Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the month “August, 2013”

A Different Perspective


I remember all too well, in 1989 when I began my treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  I recall the first chair upon entering the chemo suite.  There were only two other chairs, but they were always empty.  I was always alone.  My first day of treatment, Brenda, my oncology nurse, took the time, to keep speaking to me in a calm, motherly voice from the insertion of the needle to the administration of the drugs, how each was going to make me feel as it went along, and then at the end, “see you next week.”

I remember all too well, after I completed my treatments, I underwent my first scan since treatments ended.  I was sitting at my desk at work, when a page came through my intercom, “Paul, there’s a call for you on Line 2.  It’s your doctor.”  My office full of other co-workers came to a complete standstill, quiet.

“Paul, we have good news, you are in remission.”

I said thank you, and hung up the phone.  Everyone around me was still quiet.  I rested my head upon my folded hands, and then tears began to fall from my eyes.  I had done it.  I beat cancer.  I was going to live so much longer.

This was my life as a patient.

This is my life as a caregiver.

Tomorrow, my father will begin his cancer treatments for lung cancer.  No easy fete, he has four cycles to get through.  He will suffer through side effects.  He will be exhausted.  I will be there with him for each treatment.

Tomorrow, one of my fellow “Hodgkoids”, will undergo his first scan since completing his treatments two weeks ago.  He will get the scan done, and then wait to hear that word, “remission.”

Dad, you can do this.

To my young friend, “As I continue down the road of remission, I will look in my rear view mirror to make sure you got onto that highway.”  Good luck tomorrow.

Crossroads


The commercials and advertisements are unavoidable.  Drug companies pushing their latest “cures” for maladies from obesity to depression to erectile dysfunction.    There is a pill for everything.  No matter what illness we suffer from, our eyes light up when someone tells us that we can feel better.  We should feel better.  We can be made better.  Our attentions have been grabbed.

And then in true commercialization fashion, just as would occur in a car sale ad, a list of conditions is rattled off quickly and at the end of the advertisement, because by that time, the only thing that we are paying attention to, is that we will be cured.  But for those who do realize that there can be complications by taking the particular drug, there is an epic battle determining which is more important, quantity or quality of life.

Manage or even eliminate your pain, but the risk exists for developing lymphoma.  Treating depression might just result in increasing the risk of committing suicide which makes no sense to me as that is one of the major reasons you start taking an antidepressant – to avoid getting to that point of wanting to take your own life.  Every drug carries its own list of possible side effects to weigh and balance the difference of the benefits of taking the drug or taking the chance of letting the body do what it does naturally.  But seriously, when a health crisis is bad enough, we are then forced to decided if it will be worth the risk of developing heart issues, liver and kidney problems, skin dilemmas, and so on.

And this is only what you are made aware of what happens.  In my Paul’s Heart page “Are You Out Of Your Mind,” I told the story of a side effect that had not been listed for a drug that I was told that I had to take following my heart surgery back in 2008.  I explained that of all the side effects publicly listed, there are those side effects that do occur, that unless they met a certain occurrence level, the side effects will not get listed because it is not required due to low occurrence.  That does not mean that they did not exist.  The pressure is turned on to the patient to educate themselves on what has happened to their body.  Simply put, if you take anything that is meant to change something occurring with your body, that means it will affect other physiological systems of your body.  Even a simple aspirin comes with some side effect.

But when you absolutely, positively need the drug to save your life, whether it be cardiac or cancer to name just two issues, it may seem like a simple decision to make, and an obvious decision to make.  But when the results are not guaranteed, and risks are increased and raised severely, the issue becomes a matter of quality of life, versus the quantity of life.

In my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma situation, the exact details of what could happen with me were not known.  But there were some risks of developing side effects that were known.  Those risks were very vague and general, but the warnings were there.  Drugs in my chemotherapy regimen were actually given to counteract the side effects of one drug and so on.  I took the main drug of course to battle the cancer, but then took another drug to help build back the muscle loss caused by the chemotherapy.  But that drug needed medication to prevent and help to protect the kidneys that would be affected.  In my case, my decision was still a no-brainer.  The cure rate for Hodgkin’s did not lie, and I was not going to accept in my mind, anything less than hearing the words remission.

I got “lucky”.  Okay, that may not be an accurate term as many would not describe my last five years as being lucky given the issues that developed late from my cancer treatments decades ago.  In the case of my father, it is going to be a totally different situation.

