serious illness people rarely talk about openly.

The financial destruction.

It happens slowly at first.

Then one day you look around and realize how much of the life you spent decades building has disappeared.

We sold four vehicles.

We sold two watercraft.

We sold our RV.

We sold our beach house.

Savings and retirement resources have been depleted.

At one point, banks reduced available credit by more than $800,000, despite an approximately 820 credit score.

At the same time, I have faced staggering legal expenses unrelated to Yolanda’s illness (government lawfare)—about $40,000 per month—further draining the resources we desperately need for her care.

Then, while all of this was happening, our oldest daughter’s home in Kingwood, Texas, burned during severe storms.

She had given birth to our second grandchild only two weeks earlier.

Sometimes I read that back and wonder how all of this can belong to one family.

But it does.

And now we have reached the point I hoped we could avoid.

We need help.

What Your Donation Will Actually Do

We are not raising money for luxuries.

We are trying to pay for Yolanda’s care, safety, treatment, and quality of life.

Her needs can now reach approximately $40,000 per month for home care and related support, depending on the level of assistance required.

Donations will help cover:

1. Home health and caregiving assistance
2. Nursing and rehabilitation support
3. Physical and occupational therapy
4. Medical supplies and medications
5. Treatment for severe side effects
6. Transportation and medical travel out of state
7. Laboratory testing and ongoing monitoring
8. Integrative oncology and supportive therapies
9. Acupuncture, nutrition, and other supportive care
10. Clinical-trial-related expenses when appropriate
11. Living expenses while I devote as much time as possible to caring for Yolanda
12. Treatments and therapies not adequately covered by insurance

One example is high-dose IV Vitamin C therapy we pursued as supportive care. At her prescribed dosage, the cost has been approximately $900 per week for three sessions. We searched for lower-cost pharmaceutical-grade options before proceeding.

Every expense adds up.

A nurse.

A medication.

Transportation.

A laboratory draw.

Another appointment.

Another week of help in the house.

When someone is this sick, money quickly becomes something much more tangible:

care.

It can mean someone being there when she needs help getting out of bed.

It can mean another physical therapy session that helps her regain strength.

It can mean getting her safely to the doctor.

It can mean allowing me to focus on caring for my wife instead of deciding which bill can wait.

And sometimes it simply buys us something no family facing Stage 4 cancer ever has enough of:

time together.

Asking for Help Is Hard

For most of our lives, we were the people helping others.

We picked up checks.

We helped family and friends.

We paid for vacations, concerts, cars, experiences, and even down payments on homes.

We gave because we could, and because making someone else’s life easier brought us joy.

We never kept score.

We never imagined we would someday need anything returned.

Today, with humility, I am extending my hand in the other direction.

Not because anyone owes us anything.

You do not.

And I do not want anyone giving money they cannot afford to give.

But if our story reaches you at a moment when you can help, I am asking you to consider helping Yolanda.

I Still Believe There Are More Days Ahead

I know what Stage 4 means.

I know what the scans say.

I know how close we have already come to losing her.

I will not pretend this is easy, and I will not make promises medicine cannot make.

What I can tell you is this:

Yolanda is still here. And she is STILL fighting!

As long as she is here, I will keep showing up for her.

I will help her out of bed.

I will sit beside her at appointments.

I will manage the medications.

I will make the calls.

I will hold her hand when she is afraid.

I will remind her what she means to all of us when she is exhausted.

And I will do everything within my power to give her every reasonable medical chance and every ounce of comfort and dignity we can provide.

But I can no longer do all of it alone.

So I am asking.

If you can donate, thank you.

If you cannot donate but can share this page, thank you.

If all you can offer is a prayer for a woman you have never met, thank you for that too.

You may never know exactly what your kindness paid for.

Maybe it was a nurse.

Maybe transportation.

Maybe therapy.

Maybe medication.

Maybe one less sleepless night wondering how we were going to pay for tomorrow.

But we will know that when our family reached one of the hardest moments of our lives, someone decided we did not have to carry it all ourselves.

Yolanda spent 38 years standing in front of young people and telling them, in a thousand different ways:

Your life matters. Do not give up on yourself.

Today, I am asking the world to help me say the same thing back to her.

Your life matters, Yolanda.

And I am not ready to lose you.

Thank you for reading our story.

Thank you for sharing it.

Thank you for helping me take care of the woman I love.

Please donate or share if you feel moved to do so.

GiveSendGo.com/yolandas