Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the month “January, 2013”

06 Jan 2013

Congratulations! It’s A… (Diary Of A Kidney Stone – Part 2)


The following story while filled with humorous commentary, also makes adult references that may not be suitable for younger readers. Parental discretion is advised. Seriously. Don’t let the kids read this. Perhaps, maybe men shouldn’t read this either.  I really mean it this time.  No one should have to go through this, EVER!

So when I last left you, I was having a stent put inside me to assist with urination, the source of the severe pain caused by the stone blocking the passage of urine from occuring.  I was out cold for the procedure, so that was no big deal.  When I awoke, I was not in any kind of pain, and in theory, I should have been able to go if I had to.  Of course the dick doctor (take that in any context you like – I was not really crazy about his bedside manner, wait, that is just making the description worse) does not explain fully about how I am going to feel.

It was late when I finally came out of recovery and rather than chase Wendy an hour to come and get me that night, I asked to be kept overnight.  And I am glad I did.  I did not sleep at all that evening, because every time I layed down, I got an urge to go to the bathroom.  I would sit up to go, and nothing.  This went on all night, literally.  Had it not been for the nurses, I would have gone out of my mind.  Not to mention that things just really did not feel normal down there, not painful, just not normal.

The wierd thing about the procedure I was going to undergo, a lithotripsy, is that no hospital appears to have the machine to do it.  This traveling road show goes from hospital to hospital, and that determines how soon you can have it done.  My wife insisted that she not be exposed to the “catastophic pain and screaming” that had been occurring.  And so my appointment was set up the earliest it could, at a hospital another hour away.

I must admit, that I am getting spoiled with all of the hospitals that I have had to go to for either tests, surgeries, or treatments.  There are a lot of nice facilities.  Were my expectations of “Bleeding Heart” Hospital (not the real name of course) too high.  Registration at 5:00 am.  When I went to check in, all computers were down.  Plan B was to photocopy my license and insurance card.  Copiers were also down.  So, there I went, into the operating room, WITH NO IDENTIFICATION!  Are you kidding me?!?  So I come to following the procedure, and am told everything went well, all that I had to do, was get rid of the now stone-reduced to rubble residue.  Won’t go into gory details, but out it came, no pain, plenty of blood, but no pain.  And with that, I simply walked out of the hospital totally unsupervised.  True story.

Given all the traumatic abuse my lower region had been subjected to, I was told that I could expect a little more blood yet.  I was okay with that as long as there was no pain.  All I had to do was have the stint removed, and they would do that a couple of weeks later.  But that was supposed to be all that there was to it.

I have had catheters removed before, not pleasant, but tolerable.  Shoot, I have even had tubes pulled from my chest and my neck, but pulling out this stint clearly, CLEARLY was not acceptable to have done without anesthesia, at least for me.  Again, I had been warned, some possible bleeding.  But as the time came closer to have the stint removed, and yes, still had some bleeding, I was having more frequent and much stronger anxiety attacks.  I was prepared just to call the whole thing off.  My therapist was the last one keeping me anchored to sanity.

So I took what measures I needed to, and got through the appointment.  I give the nurse credit.  This was the first time I had been exposed to what countless women go through routinely, propping my legs up in stirrups wearing only a paper cloth exposing my manly bits for all to wonder.  She had a great sense of humor if the timing would only have been different.  I am all for trading innuendos, but at that time, I was in no mood for NC17 humor, especially at my expense.

Now gentlemen, I may lack experience with the whole dating scene over the last two decades, but I do think it is a safe bet, that foreplay does not involve grabbing the plumbing with two fingers, other hand hidden behind her back, and then says, “this is going to burn a bit until it goes numb.”  All she was missing was perhaps a “needing a magnifying glass” comment or asking for an extra set of hands (that would have been preferred).

