Life in the Rowboat: A Caregiver's Story
/By: Elizabeth Patton
Hello, my name is Elizabeth Patton. I live in Carlsbad, California with my husband, Mark, and our three wonderful children.
Mark was first diagnosed with a neuroendocrine tumor (NET) in his lung when he was just 11 years old. After the removal of his lung and five years of clear scans, he was declared cured and sent on his way.
Sixteen years later, in 2006 — just one year after we were married — he was re- diagnosed at age 27.
We were newlyweds. We were completely shell-shocked. It felt like our life had just begun.
Mark and I met on our very first day of college, in our very first class. From the moment we locked eyes, I knew there was something special about him. We became friends, then best friends, and then husband and wife — the easiest and best decision I’ve ever made.
From the beginning, I knew Mark had ongoing stomach issues. After we were married, those symptoms worsened, and I encouraged him to see a gastroenterologist. We suspected Crohn’s disease or irritable bowel syndrome. We were not prepared for the words “NET cancer.”
After a colonoscopy and endoscopy, we learned he had a second primary tumor on his false vocal cord — which needed immediate removal — along with metastases to his liver. Looking back, the cancer was likely there all along, quietly present from age 11 to 27.
After the initial shock and grief, we shifted into action mode. Mark, his mother Karen, and I traveled across the country, attending conferences and meeting with specialists to learn everything we could about this rare disease. We were determined to find the best possible care.
Through close family friends and a fortunate internet search, we found Dr. Woltering and his team in New Orleans. It was the best decision we could have made.
In 2007, Mark underwent a nine-hour surgery during which 82 tumors were removed from his liver, along with additional lesions in surrounding tissue. It was an arduous procedure — but it gave us time. Nearly 20 years later, Mark is alive because of that surgery.
Along the way, we met extraordinary people who carried us through the darkest moments. As a caregiver, I don’t know where I would be without the support of friends who have become family. There is something profoundly comforting about being with people who truly understand. It’s a silent knowing. A shared strength. A peace that doesn’t require explanation.
Organizations like Healing Net provide more than information — they provide connection. For patients and caregivers, that connection is invaluable. It is irreplaceable.
As a caregiver, your focus narrows. Your job becomes helping your loved one navigate each day — whether it’s managing new pain, calming anxiety before a scan, or supporting them through moments of depression. You want them to be in the best place possible mentally and physically.
But it’s not always easy.
Sometimes I am consumed with worry while wearing a smile and projecting positivity. Holding those opposing emotions can feel confusing and exhausting. Yet I’ve learned that this tension is normal. We move forward by staying diligent, staying hopeful, and choosing to live as fully as possible — despite what we’ve been handed.
I have even, at times, referred to Mark’s NET as a gift.
Not because we would have chosen it — we never would — but because it has sharpened our perspective. It has clarified what matters. It has shaped the way we live each day. A diagnosis changes you. If you let it, it can change you for the better. That, in its own way, is a gift.
What Mark and I have learned above all else is the power of partnership.
A caregiver is not just support — they are a teammate, a cheerleader, a therapist, a voice of reason, an encourager, and a steady shoulder to lean on. Mark often says he is grateful to be in life’s rowboat with me. When one of us grows tired, the other pulls harder. (He likes to say I pull more often.)
That’s how we stay grounded. That’s how we endure. That’s how we thrive.
You get in the rowboat together — and you pull with all your might.
