Thankful People — 'Spreading hope coast to coast:' Bob Blackwell planning to live out a dying wish

Bob Blackwell is a dying man, but he'll be the first to tell you he's not dead yet.

A seven-year survivor of pancreatic cancer, Blackwell, 49, plans to make the most of the time he has left, although he's not sure how long that may be.

After selling many of his possessions -- including a privacy fence and pool equipment -- Blackwell purchased and licensed an RV. He plans to spend the next few months fixing up the vehicle before he will take it "coast to coast," seeing the country before he dies.

First diagnosed in 2012, the McClure, Illinois, resident has gone through a 10-hour pancreaticoduodenectomy procedure (better known as the "Whipple"), 12 rounds of aggressive chemotherapy and hundreds of prescription opioids, including hydrocodone, oxycodone, fentanyl patches and Lorazepam.

His cancer came back four times in the years since his initial diagnosis, spreading most recently to his lungs and liver.

Bob Blackwell is brought to his knees by pancreatic pains as he is overcome with a "whipple attack" Nov. 10 at his home in McClure, Illinois.

"I'm terminal," Blackwell said.

Through the use of medicinal marijuana, he was able to stop taking the cocktail of prescription drugs. Despite medical remedies, there are some pains he has learned to manage.

Episodes of chronic pancreatitis render his body partially paralyzed with intense digestive pains on a near-daily basis.

What begins as a knot in his stomach quickly becomes a "sharp, constant" pain, Blackwell said. This discomfort builds into a "stabbing pain" radiating through his stomach. Within 30 seconds, the pain forces him to the ground. In extreme situations, the agony can cause him to pass out.

Blackwell refers to them as "Whipple attacks" and said they can last anywhere from a few minutes to over an hour, depending on his diet. A 10-minute attack can leave him in bed for as long as a day, Blackwell said, noting his attacks are not often severe.

Bob Blackwell sits on a pool table he converted to a bed for his service dog, Gommorah, while watching football Sunday, Nov. 10, 2019, at at his home in McClure, Illinois.BEN MATTHEWS

"I've learned what not to eat," Blackwell said.

While he's on the road, he expects to travel at his own leisure and as his health allows. He will continue using cannabis to treat his pain, but not before driving.

"I never get behind the wheel under the influence," Blackwell said. "... I'm not on a time schedule, so if I don't feel up to driving that day, I'll just stay where I'm at and try again the next day."

A big part of Blackwell's travel plan includes sharing his story with people along the way.

He has proudly placed the words "PANCREATIC CANCER SURVIVOR 7 YEARS" on the window of his RV's overhead cab. Side windows on the RV bear similar messages: "EARLY DETECTION SAVES LIVES" and "SPREADING HOPE COAST 2 COAST."

Bob Blackwell poses for a photo Sunday, Nov. 10, 2019, inside his RV which he plans to drive "coast-to-coast" to raise awareness for pancreatic cancer.BEN MATTHEWS

Though his plans aren't finalized, Blackwell said he wants to drive to South Carolina to visit Faith Fellowship Church. He also wants to see Las Vegas.

"I'm all about cancer walks and air shows," Bob said, noting he plans to see many national parks, including Death Valley, where the U.S. military often flies jets.

Having sold his car, Blackwell rarely leaves the house and has groceries delivered by friends and family.

Glancing around Blackwell's house, it's clear he has a mind that can't be idle. A metal fabricator by trade, Blackwell's self-contracted construction projects can be found in almost every room. In his bedroom, a repurposed pool table now serves as a bed for his uncertified service dog, Gomorrah. Laser beams bounce around the ceiling via precisely placed convex mirrors.

Though he's kept busy with small engineering-like tasks around the house, Blackwell said his home life can be lonely. But he looks forward to seeing his daughter, who drops by for a visit at least once a week.

Bob Blackwell poses for a photo in his kitchen with his "friend" named "Bones" on Sunday, Nov. 10, 2019, in McClure, Illinois.BEN MATTHEWS

Asked what he was thankful for, Blackwell paused briefly to reflect on his life.

"My faith and my family, in that order," Blackwell said. "You build those relationships. Wives can come and go, your parents die ... your kids are usually the ones who are going to be there for you. If they are, that's a pretty good testament you did a good job."

A conversation of any length with Blackwell clearly reveals the relationship with his daughter is far and away the most important thing in his life.

"If I need something, come hell or high water, she's there," Blackwell said. "Life is good. Yeah, cancer sucks, but I'm dying -- I'm not dead."

Jessica, who resides in Cape Girardeau and works as a master stylist at JCPenney, is the mother of two: Brooklyn, 8, and Corbin, 2.

Asked what Jessica thought about his plan to pack his belongings and hit the road, Blackwell didn't miss a beat.

"She is excited," he said with a grin.

Before he went in for the Whipple procedure at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis, Blackwell said he prayed one fervent prayer.

"I ain't asking for a whole lot, but I'd like to see my grandbaby graduate from kindergarten."

After a successful surgery, Blackwell walked out of the hospital only five days later -- a feat he still claims is the "record" for a Whipple patient's recovery time at Barnes-Jewish Hospital -- and would go on to see not only her graduation but the birth of a grandson.

Despite his prognosis, the continued pain, or any of the trials he may yet face, Blackwell is shrouded only in joy.

"I wouldn't change a thing."