When I was diagnosed with cancer in 1988, Hodgkin’s lymphoma, I could not have been any more alone. There was no social media, there was no Internet, I did not even have a computer. What little I could find about what I was about to experience came from encyclopedias and researching through old newspaper files, you remember microfiche?
37 years later, we have the Internet and a robust resource of peer-to-peer social media pages and websites. These resources are filled with access to information ranging from experiences to medical information and resources, and stories of long term survivorship, probably the only thing of concern when it comes to beating cancer second only to hearing the words “you are in remission”.
While all this technology can be a very good thing, it does not come without its risks, and a lot of misinformation. I express constantly that I am not a doctor and for that reason I do not give out medical advice. Besides that lack of medical degree, I have no personal knowledge of medical history of anyone reaching out to me to make any kind of decision. It is that same reason I do not give out legal advice as I am not an attorney. However, I am able to provide anecdotes, stories and personal testimonials, verified information and facts to direct anyone looking for support as they deal with one of the most traumatic things a person can deal with in their life. I have no problem telling anyone, take the information that you find, share it with your doctor, and together the two of you make that decision.
With “Paul’s heart” I have reached so many people literally around the world offering support and information and guidance. And while I am not a big national worldwide organization, it is my hope that those who have followed me all of these years, who have shared my posts and videos, that I have made a difference even if just one person at a time. It is my plan and my hope to continue doing this for many years to come. And as always please like my page, follow my page, and please share my page, As that is the only way that I can continue my mission, to make a difference in the survivorship of cancer.
There are moments in life that divide everything into “before” and “after.” For many people, a cancer diagnosis is one of those moments. Cancer has a way of stripping life down to its most basic truths – what matters, what does not, and what we often take for granted. Life after cancer is not simply about survival. It is about transformation.
Before cancer, many of us just move through life, living on autopilot. We plan our futures, chase goals, have careers, buy “stuff”, and assume we have endless time – time to call friends, take trips, and time to say “I love you.” Cancer interrupts that allusion, taking it away from us. It forces us to confront something we all know intellectually but rarely feel deeply, time is not guaranteed. Once you truly understand that, everything begins to change.
One of the most profound shifts is how we thing about quantity of life versus quality of life. Before cancer, the focus is often on longevity, living longer, achieving more, adding years. But after cancer, the question becomes different. It becomes, “what are those years made of?” Is it a life filled with stress, rushing from one obligation to another? Or is it a life filled with meaning, connection, and presence?
Cancer has a way of teaching that more years do not automatically mean a better life. A shorter life filled with love, laughter, and purpose can be far richer than a longer life spend disconnected or distracted. It is not about how many days we are given. It is about how fully we live the days we have. This realization often leads to another powerful shift, the re-evaluation of what we value.
Before cancer, it is easy to place importance on material possessions, houses, cars, titles, and achievements. These things can feel like markers and measurements of success. But after cancer, their significance tends to fade, not because they are inherently bad, but because they are no longer enough. When you have faced your own mortality, you begin to ask, “will this matter in the end?” Rarely is the answer going to be a bigger house or a nicer car. Instead, what comes to the surface is something far more human; experiences, relationships, and memories.
You begin to value time spent with loved ones over times spent accumulating things. A quiet dinner with family becomes more meaningful than a busy schedule. A walk, a conversation, a shared laugh, these become the moments that define us. Cancer sharpens our awareness of presence. It teaches us to be where we are, fully. Not thinking about yesterday or worrying about tomorrow, but appreciating this moment, right now, because this moment is where life actually happens. And in that awareness, relationships often deepen.
You start to say the things you used to leave unsaid, You express gratitude more freely. You fortive more easily. You realize that the people in your life are not permanent fixtures, they are gifts. And like all gifts, they are meant to be appreciated while you have them.
