Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Animals”

The Waiting


Christmas Eve = the longest night in the world for me as a child, waiting for Santa Claus to come.

The night before Easter = the second longest night for me as a child, same reason as above, just for the Easter Bunny with my basket of chocolate.

The first day of school… ever.

Getting a drivers license… forever.

The end of school… forever.

Freedom to do what I want to do, whenever I want to do it.  I am still waiting.

Having to wait around the doctor’s office, just to be told that you have cancer.

Waiting to hear the words, “Your cancer is in remission.”

Waiting to reach the one year anniversary of your remission of cancer, and second year, fifth year, tenth year, twentieth year.

Now I am waiting to reach twenty-five years cured of my cancer.

Waiting for the paint to dry and the pot to boil.

Waiting to be approved to be adoptive parents.

Waiting for the sixteen hour non-stop flight to be over.

We can hear the children down the hallway.  What is taking so long to bring them to the conference room to be placed in our arms.

Waiting for daughter’s first steps.

Waiting in a dazed state to go to surgery for my first ever open heart surgery.

I hate sitting at home doing nothing.  I want to go back to work.  I still need time to heal.

Waiting for the new season of Newsroom on HBO.

My DVR has a pause button.  I can make the television wait for me.

Phone calls.  Can you hold please?

I have to wait several months to see a specialist.  They know what is wrong and time is of importance for best chance of survival.  A three month wait.

Waiting in the waiting room.  Then I wait so more in the exam room.

Scans and scopes, scans and scopes, scans and scopes.  Results pending.  More waiting.

I do not mind waiting for my daughters to grow up, graduate, get married, have children.

Reality TV Bites! My Pitch To The Major Networks


Shows based on reality.  Oh, the humanity!
“You’re gonna lose your mind watchin’ TV” Oh, and “Fear Factor” I watched maybe a half hour after that, felt like I needed a long shower
Network execs with naked ambitions, “Next week on FOX, watch lions eat Christians”.  Leech-covered grub-eatin’ fools on “Survivor”
I love shows with or without a plot I’ll stare ’til my legs are numb, my eyes bloodshot
Because I only have got One brain to rot
I’m gonna spend my life watching television a lot

These lyrics are from Wierd Al Yankovic’s song parody “Couch Potato”.  I have intentionally only copied the references to reality television.  You can read the complete lyrics on any web page.  Late last year I attended a cancer survivor event.  One of the speakers was a head honcho at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.  When he finally began speaking he mentioned the uncomfortable feeling he got referring to former cancer patients as “survivors”.  Survivor is often a term we associate with war, accidents, natural disasters.  I am paraphrasing, but that is the gist of what he said.  I believe he was attributing it to the duration of the event and the effects following it.  I would go one step further as far as using the word survivor, not just for cancer patients, but those who have survived war, disasters, and other tragic events.  I believe the word “survivor” has been cheapened by “reality TV”.

I will admit that I do watch an occasional reality show, but it is very rare.  The whole concept of someone volunteering to be put in precarious positions, be paid for it, and referring to the victor as a survivor is insulting and demeaning to those who have had no choice, who are not given a financial opportunity to recover (or in the TV world, profit from their effort or gain their fifteen minutes of fame).

Seriously, take a look around your waiting room.  In walks your doctor with a TV producer, and about a dozen people whom you do not recognize.  Since you do not know any of the visitors it is up to the doctor to introduce to you, what is about to happen.

“I have been approached by this major network about a new reality show about getting through a battle with cancer.  These people have all volunteered to be given the same cancer, and the same treatments.  There will be challenges where they will be given the opportunity for extra treatments, or denied treatments.  Competitions will determine what order people would receive their treatments.  Losing challenges would also carry consequences.  Every week, one contestant will be sent home by vote from the real patients who are not here for the TV show, where they will then have to find their own treatment plan.  The last one standing, or surviving, will be the winner of a million dollars.  As participants as observers, we will make sure that you get a year’s supply of TV guides to make sure you know just when the show is airing.  Sound good?”

Of course this scenario is prerposterous, and offensive.  But many times, when I watch shows like Survivor, Big Brother, Fear Factor, and now all these sub-class shows like Redneck Vacations and a show mocking an overweight child because her parents are too stupid to realize the damage they are causing, I do not want to be held in the same descriptive sense of the word survivor.  I have been through too much for my journey to be so understated just because it did not appear on some remote island.  My psychological battles are far worse than a group of spoiled egotistical jerks who believe the only way to get by is by being deceiptful, and disloyal.