Six months before he faced half of his lung to be removed due to cancer, my dad had a carotid artery cleaned out that had been narrowed due his dietary and smoking histories.  That particular surgery went well, and he recovered quickly.  However, the lung surgery that provided his best option, carried risks.  One of the main risks appeared within a day of his lobectomy.  Some clot had broken loose and raced straight for the recently repaired carotid, and blocked the artery.  The result, my father suffered two strokes.

It has been a long summer for my father.  He has recovered well from his surgery and strokes, with only the restriction of driving his only frustration.  But now he faces a crossroad.  His doctors are pressing him to consider preventative chemotherapy to take care of any stray cancer cells that may have been missed during the surgery.  As of yet, he is still not convinced that he needs to undergo chemotherapy.  There is no solid proof that there are any remaining cancer cells.  There is no support to show that his body can tolerate his cancer treatments.  On at least two occasions now, he has asked for the simplest of requests, just to know if there is the chance that he will suffer any more strokes during his treatments.

He must decide, to ignore the doctor’s recommendations to prevent the cancer from coming back, or be willing to accept that he may suffer another stroke or other health malady.

Then And Now – Final Day Of Treatment


Today’s post is dedicated to a young man in Southern Florida.  I am not using his name to protect his privacy.  I have never met this “kid” in person (at age 23 he is just a kid), only through the internet.  He was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, just as I, at around the same age as I.  I learned of him as he was completing his second or third treatment.  Tomorrow, he will receive his last treatment.  I will be anxious to hear of his every moment from the impressive milestone.

The day had finally arrived.  It was a week late because the prior week, my blood counts were too low.  The option was to modify the chemo for that week, or delay the treatment a week and see how I feel, or just cancel the treatment all together.  The doctors decided that it was best for me to delay my treatment for one week.  I had done so well up to this point, had gone through 7 1/2 cycles.  I needed this one last set of infusions, and I would have solidified my chances of surviving Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

That Friday, March 3, 1990 began just like the other Fridays of treatment.  I would go into the oncology office, by myself.  My name would be called twice.  The first time was to do bloodwork and confirm that I could handle going through the final treatment.  I had been cleared.

The second time that my name had been called, it was to walk back to the chemotherapy suite.  As usual, my oncology nurse Brenda was busy setting up all of the syringes.  I sat down in the chair and began to roll up my sleeves.  I was not sure which arm would be used.  I just know that my veins had been destroyed by all of the chemicals that had been used to save my life.

Brenda turned around, looked at me and asked, “you ready?  You have finally gotten here, the end.  This could not have been easy for you.  These are such hard drugs to use.”  I gave her an agreeing nod, and like that, she had already stuck the needle into my arm.  Half of the cycle resulted me dealing with nausea, the second half, did not give me any problems.

And so over the next hour, I received my final treatment.

After the last drip, Brenda began the process of removing the catheter from my arm.  “Now Paul, when you get up from this chair, you have to imagine that there is a marching band playing for you, in triumph.”  My eyes lit up and all of a sudden, I could “hear” the band as I walked down that long hall from the chemo suite, for what I was determined to be the last time.

With the internet today, over 23 years later, internet support groups now make a daily post announcing those who are completing their treatments.  And today, there are pictures of these milestone.  Someone is either holding a sign announcing the date and the event, or many hospitals have a huge bell that is rung each time a patient completes their treatment.  Even more impressive, is that every day, people join the millions of cancer survivors, MILLIONS!  Unlike 23 years ago, I know many of these survivors.

Tomorrow, my friend will complete his treatment, twelve cycles, countless injections.  This is no easy fete for anyone to accomplish.  The physical toll is nothing compared to what the mental toll can take through the whole experience.  From the fear of death, to the frustrations of having ups and downs, and no way to control them, the emotional toll can be brutal.  He was blessed during this journey with having the strongest support than I can ever recall.  As I went through my battle, I remember often the times that I said “I wish I was younger so that my parents could have made the decisions about this cancer for me”.  His mother has been by his side from the first moment.  As a parent myself, I cannot imagine having either of my children have to face such a disease.

But Dude, you have done it!  You have gotten to your final treatment.  You have done it with courage, strength, and determination.  The support of your mother, sister, grandparents clearly played a roll in beating this cancer.  Tomorrow is your day.  Congratulations and this is for you…

“As I continue down the road of remission, I will keep looking in my rear view mirror to make sure that you are still following me.”  This is a quote that I often write to many who recognize such milestone days in their battles with cancer.

It is over 23 years for me.  I wish you the same lengthy and healthy longevity that I have experienced.  Good luck tomorrow.

Your friend, Paul

Post Navigation