Another important change is how you approach fear and priorities. Before cancer, fear held us back, fear of failure, fear of judgement, fear of stepping outside of our comfort zones. But after cancer, those fears often lose their power. When you have faced something as serious as your own health and survival, smaller fears seem, well, smaller. You become more willing to take chances. To pursue what truly matters, to let go of what does not matter.
You might choose to spend more time with family instead of chasing endless work hours. Or take that trip you’ve been putting off. You might finally do something you have always wanted to do, not because it is practical, but because it brings you happiness. In many ways, life after cancer becomes more intentional.
That does not mean it is always easy. There will be challenges, physical, emotional, and psychological. There may be lingering uncertainty, follow-up appointments, or moments of fear about the future. But alongside of those challenges is a deeper awareness, a clearer perspective, and often, a stronger appreciation for life itself. Gratitude becomes more than just a word, it becomes a daily mantra and practice. Gratitude for ordinary things; a sunrise, a meal, a conversation, a moment of peace. Things that once went unnoticed, now feel significant.
Perhaps one of the greatest lessons is this, life is not something to be postponed. We often live as if real life will begin later, after the next milestone, the next achievement, the next phase, But cancer teaches that life is happening right now.
So what does life after cancer ultimately teach us? It teaches us to choose quality over quantity, to choose people over possessions, experiences over accumulation. Cancer teaches us presence over distraction, and most importantly, to choose love, connection, and meaning over everything else. Because in the end, when we look back on our lives, it won’t be the things we owned that define us, it will be the lives we touched, the memories that we created, and the love that we shared.
Cancer changes us. It has to. But within that change, there is clarity, purpose. And there can be a deeper, richer way of living. Not just surviving, but truly living.
March 14th has two meanings in my life. My maternal grandfather’s birthday was that date, a date I will never forget, because of what happened twenty-two years ago, the day I became a Dad. I need to mention, I am not making reference to my daughter’s birthday, but rather the day she was placed into my arms, and through the adoption process, became my daughter. Those of us in the adoption community refer to this date in many ways, “Gotcha Day” or “Forever Family Day.” So each year, both of my daughters have two dates that get celebrated, their adoption date, and their birthday.
Both of my daughters, now adults, understand how the decision came to be, that I would seek adopting them. Cancer treatments had left me unable to have biological children, and scientific alternative methods were also unsuccessful. If I was going to be a Dad, adoption would be my only option. And once the decision was made, where and from who, on March 14, 2004, the day after I landed in mainland China, my oldest daughter was placed into my arms. I was a Dad.
My experience, or rather role models for fatherhood were lacking, as my parents had divorced when I was three years old. Unfortunately from there, my relationship with my father grew estranged until we had made amends in my adulthood (long story, not for this post). But I really had no role models or ideas what a father was supposed to be like, other than when I would spend time at a friend’s house, and see how their fathers were. I had two main friends in high school that I watched and gained this experience. But still, would it be enough, for the day when it came, that I was responsible for a tiny young being, reliant on me, my responsibility to keep safe, to teach, and to prepare? Sure, I read all of the bedtime stories, went through the Santa and Easter Bunny traditions, helped with homework, and assisted with preparations for college. As adults, I now need to make sure that my daughters learn all they can about the adult responsibilities they will need to handle.
As much as I had to teach her, it was her that taught me so much. Things I would learn from her, her younger sister would benefit from that. As my oldest daughter, it was she who taught me patience. Seriously, as adults, we rush to get to work or to the movies, we expect things to go smoothly as planned, we want things the way we want them. That does not happen once you become a Dad. If she decided she was not going to wear something that I picked out, that was a battle I was going to have to choose if I wanted or not, usually not. And as much as I could plan things out, even with my daughter, if she had other thoughts, that would be extra time being dealt with, no matter what deadline or need was waiting.
And then there was taking extra time, not her, but me. I got a whole new perspective on things and life, through her eyes, appreciating all the things that she enjoyed, and why she enjoyed them. It could be a butterfly, the moon, whatever, each thing that she expressed amazement with, was from a perspective of an innocence I had not thought of.
