Mike Peterson

My father, Mike, was an avid naturalist and outdoorsman who could pretty much run circles uphill around people who were half his age. It was hard to keep up with him! He had always been a muscular, yet petite man. He was a quiet, reserved man, who, despite that, loved to joke and show others a slower pace of life. During the last half of 2024, though, he began to notice he didn't have the same strength and energy he had always had. His appetite, which had always been vigorous, was gone now, too. He thought it was all a part of aging, since he had just retired.

The fatigue persisted. He would still climb the steep hills around his house in order to chop firewood and manually haul huge logs down to his house via wheelbarrow, but, now it took extreme effort for him to do so. But still, that man was tough as a pine knot to do the things he did. I, along with other concerned loved ones, thought maybe him slowing down and being more reclusive was depression. By March of 2025, he was sleeping excessively, and he had night sweats. Still, he refused to go to the doctor and he still managed to go up into the woods.

Back in his 20s and 30s, he had had reoccurring kidney stones that had resulted in multiple surgeries. It made him fear going back to doctors. "They're just looking for something to be wrong with me." When we went out for lunch for Mother's Day, it was clear to me how much weight he had lost. He didn't eat much at all, and he was irritable, which wasn't like him at all. It was obvious to me something was wrong, because he wasn't acting like his normal self. His voice sounded strained, as well. His wife begged him to go to the doctor, and I did too.

This battle with trying to convince my dad went back and forth with him until he finally agreed at the end of May to go to the local Emergency Department to get tests. It started out that they found a tumor on his kidney and his oxygen was low. He was immediately told to go to another local hospital that could perform better imaging. He would be admitted to that hospital. Someone asked him how long he had felt sick, and he told them "too long". More findings. He had tumors in his kidneys, liver and lungs. His diagnosis was stage 4 renal cell carcinoma. Other than the loss of appetite and fatigue, he said he hadn't had kidney pain or any other symptoms. He said he'd fight it like a tiger, no matter what the outcome.

He and I discussed the facts of his diagnosis, and he wanted me to know that his prognosis wasn't good. He had worked in a long-term health facility for 32 years and he had seen a lot during that time. He and I knew treatments could bring comfort, and we wanted quality of life. I wanted my daddy cured, but, I knew it wouldn't be.

He was sent home with oxygen support. His first immunotherapy was set to start on July 1st. On June 30th, he ended up in the Emergency Department again due to confusion, low oxygen, and blood clots that were discovered in his leg and lungs. He told me that morning he was ready to go home. His last words to me were "I love you."

He passed away quietly the next morning, on July 1st, the same day he would have begun his immunotherapy. In his own way, on his own terms, he had received his ultimate healing from kidney cancer.

I love and miss you, Daddy, every single day.