Boz Hot Dogs - Lansing

Update 3.24.26

After a mere 389 days of fighting a Glioblastoma Multiforme brain tumor diagnosis in his right frontal lobe, my strong and courageous husband Bob finished his battle on March 24, 2026.

Both of our tight-knit families rallied around him this entire year, and everyone made a point at the end to say their goodbyes. Bob knew with certainty that we loved him, and we were assured that he loved us as well. In the midst of this despair, I have held onto the notion that we were all fortunate enough to have the gift of time. Yes, Bob and I had to exchange painful goodbyes with each other, but we weren't left with regrets that something was left unsaid. Bob promised to send the impending first grandchild to us with a kiss in June. Grandpa Bob will be a guardian angel to this and any future grandchildren, of that we are confident.

Thank you to everyone who offered advice, shared their own personal stories, kept Bob and our family in their thoughts and prayers, reached out to me on FB with encouragement, and/or read my updates and sent comments back. I simply cannot thank you enough for your kindness and support, and I hope I can convey how incredibly meaningful it has been during this past year.

In the beginning there were many days that I spent keeping family and friends informed of Bob's fight, and then posting about it publicly on FB became therapeutic for me. Initially it helped just to simply write the facts down. That task helped me accept that it was really happening.

Then, it became an act of sharing such a raw and frank look into Bob's journey and the emotions that we all were encountering as a result. Experiencing at any given time concern, apprehension, hope, confusion, anxiety, devotion, alarm, optimism, sadness, agitation, frustration, confidence, worry, gloom, sorrow, elation, doubt, selfishness, despair, anger, gratitude, grief, acceptance, and finally relief was mentally and physically exhausting.

However, sharing this roller coaster ride with sometimes unbelievably rapid highs and lows led to an outcome that helped both Bob and me keep our precarious balance. The comments that many of you wrote back were what helped us find courage and strength to keep fighting and advocating. Behind every Warrior is a Support Team that never gives up, and we were definitely stronger together. My deepest appreciation goes out to all of you.

Bob had wanted to record this message for you, but in the end he could only dictate the words:

"Carol has tried to read every single one of your messages to me, and I thank you. I love you. You have all meant so much to my life!"

I hope it is a long time before I hear the name Glioblastoma again. It took the most important person in my life away from me, but Bob was much more than a loving husband who made me laugh every single day. He was a devoted and proud father, an affectionate son, a considerate and supportive brother, a hard worker, a successful businessman, a kind and compassionate boss, a generous and sensitive soul, a sincere listener, a charming and loveable man, and unquestionably The Love of My Life.

A celebratory visitation will be held for Bob at Kish Funeral Home in Munster, IN on Friday, March 27th from 3 to 7 pm, and again at 10 am on Saturday, March 28th at Holy Shepherd Lutheran Church in St. John, IN with a funeral service following at 11 am. We look forward to seeing many members of Bob's widespread Warrior Support Team to properly thank you.

Update 3.11.26 (2 pm)

It’s been a crazy few days, but Bob is still fighting. What a roller coaster of hope and despair we are riding.

On Saturday the Rapid Response team discussed his lethargy, his increasing decline and decreasing quality of life, and told us that we were basically just putting out little fires with all of his medical issues, but not really resolving anything. I asked Bob if he wanted to give up the fight and he could only nod. I chose to move him to the NCCU to give him closer monitoring and some medication that might improve his mentation and consciousness. I was not ready to put him on Comfort Care, where they would only address his pain and anxiety with medicine.

By Sunday afternoon the antibiotics and other medications were helping. His fever broke and he was opening his eyes and talking quite a bit. He had a bunch of family visiting, taking turns to say good-bye. That evening Bob and I did a lot of talking about what he wants. He recorded a video message for Baby Sunderhaus and we wrote some of his obituary together.

Even though on Saturday we chose to be on a less invasive path medically, by Monday it was apparent that Bob was not done fighting. Due to his continued improved consciousness, doctors considered removing the major blood clots (DVTs) in both his legs to see if that could help him improve further.

We were so confused. Why propose to do a procedure on a dying man that we almost put on a Comfort Care path 36 hours ago? But we discussed it and he said he wanted to keep fighting. Bob said, "Yes, let’s take it to the limit, one more time."

So on Tuesday Bob had a bilateral thrombectomy to remove the DVTs that had developed. The estimated 2-hour afternoon procedure turned out to be almost 5 hours into the evening, but it was considered to be successful, and he was awake and talking to us right afterwards.

This morning he was out of bed in the hospital room recliner for 3 hours. They have to move him with a sling and a machine, but it is good for his core to be out of bed, sitting up. Once he was back in bed, Jess fed him several bites of lunch before he decided it was time for a nap. He is so tired and beaten down at times, and then is joking with us a bit. We are hoping Tuesday's leg clot removal will trigger some overall improvements, but it has only been 20 hours post-procedure and he is still on strong pain meds.

At this point I don’t know what the next steps are, or even what his short-term goals are, because it is too soon to say what the next few days (or even the next few hours) will be like. No matter what, as his Care-Partner, I am still fighting this fight alongside him.

Update 03.01.26

Today marks one year since Bob was diagnosed with a Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM).

I am not sure if many of you know the story of how we fortuitously learned about the brain tumor, so I thought I would explain how our lives suddenly changed one year ago.