I believe I always had empathy, definitely a result of having gone through cancer. But I learned to be much softer and more aware of someone else’s feelings, and they mattered to me. So I became a better listener. I needed to hear and listen what she was feeling, because that mattered. Life was no longer just about me, but what she thought of and worried about, mattered to me.
If there is one thing that I have been constant with both my daughters, is that I need to be there for them, I want to be there for them. The drives to school. The anticipation waiting for my daughters to wake up for Christmas presents and Easter baskets. Both have learned that they will always be able to count on me. Of course, they also realize with my health issues from my treatments, those days do not come easy. If there were any regret I have, is that I probably worked too hard, too much, too often. And there would be things I would miss. But I always felt that I was doing good by earning more, to provide more, to be able to do more, until my oldest asked one day, “how come you are never home Daddy?”, a fair question of my 50-60 hour work weeks plus weekend side work. All she wanted, and clearly missed, was time with Daddy.
There is not one moment that went by, too big or too small, that was not an opportunity to enjoy the “little things.” Through their eyes, my daughters taught me the world is a beautiful place. We got caught in a downpour of rain while riding bikes. Who cared?!? My daughter’s love of all creatures, even the lizards and water bugs that found their way into our pool deserved to be rescued.
The one thing I could not learn from my friends parents, was how to be vulnerable, to be okay when it came to being emotional. There was no preparedness to deal with fear and pain my daughters would experience from hospitalizations, to loss, whether it be friendships or family member passings. There have been countless times that both of my daughters have brought out so much pride as their father, that my eyes leaked. And that was okay. As they got older, their needs changed, situations got more complicated, and that meant that we all had to adapt. And that meant more patience. I must admit, I know that both my daughters have me wrapped around their fingers. There is nothing I would not do for them.
And because I always knew that I was being watched, the things I did and said mattered. I am not known for using foul language in conversations. My daughters do not see me drink and drive. I have done what I can to be their role model for when/if the time comes that they get involved with someone, and that ends up for the rest of their lives. I have made sure that it matters to them, that they are as respected as the respect they will give their significant other. They are to stand firm in what they believe, remember the virtues that I displayed for them, as that will make them the best person they can be.
And when it comes to love, and being loved, both my daughters taught me what that feels like and what it means to have that in your life.
Every year, on this date, I think about how my life changed, now twenty-two years ago. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not only has she been a great daughter, but also a great older sister.
I heard a very profound quote the other day, and I am paraphrasing, “I have spent most of my life, learning to live with you. And now, I spend my life teaching you everything necessary in life for the time you have to live without me.” And that hits hard as a 36 year cancer survivor with a very complicated health history. My daughters have family and friends who have lost parents. I am no one special to deserve to still be here with all that I deal with health wise, but I do have enormous pressure to make sure that my daughters learn everything they need to not just succeed in life, but thrive, before anything happens to me.
Being a Dad has been one of the most meaningful things of my life, and I have been twice blessed. My purpose in life changed the days that both of you were placed in my arms. I am proud of both my daughters in ways that can never be put into words. Both have great opportunities ahead of them, fearless, strong, and oh yes, determined. My biggest influence on them, is that hopefully I have given them the confidence to believe in themselves as I believe in them. They are both capable of achieving anything they set out to do, they carry my last name. And I hope that I have been the role model to them, that I did not have, to learn what strength is, what sacrifice looks like, and what unconditional love is like, because I know that is what we have, and no one, and I mean NO ONE can ever take that away. When things get hard, and life gets overwhelming, they will be able to hear the kind and supportive voice of their Dad in their heads, that they can get through anything. They are my daughters.
I love you Madison and Emmalie. For as much time as I still have left, and no matter how old you grow, you will never lose this enormous hold and space in my heart. But admittedly, forever you will always be my little girls. And you will never be alone.
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Paul's Heart 