Crazy to say, this would not be the last time because I continued to have bleeding issues and they would need to perform a cystoscopy.  Of course, you can tell “oscopy” means some sort of medical pictures.  And since it involved my genitalia, I was not a happy camper.  But Wendy was getting tired of feeling like a crime scene and I was wondering if somehow my thingy had been switched with a bayonett.  The bleeding had gone on long enough, even beyond the stone being removed.  Something serious was wrong.

In anticipation of the pain and discomfort I knew that I was going to feel with this procedure, I loaded up again to control the anxiety.  Only this time, the pain and discomfort was worse.  And when the nurse tells you to think of a happy place, it is kind of hard to think of something pleasant when a Louisville Slugger is going through your garden hose.  I should be happy that the results were negative, especially for cancer.  But I was still bleeding, and the urologist was talking only of going back up again.

And like that, I fired him.  I was no longer going to allow anyone to go near me again, selfish of me as it was.  But it was no longer worth it.  What were the chances that my ducts were just getting irritated from all the internal manhandling?

Several of my other doctors that have never done me any harm, convinced me to return, at least to a different urologist.  Which is what I did.  But I told him, no more poking, probing, or “going back up”.  This new urologist was convinced that with everything that had been done, there was no need to worry, and yes, perhaps my plumbing was just irritated.

It has been over a year now, and I still stand at the urinal or toilet looking down for what might or might not come out.  I have been told that once you have a kidney stone, more are sure to come.  And since conventional medicine I felt was to blame for this whole mess, I took matters into my own hands.  No, not that way.  I thought about what had changed about me that after decades, I would finally develop a stone, and the only thing I could figure was that it had to be one of the new meds I was put on following my heart surgery and subsequent discoveries of late side effects from my cancer treatments.  Against my doctors recommendations, I quit taking nearly everything that was not pertinent to my heart beating.  So far, so good.  Not necessarily a smart decision.  But Mr. Happy is happy at least.

Posted in Cancer | Leave a comment
06 Jan 2013

The First Time Around


When you go to the doctor because you do not feel well, you give the doctor all the symptoms that you are feeling so that you can get an accurate diagnosis.  While driving through the drivethru of your favorite fast food hole, the attendant repeats back the order you just gave so that you can enjoy your meal when you get home.  Trick-or-treaters give you fair notice when you answer your door, what your best response should be.  All of these things are examples of the importance of communication.  Relationships, such as boyfriend/girlfriend, spousal, or parternships all require good communication in order to live “happily ever after.”

I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease just six months before my wedding (the first one).  I had been with Judy close to two years at that point.  Looking back, we sure did a lot of partying and whatever else.  But when it came to what we had planned for the next 10, 20, 30 or more years, I do not think we ever talked about it.

But when I sat across from Judy, and told her that I had cancer, that door of communication should have been blown clear open.  Though there are not many people who would bail on someone in their greatest time of need (and no one can blame them when it comes to having to deal with a serious issue such as mine), I still offered Judy the opportunity to back out of our pending nuptuals, with no ill feelings.

It was clear that our lives together would no longer be “Fairy Tale” or perhaps as she had once dreamed.  There was a good chance that I would become sterile from the treatments (which did end up happening) and we would have no children.  I could die.  There was no conversation, just silence, some tears, and an embrace.  Her only reply was that we would get through it together.  I want to go on the record and state, Judy had a great heart, and there was never any chance that she would bail on me.  She had been through tragedy before when a boyfriend lost his life in a motorcycle accident.  I went through the rest of the diagnostic staging, radiation treatments, and we were married on May 20, 1989.  We came back from our improvised honeymoon to find out I had new disease and began chemotherapy.

Judy drove me to my appointments, but that was pretty much it for her as far as involvement.  She preferred not to talk about what I was going through, in fact, could not understand why my words flowed so freely with anyone willing to lend an ear.  But I went through nine months of chemotherapy, seemingly all on my own.  My recovery, on my own.  The years that followed it was obvious that we were drifting apart.  Words were hardly spoken, intimate contact nearly non-existent unless alcohol had been involved.  My doubts about recurrence were so strong, and then it had been confirmed I could not get Judy pregnant (good news if I ever decided to run for president and somone came forward claiming to be my illegitimate child).

