With the exception of two short periods of time, nearly all activities with my daughters have been with all of us. There were some individual things at school or with friends, but for the most part, it has always been the three of us. The first period that I referenced, my older daughter, got all of the focus as I was waiting on the arrival of her sister, a process that took nearly two years.
But for the next sixteen years, it was the three of us. With her older sister away at college, and making her own plans, this year my younger daughter, for good or bad, has been able to receive probably 90% of the focus from me. All the years between, I feel I did a good job, sharing “me” and my attention equally between both, making sure that both of my daughters needs were met, and wants to could be taken care of whenever possible.
With my older daughter, all of my fatherhood decisions were “on the job” training. With my younger daughter, decisions came out of experience, things I learned from the first time around. It is safe to say, that I am certain that both learned everything that I felt was important to succeed as adults. My younger daughter has benefited from the experiences of her older sister, with any adjustments that I needed to make along the way.
My older daughter, well on her way to establishing herself is preparing for her next year in college. My younger daughter is preparing for her first year of college. It is hard to believe that nineteen years of fatherhood has blown by so quickly, as I focus on the decisions that need to be made for tomorrow, with the images from yesterday, that I hold close to my heart.
My daughters and I were having a conversation about their late uncle, who passed away from ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). It has been nearly eleven years, and I still miss him. As my older daughter understands and reminded me, “I know he was like a brother to you, not just a brother-in-law.”
Through Mike’s battle, he taught me many things. But one thing stood out, probably having the biggest impact on my life. Admittedly, I still have a hard time executing that lesson.
At the time of his diagnosis, I had been struggling with the diagnosis of all the different late side effects being caused by my treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I was dealing with a swallowing issue, unbeknownst to me, caused by radiation treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The mechanics of the whole thing is a separate post by itself. But the bottom line is that I was slowly losing the ability to swallow, to the point I could not even get water down. I often found myself choking unable to get anything down my throat.
A few months before things got really bad for me, my brother-in-law, had begun developing his own unique symptoms, his speech slurring. Many of us would joke that he had one too many “Jack and Cokes.” He was at a loss for what was happening, because it definitely was not caused by any drinking. Testing would reveal and confirm, Mike had ALS. The disease is discovered from either muscles twitching or getting weak, swallowing, or even, slurred speech.
As Mike’s speech issue and eventual swallowing progressed, he soon found the need to rely on artificial intelligence to assist his speech. At the dinner table, we soon discovered a problem, in stereo if you will. We both were having serious issues swallowing our food, caused by different reasons.
But if there is one flaw in my personality that I know that I am aware of, it is perspective. It can work for me, or it can work against me. No matter what I am dealing with, I will always believe someone is dealing with something worse than what I am dealing with. And with my brother-in-law, that was definitely the case. As I sat across the dinner table from him, me not wanting to eat for fear that I would be the one to actually choke at the table, Mike struggling to get anything down himself, I blurted out, “so Mike, which one of us is going down first?” After a few awkward chuckles, I continued, “I’m sorry Mike. I have no room to complain about this. What you are going through is far worse.”
Mike replied, “but that does not make what you are going through any less real, or severe. The only difference is each of our prognosis. That does not make your pain any less real, or relevant. Go easy on yourself.”
I would like to think it was at that moment, that after twenty-two years, I finally learned to do just that, but after thirty-three years, I still have not. Mike’s message is one that I share with any of my fellow survivors who have a moment, when one of their late term issues just happens to be overwhelming them, and they feel in the grand scheme of things, compared to other of our survivors, they may just have it better and therefore should discard their feelings. No, they should not. The feelings that they have are real, and have a huge emotional impact on their survival.
Look, during these three decades of survival, I have said goodbye to so many fellow long term survivors. A shorter lifespan, due to all the trauma that my body has been put through is expected by many of us, but by no means dwelt on. But that is a reality. Emotionally, survivorship takes its biggest toll, because that is when we are most likely not to give ourselves the slack when we need it most, especially if there is another survivor going through something we perceive as more serious. As Mike said, “it does not make it any less real, and deserves attention if necessary.”
A few weeks ago, I happened to crack two of my ribs, just sitting in my chair. I bent over to pick something off of the floor. I heard it, and worse, I felt it. And though I am known for having a fairly high pain threshold, because others have it worse than me, this is one time pain actually has my attention. This injury is likely related to osteopenia that I developed as a long term side effect from my treatments. But where is my focus? On my other fellow survivors. I consider this a minor inconvenience as I will be restricted from certain activities as my ribs heal. Though as I worry about my other survivors and their health issues, that does not make my injury any less real.