We cancer patients are kind of funny with the labels that healthy people, and sometimes other cancer patients like to place on us.  Survivor.  Warrior.  And I am not going to rip on people who watch the reality shows.  But just once, I would like to see a major network produce a series and stick with it, about true survivors, not volunteers, we were forced into our situations.  We were not made into millionaires because of it, but there are literally millions of us, over twelve million.  Many of us have additional issues, and most do not know why.  Stand Up 2 Cancer is doing great by drawing attention to supporting research to find new cures and support, but we need something to show that people do live long lives in spite of their greatest challenge in life.  A walk around a track at your local Relay For Life is lined with luminairies with the names of people who have faced cancer and beaten it.  I would like to see a Nationally televised Relay For Life with at least half of the program dedicated to survivors and perhaps expanding the Stand Up 2 Cancer to include the various issues that survivors face after treatments from psychological to medical.  Just once, I would like to see a real reality show that is not based on backstabbing, lying, and degrading.  I would like to see true success and show people how success is really celebrated and appreciated.

Pollo, The Happy Golden


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Wendy and I were dating close to a year, when we both acknowledged our love for dogs.  We both had dogs when we were youngter, but as adults, never had the opportunity.  We both had our favorite breeds, but there was no denying who we were going to adopt when we met the little golden ball of fur.

Pollo was a tiny fourteen pounds of pure puppy energy.  Wendy had two cats when we moved in with each other, and they both adapted to Pollo.  They were all the same size.  I have video tape of Pollo and Dusty (our gray cat, sadly no longer with us) playing with each other, wrestling all over the floor knocking things over.  Dusty loved to hide on the steps and as Pollo walked by, without warning, would lunge off the stairs at Pollo in a feline ambush.  It was hysterical.

As he grew, we talked about the need to “take care” of Pollo.  We were not going to be breeding him (another post), and we did not need any accidents.  The other thing we did not want to have happen, is Pollo humping anyone.  I have only ever had one dog ever jump on my leg, and it was not funny.  But what was funny, is Pollo’s instinct.  In spite of not having any example, had he seen a female dog, he definitely would have known what to do.

We came home from a carnival with a prize that I had won for Wendy that evening.  It was a Siberian Husky stuffed toy, about sixteen inches tall, the perfect height for Pollo at the time.  It was not long before we nicknamed the toy, “humpy dog”.  Well, Pollo got bigger, and too much for “humpy dog”, it was only logical that he left other dogs alone, did not hump anyone’s legs, that we had to get Pollo something more his size.  Enter “Humpy Bear.”  Pollo was just past thirty pounds when we brought “Humpy Bear” home and they were best pals ever since.   If you ever had a stuffed toy that over time had years of kid drool all over it, well, that was “Humpy Bear.”  But Pollo could not get enough of her.  We actually had to put her away just to give Pollo some rest.  But anytime we went near the garage door, Pollo knew she was just on the other side.

Pollo has never been anything less than a loyal friend.  His feeding serving is split between the morning and evening, and he spends his days with two other felines and a guinea pig while we are at work.  As we come through the door, his tail never stops wagging and he has a grin from one side of his muzzle to the other.  “Quick, let me out, feed me, let me back out, then pick a spot, sit down, and I’ll lay down next to you.”  And that is where he stays the rest of the night, by my side.

Every now and then, my youngest daughter likes to challenge me that Pollo is “her dog.”  And once in a while, he will oblige her and disobey me to follow her commands.  But night after night, here he is, by my feet, dreaming away.  When he wakes up, he wants to be taken out again, and will then come back in and stay by my side.

Pollo will turn thirteen soon, which is long for a golden retriever.  I have lots of great memories with him.  His energy level is the same as it was twelve years ago, though he has given up humping stuffed animals.  But he still sits in front of me, when he wants to go outside, with the smile that has never stopped.

Happy Birthday Pollo.  On days that I was not feeling well, you were there for me.  When I needed to relax, we went for nice walks.  And when I felt the need for competition, you jumped into the pool with me from the diving board.  Pollo, you are truly this man’s best friend.

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