At the end of February 2025 Bob had been acting a little "off" and doing some uncharacteristic things; he was just not like himself. We work together nearly every day, so being with him 24/7, I saw a lot of little things that added up to a concern. We wondered if it was a blood pressure issue, so Bob drove over to have his BP checked by the Schererville paramedics on Friday, February 28. His numbers were not out of the ordinary for him, but they suggested he get it checked again the next day. Since Bob had worked 7 days a week since New Year's Day at that point, we attributed it to exhaustion, and planned to rest all day on Sunday, March 2.

We were working together at Schererville Boz on the morning of Saturday, March 1, and his uncharacteristic behavior was even more pronounced. We stopped at the Midlothian firehouse on our way home to get his blood pressure checked. Again, his numbers were not worrisome, but we called our primary doctor. We explained our strenuous work history for the first 2 months of 2025 and our belief that we were both just extremely exhausted. However, she suggested that we go to the ER since she couldn't see us in the office until Monday, just to rule out stroke or a cardiac issue. The absolute last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday night was to go sit in a crowded Emergency Room for umpteen hours, when all we wanted was to sleep, but we went.

When we walked into Christ Medical Center's ER, I thought we were in the wrong place. There were only a handful of people in the waiting room. The woman at the reception desk assured me we were in the right place, and that they were having a very quiet night. She also told us the day before there had been a 13-hour wait just to be seen, so we were very lucky. I went and sat down and they took Bob to a little side room for an EKG. Before he even came out, the triage doctor called his name, so as soon as he came out of one room we went into another. The triage doctor listened to our concerns and actually questioned the dermatology treatment that Bob had been undergoing: topical corticosteroid creams, UV light treatments, and a recent cortisone shot. They ordered blood work to check for a cortisone overdose, a CT scan of his head to check for evidence of a stroke, and a chest X-ray to check for any cardiac issues.

Only a few minutes later they took us to an ER roomette, and within an hour all of the tests had been completed. An ER doctor came in
and did a neurological exam. Bob had no problems with coordination, had equal strength on both sides, and no weakness.

The chest x-ray report came back normal, and his bloodwork showed everything was "stone cold perfect" according to the doctor. His blood sugar was 88, which would have been higher in the event if a cortisone overdose, so that was ruled out.

The ER doctor thought the recent headaches Bob had mentioned sounded like tension headaches, probably related to stress, and not getting enough rest time (away from work) or enough sleep. We also mentioned that in the last week Bob had undergone 2 sessions of UV light therapy on his hands and feet, and although it was very bright, they did not provide him with any goggles. The doctor said that would understandably contribute to headaches.

The doctor said there was nothing that he could see in Bob's physicality or his labs that would necessitate admitting him. The doctor's prescription was REST. He said "there is nothing we can do for you here that you cannot do yourself at home." The doctor said if he had done his evaluation first, he would not have thought that a head CT scan was necessary, and he would have canceled it. However, since the ER was so slow they had already managed to complete the CT scan of the head. As a result, before they could discharge him, we needed to wait for the results.

Not long after that we were informed there was a "change of plans."

The CT scan showed a mass in the right frontal lobe of the brain. They wanted to admit him to do an emergency MRI overnight to investigate further.

Three days later Bob had a crainiotomy to remove a Glioblastoma tumor the size of a small orange.

Besides CT scans, MRIs, ultrasounds, blood tests, doctor appointments, physical therapy, and a basket of daily medicines, Bob has been through so much in the past year:

-Crainiotomy to remove tumor
-Tonic-clonic (grand mal) seizure
-Medically induced coma (intubated and on a ventilator)
-Pulmonary Embolism due to immobility
-Thrombectomy to remove embolism
-Inferior Vena Cava (IVC) filter placed
-General infection
-Allergic reaction to antibiotic given for infection
-Transfusion of platelets due to dangerously low platelet count
-Allergic reaction to platelet infusion
-Severe swelling of head due to excess cerebrospinal fluid (CSF)
-Ventriculoperitoneal (VP) Shunt permanently placed to alleviate CSF excess
-Deep vein thrombosis (DVT) in left leg
-Second thrombectomy to remove huge DVT
-Intense physical therapy to learn to walk again
-30 radiation treatments
-8 cycles (and still on-going) of oral chemotherapy
-wearing an Optune device with Tumor Treating Fields (TTF) to try to interrupt any tumor regrowth
-Second crainiotomy in Feb 2026 to remove necrotic brain tissue due to radiation
-More DVTs in both legs
-98 days spent in the hospital during the last 365 days (64 days in March and April 2025, 7 days in January 2025, currently on day 27)

Bob has been a fighter, but he is currently struggling with so many side effects from the brain cancer that he feels discouraged. He still has to re-start Acute Rehab before we can determine if he is strong enough to learn to walk on his own again. Time will tell.

Earlier I used the word "fortuitously" to describe how we had learned of this terrifying diagnosis. Things were aligned that night in the ER that allowed us to find out about the tumor. We could have easily been sent home, and Bob could have had a seizure while driving. The tumor could have continued to quietly grow for months without us knowing, months of growth that would have erased all the possible treatments that Bob was able to undergo. Even though we don't feel fortunate to have been told Bob has terminal brain cancer, we are lucky in the respect that we were given time to appreciate the time that we have together. Bob may be fortunate to get past this current obstacle without a loss of physicality or dignity, but nothing is promised.

Throughout this year, I have struggled with the heavy load of seeking permission to carry gratitude and grief at the same time. My advice to everyone is to love whoever loves you and enjoy life.

Thank you all for your prayers and kind words of support over the last year. We are so very grateful.

Love,
Bob and Carol