My fellow long term survivors and I lost a good one a couple of weeks ago. Do not mistake me, all of my fellow survivors are good ones. But Rob, there was something extra inspirational about him, that not only gave many of us hope, but also challenged us. As he went through the last few years, in spite of the struggles, he never gave up. Even in the end, it was on his terms. Rob was in control.
I had known Rob for many years, though I never had the chance to meet him in person. He was a long term survivor of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, just like me, and just like me, he had late developing side effects from his treatments that had gotten bad enough to require intervention.
It is easy among our “group” to forget that we have other things in our lives, that our world is not just about our current health crisis. Though that is exactly how our support is set up. As survivors, we share our experiences and knowledge, so that if a survivor is dealing with a doctor who does not get “it” as to what is happening with our bodies, we can hope that the doctor will be open minded and pursue the possibility of something unrealized.
There is more to our world than surviving the cure that gave us all this extra time from cancer. Sadly, it is only after Rob’s passing, that I learned of two of his interests that I would have loved to have our conversations dominate rather than cancer.
I never knew Rob was a musician and singer. Wow, the conversations that we could have had based on this common thread between us. But I have only found out recently just how good he was, and how much he enjoyed the world of music.
It could not be any more appropriate than to describe Rob as being “out of this world.” A web developer and and project director for online media, Rob was a valuable staff member for a wonderful art/science museum/exhibit known as “Exploratorium.” I cannot come close to even begin describing how awesome this experience is. But if you have ever been to an “immersion” type of museum exhibit, this is definitely not one to be missed. Clearly, Rob enjoyed his “work.” You can check out Exploratorium at the link below.
Rob was a true outdoorsman enjoying his environment around him.
We have a place that many of us like to share our lives outside of survivorship. And all too often, as many wonderful things we do get to talk about and share with our fellow survivors, that there is life after Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, our conversations do return back to our health as it comes back to the forefront, sometimes in a rude way.
Personally, and though I have written about many survivors who have passed, this took me a bit longer. Like many of our Hodgkin’s survivors, he had heart complications from the treatment later on in life. We are faced with so many factors that determine our fate if we go through with any corrective surgeries, that can result in success or failure. There is no bigger risk for us, than with open heart surgery. But depending on how badly scarred our insides are (from radiation damage), less invasive methods with lower risks are not an option.
Rob was someone who faced open heart surgery for his issue. Informed of the risks, he made the decision to proceed. And although not perfectly smooth, all of us, including Rob, thought he had turned a corner. There would be setbacks, and with each one, he seemed to overcome those. Of course, the majority of time this all occurred, was during the Covid pandemic. And even one of his caregivers exposing him to a Covid infection himself, something that should never have happened, never dampened his belief that he would get through this. It had been so long.
He finally decided his body had been through enough. If you have ever had to deal with a medical trauma or long term illness, one of the worst feelings you have, is the loss of control of “you.” As you get treated or recover, you do not have control. If there is one phrase that really bothers me, “lost ‘his’ battle with…” It has not been used in Rob’s case, and I wish this would be the case more often for others. Rob did not lose his battle. He decided that he had gone through enough. He took control, control that had been taken away from him.
I have everything in writing, as well as having discussed with enough of those around me, my decisions when it comes to getting through the rest of my survivorship. I feel that if my body is strong enough, which I consider enough as of this post, my body will fight to survive on its own, and I will get through it. However, if there is any lopsided risk with something being proposed to correct with my health, there are two things I do not want to happen. I do not want any complications that would leave my survival being a burden on my loved ones. And I do not want any lasting image other than when I was last seen out and about publicly. I am firm in what I want.
But then someone like Rob comes along, and he has not been the only one throughout my survival, in spite of the risks, makes the decision to go all in, and fight with every fiber of his being. His updates though not great, still gave hope to him, and all of those who knew him. It was this fighting spirit, and like several before him, that often lead me to question my personal decisions, and comparing levels of “fight,” which really is not fair.
Time and trauma, both worked for Rob, and against him. And there is not one fellow survivor or anyone who knew Rob personally, who were hoping for anything less than turning that final corner, and getting back to the things he enjoyed. Sadly, time ran out, the trauma was too great.
Rob, your spirit, your support, and just your wonderful outlook on life, will be so greatly missed. I have never known anyone who has played in a Blue Oyster Cult tribute band. But growing up, I got to hear Blue Oyster Cult in concert, from miles away from my home, at an outdoor festival, because they were that loud. Rock on wherever you are, and we will hear you play.
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