I got more involved in activities that took me away from home to occupy my time.  Arguments began, and since there was no communication about our feelings, resentment started to show, and silence inside our two-bedroom rancher became the norm.  Imagine sitting across from someone, only five feet away, not saying a word, for as long as two weeks at a shot.

Judy had been involved in a head-on car collision that in all honesty, should have killed her.  But as soon as she was able to talk, and listen to me, I expressed my wishes that we take the opportunity of her survival and run with it.  It was a second chance.  Surely she would have to appreciate the new lease on life that I had often talked about.  Perhaps we could discuss options of still pursuing a family.

“We’ll talk about it soon.”  The famous war cry I heard repeatedly whenever I brought up starting a family.  And nothing would come of it.  Until March of 1999.  I decided to finally communicate.

“Ever since we found out that I couldn’t get you pregnant, you stopped showing any interest in me physically and emotionally.”

“Don’t you think for one minute, that if I really wanted to have children, we would have had them by now?”

Two different statements, two different meanings, but one result.  It was over.  Thirteen years came down to two sentences.  And there would be no turning back.  I left the house that evening as I was totally crushed.  She called my cell phone repeatedly in an attempt to get me to return home but I just could not do it.  Soon, she would make the statement, “I didn’t mean that I never wanted to have children.”  Instead of me accepting her explaination and continue our marriage as if nothing had ever happened, now the feeling running through my head was, which was the truth at this point?  Did she not want to have children?  Or was she just desperate to keep our marriage together to avoid embarrassment?  I was no more happy about our marriage ending.  I saw it as failure.  I had finally “quit” something.

We made an attempt at counseling.  But it was clear that there was no chance to save our marriage.  She did not care about the concerns I raised as far as feelings of mistrust and betrayal over just that one statement.  Even the counselor tried to get her to comprehend what I was trying to get across.

At that point, I was faced with a critical decision.  I could either continue with the counseling, with the feelings that our marriage would still not work, and risk becoming too much older to start a family, or perhaps the counseling could work.  Or should I move on and start another relationship?  And would that be enough time?  My history was complicated enough – did not know how to communicate, ended one marriage, and whoever would be my next partner would have to accept that I had cancer, when I decided to bring it up, if ever.

Posted in Cancer, Family and Friends | Leave a comment
06 Jan 2013

My Favorite Job


At 46 years of age, I think I can finally say that I have established my career.  I have been holding this job for over fifteen years, have gotten higher certifications, and constantly learn new things on the job.  And I do enjoy it.  It is also fitting, that I am “paying back” the reason that I am alive today, medical research.

Fifteen years at a job is quite a milestone for me.  I have had more than a dozen jobs in my lifetime but prior to this, held my last two jobs five and six years respectively.  Before that I was lucky to see the first anniversaries, and before that, it all depended on what month of the year it was.

While my current job is great, and great to have one, I did have another job that was probably my favorite, working at an amusement park.  I worked at Dorney Park for two years.  My first year was as a game attendant, but it was my second year after graduating high school  that rocked as a ride operator.  The the pay stank ($2.35 an hour – $1.00 under minimum wage) and the hours were horrible (some days worked from noon until midnight), from a social angle, it was the best job in the world.

As luck would have it, just as in school, I ended up being the last one picked to assign to a ride.  It could be because of my short stature or perhaps that I always stood quiet, but I almost always got picked last for things.  I was assigned to “The Sea Dragon”.  I had not idea what that was, but as we left the personnel building to head into the partk, a surreal feeling came over me.

