Together for Leander : United Against Cancer”

In 2021, I accidentally bit my tongue while sleeping. My jaw snapped shut involuntarily, and my tongue was caught in between. It bled profusely and the pain was intense. However, after a few weeks, it healed, and I thought little of it. Then, it happened again—my tongue bled and throbbed in the exact same spot. At that time, I was under immense pressure and the thought of seeing a physician never crossed my mind; there was simply no time. As an air compressor technician and a qualified electrician, I worked tirelessly, never considering a break.

Despite losing my wife to breast cancer in 2016, I was determined to persevere. I had emerged from a prolonged period of mourning, finding solace in my work, which helped me cope with the loss after 21 years of marriage. But in October 2022, recurring pain led me to consult a dentist, who then referred me to a specialist. I was scheduled for a biopsy in November 2022. Post-biopsy, I relied heavily on pain medication and struggled to work as before.

In January 2023, I received a call from the specialist's office to discuss my biopsy results. The doctor's somber expression foretold the gravity of the news: I had Squamous Cell Carcinoma of the tongue, a rapidly spreading and aggressive cancer. I was shell-shocked, barely able to walk back to my car.

Referred to a cancer specialist, I underwent extensive surgery a day after my birthday in May 2023. I fell asleep on the operating table on May 11 and awoke on May 17, disoriented and unaware of my surroundings. Unbeknownst to me, my family visited while I was sedated in the ICU, a measure to manage the excruciating pain.

Discharged shortly after, I returned to the hospital within a week to plan my radiation and chemotherapy. My left arm was laden with bleeding staples; my neck, stitched from ear to ear. The removal of all my lymph nodes left my left shoulder immobile, and a full glossectomy resulted in stiff muscles. My jaw was rigid, and speaking with my reconstructed tongue, now featuring a built-in flap, was a challenge.

During a follow-up at the oral clinic, my surgeon delivered another blow: "Mr. Duminey, I regret to inform you that you'll never be able to work again." His words struck me with disbelief. Despite my initial refusal to accept this reality, the subsequent months of pain and suffering proved him right.

Trapped in a body that could no longer do what it once could, I faced a stark reality at 55: my career as an air compressor technician was over. Jobless, with no prospects, my life savings dwindled rapidly amidst mounting bills. After much dispute, I found refuge in a room at my father's house. Then, at 77, my father suffered a severe fall. Despite my efforts to assist, I barely made a dent. His life savings, too, began to deplete hastily.

As things worsened, I ventured into online businesses, from affiliate marketing to product sales, only to confront failure. Now, bedridden and struggling to walk even to the bathroom, I find myself in dire straits. I never imagined reaching a point where I'd need to ask for help, yet here I am, humbly requesting assistance. A mere one-dollar donation could help me pay bills, obtain food and medication , and stay afloat while I heal. Due to a full glossectomy and the aftereffects of radiation, I am unable to eat through my mouth and rely on a feeding tube directly connected to my stomach. I must collect specialized food that comes in a powdered form to be mixed with water each month. These powders are specially formulated for cancer patients like me, providing all the necessary nutrients and minerals to keep me nourished and healthy. Regrettably, I must drive a long distance to the hospital to collect these formulations as well as medication.

Regrettably, I will never work again. Moreover, I face a precarious five-year period during which no doctor can assure my survival. I didn't post all my pictures as it's simply too gruesome and nauseating to see. Believe me it's best that I don't display all my pictures.

I'm not asking for much—just a dollar towards helping me to secure my essentials, medication and to cover rent. If you choose to help, know that I am profoundly grateful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.