I had grown up in this park as a young child.  Dorney Park was still one of the original “free” parks, the kind of park that Grandma and Grandpa could take you, and not be charged to sit on a park bench to watch their grandchildren enjoy rides.  In fact, at Dorney, a public road actually stretched and wound through the park with several crossing locations.  You got on rides with either a ride bracelet or a fixed amount of tickets.  As a child, I had been on every ride in the park, though I may not have known their names.  I was going to be going behind the walls of one of the most fun places I had ever known.

The Sea Dragon took quite awhile to get to as it was in the upper end of the park up a hill.  It was a newer expanded section of the park and two of the newest and coolest rides stood on this hill, The Flying Dutchman (a roller coaster similar to a Wild Mouse ride) and the Sea Dragon.  The Sea Dragon resembled a pirate ship and simply just rocked back and forth like a playground swing.  It just turns out that it packed a little more force on the abdomen and depending on where you sat, the forces doubled.  Plus, even more cool, it blasted music which really helped to make my day go quickly.  Okay, so it was early 80′s music, but between the music and the experience of the ride, I was operating one of the best rides in the park.

I have never had a job where I got to interact with so many people, having so much fun.  The Sea Dragon constantly had a long line, a lot of times due to repeat riders.  It was not uncommon to have conversations with people waiting for their turn on the next ride.  And there was another reaction that I had not prepared for, girls were talking to me en mass.  I did not resemble Quasimoto by any means, but I was a fairly shy guy and was not known to start conversations.  I had developed friendships with other park employees, but it definitely caught me off guard to have so many girls talking to me.  Reflecting back, I know it was not me, it was the ride.  It was the easiest way to get the furthest, highest, and fastest seats (on the ends).  Hey, I had self esteem issues.  What did I care?  I had some really nice looking girls talking to me!

But there was one girl that was different.  Like a scene straight from the movie “Grease” only I am in no way as sharp looking as Travolta, and we were no were near the ocean, and I know nothing about fixing cars, something special had grown.  And that is where that story will end until another post, whereas I want to continue on, why an amusement park ride operator was my favorite job.

As I was saying, I got to meet alot of people.  But unlike my current job, as an amusement park employee, we were not stacked on top of each other, or cooped up inside an office.  And because all of our work areas were different, different rides produce different results, when we spent time together, we had a lot to talk about.

There were three main things that we liked to do once our work day was over and the park was closed.  Either go see Rocky Horror (over and over again), party, or ride a couple of rides.  None of the three produced great results, but lots of memories.  With no parental supervision, I was never missed late at night to do as I wanted, and I was never left out.

After the park was closed, we had roughly about a half an hour before security would do their sweep of the park, so we always had time for one or two nightcaps of rides.  Which would have probably been okay had we just ridden the rides like normal patrons.  But nooooooo, we found new ways to make them exciting.  It is amazing we never made the newspapers due to some horrific accident.

One thing we used to like to do was bet “you can’t make me puke”.  This is where people put up or shut up.  All you had to do was outlast the ride operator without puking.  The Sea Dragon had a break release which could extend the ride quite considerably.  But with momentum reducing each swing, the effects also lessened, so my ride was usually not challenged.  The ride to challenge intestinal fortitude was called the Monster, an octopus like ride that went around in circles, as did the cars, and the arms would go up and down.  There were two clutches, one to spin the ride (the cars spun on their own), and the other clutch raised and dropped the arms.  But being an older ride, you could “pop” the clutch meaning you could shotput someone when the arm was at its lowest point thrusting the people into the air until it reached the top of the arc.  I lasted just under 45 minutes, but lost the bet.  Then of course there was Iceberg “rugby”.  This was an indoor “teacup” ride but as the ride was moving, we were tossing around Nerf footballs.  Ahhh, good times.  I did not say they were smart.

Though we got away with our shenanigans after hours, during park hours that was another story.  Some of us were just doomed to get into trouble, and others, like me, were just plain misunerstood.  For instance, I had one of the coolest rides in the Sea Dragon.  That also meant I had some of the longest lines.  So on busy days, I was ordered to make sure all seats were filled before starting the ride.  But people wanted to sit furthest out from the middle, and those front two seats on each side nearly always sat empty because there was no rush.  One particular day, and it was busy, with supervision watching activity, I was adhering to the “no empty seats” rule.  Then a couple of intoxicated riders gave me a hard time about not getting to wait until the next ride, and started cussing me out.  I had enough and told them to get out of line and off my ride.  My only problem was I did not do it through security, so techincally I was in the wrong and I would be punished for it.  But the funny thing about my personality, if I feel I have done nothing wrong, and I know you are going to need me when all of the other college kids leave for school, well, I got pretty ornary.

The park was not going to fire me, and I knew that because in a few weeks, manpower would be so short, and I was one of the few people who knew how to operate all of the rides.  But that did not stop management from punishing me.  I would be assigned to less pleasant rides to operate, and to retaliate against them for doing it, I would intentionally screw up more so that I would not be put back on that ride.  Eventually, they would have to put me back home on the Sea Dragon.  But management was intent on making me crumble.

The first ride for punishment was twelve hours of turning door handles on the Paratrooper, a kind of ferris wheel.  But when I complained of my hands hurting the next day, management decided to put me on the Sky Ride.  Of course I got bored by the end of the night, and actually convinced riders to let me send their stuffed animals up on cars following them.  I got caught doing that, so the following day I was sent to Tot Spot, the kiddie area rides.  A person can only handle so much of the electronic horn buzzing and so, in spite of the park deciding to stay open later that evening, I shut down Tot Spot at the park’s advertised closing time.  Come on really, what toddlers should be out past 10:00pm anyway?  Then it was off to the Glass House, a see through maze, and all I had to do was sit there.  I had enough, I gave my notice.  When they realized that I did not care that I was going to lose my end of season bonus, management backpedaled because as I said, they were going to be understaffed the two Fall weekends when college kids left for school.  I was asked what it would take to convince me to stay, and then it hit me, Thunder Creek Mountain, the park’s ultimate log flume.  It was either that, or I was going home.

Now you would think after all that, I would manage to stay out of trouble.  But working at Dorney Park was always fun, and that was not going to change.  Let me tell you about TCM.  Log flumes + females wearing white = jackpot.  There is a reason the drinking age is 21 and not 17, because teenagers can really be stupid, unfocused, and have poor judgement.  But we were creative.  There was a tower at the top of the climbing hill, an observatory tower to make sure all the boats were properly spaced and the ride operating perfectly.  I mentioned to make sure that the boats were properly spaced.  Well, if they were not the safe distance between each other, around a couple of turns and under a bridge, was a brake that could be used to stop the next boat and create the safe distance needed.  But a neat little trick for a perverted little mind like I had, was that you could pump the button, hence pumping the brake, and guess what would happen?  Water would come shooting up over the side of the boat.  So if the water fall did not get you, I was going to get you.  I mentioned the white shirted guests right?  Well, I never heard a complaint out of my co-workers down at the loading station, nor from management.  Until one time, a guest thought the ride had come to a stop and panicked at the rush of water over the side of the boat and jumped out of the boat.  I panicked and let go of the break button, and the boat sailed off on its own without the passenger because she jumped out.  I had some explaining to do.  After a lot of discussion, it was agreed that it would be best if I went back to the Sea Dragon as there had been no behavioral issue with me except for a rude guest.

After Dorney Park closed for the season, during maintenance/cleaning, a fire started with a grill located next to the wooden carousel.  Nearly one third of the park went up in flames and with it, my childhood memories and the memories of 1983.  I went to the park to pick up my bonus for working until the end of the season, and saw the devastation.  I have only been back to the park a couple of times in the past 25 years because it is just not the same.  Now it is no different than all the other big amusement parks with a water park.  And grandparents have to pay to watch their grandchildren laugh and have fun even if they do not ride the rides.

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