Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Bullying”

Working While Going Through Treatments Or Not Recovered Enough


It is amazing.  From the moment I was diagnosed with my cancer, I could feel the resentment from my co-workers.  Think about it.  When we hear of someone having cancer we think, “aw, poor guy” or “why her” and most likely some other stereotypical responses.  But for some reason, from co-workers, unless there has been some sort of life-time bond,  will most likely feel resentment.  My co-workers in 1988 were not different.  I did my best to minimize my time lost from work for diagnostics and treatments.  In fact, in nine months of chemo, I missed a total of eighteen hours of work.  That’s right.  I missed the last hour of work, two days a month.  And my co-workers were jealous of me for it.

If I need to be fair, because I really did not talk about what I was going through.  I did not want anyone to know what it felt like that I was going through.  When I had good days, no one would know any different, and if it was a bad day, I did all I could to hide it.  I did not want to be any more of a burden to them, than what I was.  But that was not good enough.  The jealous attacks were relentless and would eventually cost me any shot of promotability, because I “could not get along with my co-workers.”

As I underwent all of my treatments, I risked exposing myself to everything that these people brought into work with my immune system being run down from the chemotherapy.  Simple colds would carry extra danger to me the least of which delaying my treatments if I got sick.  The stress from the fractured relationships also were difficult to tolerate.  Given the choice, I do not think I would work while undergoing treatments again.  It was not worth it to me, and it made no difference to them if I was there or not.

Over the next many years, I had been fortunate not to have any other major events to require any kind of lengthy absence.

But nearly twenty years later, that same ugly behavior would show up.  After the initial shock that I had emergency heart surgery, a little over a week later, co-workers had been babbling about me at work.  It seems that I was spotted walking in public.  Imagine the gaul that I had, walking around my block, getting the exercise that I was ordered to do.  Forget the fact that I had to stop at the end of each street as I went around the block.  Word got back to work that I looked totally okay and healthy.  I was spotted in the drive-thru of a Dunkin Donuts by a supervisor after dropping my wife off at work and kids off at school.  It did not matter that we only had one car at the time, and I had follow-up doctor appointments and cardiac rehab to get to, but I was reported to be out joyriding. 

When I returned back to work following the heart surgery, which I had been threatened by my employer with termination, because even though the doctor wanted me out six months, my employer decided I could go back in three, I convinced my doctor to release me.  And she did so, with some stipulations.  With the ADA (Americans With Disability Act) to support me, there would be some restrictions on what I would be able to do, which because of the size of my employer, they would have to accomodate.  Also, because we do not park on plant site, my doctor had given me a temporary handicap placard for parking.  I was still getting short of breath, and with the warmer more humid weather coming, this was going to be an issue.  The first day back at work, someone complained to management that I had been parking in the handicap stall, and if I was not better, then what was I doing back at work.  Now realize, this is the same person complaining about me being out of work.

Four years later, I am still dodging these horrible jabs from my co-workers.  I have had a couple more issues pop up, and then of course there are the many doctor appointments that I have.  But hey, I am not on social security or unemployment right?  That should be an admirable thing right?  HELL NO!  Each day I go into work, risking my health being exposed to who knows what just because someone will not call in sick.  And really, I have had no real absentee issues except for a couple of bouts with pneumonia and sepsis, other than my appointments.  I still am a fairly reliable employee to show up for work.

But my co-workers know something is wrong with me.  I do not discuss anything at work anymore.  But they sense it.  And for that reason, I appear to be a threat to them.  I have wathced them chase several people from my department and into retirement.  One co-worker who had MS was forced out because he could no longer handle the harrassment and sabotage from my co-workers.  I am a little more thick-headed, but I definitely allow my stress and blood pressure go to heights that no one should endure, especiallyl when they are on medication for blood pressure and have cardiac issues.

Would I work through treatments or rush back to work, just to make my co-workers happy (which I know would not)?  Or would I be better off staying at home?  Taking the time to heal and recover?  I would have to sacrifice everything I have worked for, but my job is coming at the risk of my daughters losing their dad, and my wife her husband.  My last bout with pneumonia, was double pneumonia.  And more than a month later, I am still dealing with its effects.  But tomorrow will be my eighth straight day working, with another five to go before the possibility of a day off.  And for what?  To shut my co-workers up?

The Mind Of A Bullied Victim


A couple of years ago, I volunteered at my daughters’ school for a committee that was charged with instituting a new anti-bullying program, called Olweus.  It is an enormous cooperative effort involving not just teachers, guidance counselors, but the school nurse, custodians, cafeteria workers, and parents.  Together, everyone worked with each other to recognize and deal with bullying, and hopefully to prevent it.  The program pushed respect for others and encouraged weekly class meetings to have simple and casual conversations among the class.

To make this program work, there were several hours of training, by leaders and then committee members.  Part of the training involved role playing and brain storming.  Some of us offered our own experiences with bullying.  We talked about the impact that bullying has on a student that often does not get considered.  How is a child who is being bullied supposed to be able to concentrate in the classroom?  I chose that particular moment to give one example how a student cannot concentrate on school work because he is concentrating on something else.  And for the first time publicly, I am telling everyone.

I attended Jefferson Elementary School, which used to be the old High School.  From the very first day of kindergarten I was marked as the smallest and youngest kid, by a boy named Clifford.  He stood at least six inches taller than me and clearly outweighed me.  And that, gave him his reason to begin picking on me, nearly every day.  As I got older, other children caught on to the bullying activity with me.  But instead of helping me, the realized that they were in a position either they would also get picked on, or they could show their toughness, and come after me.  After all, a victory was still a victory.  Soon after that, for fear that I might begin to defend myself (note – it was 3rd grade and I had not given any signs yet that I would defend myself because that is how I was raised, never throw a punch), the bullying turned to gang events, a minimum of three bullies at one time – one to hold me, the other to look out, and the other to asault me, and then rotate turns.  Now, even girls were going to give their shot and see what would happen.  I disappointed no one.  I refused to hit a girl, so it began, getting the shit beat out of me by girls.  And they were not nice about it either going straight with kicks to the balls to start every bout.  I was totally defenseless.  Even on the playground during recess, teachers just walked around looking away so as not to be taken away from their free time.

So, whast kind of student was I and why?  My grades were horrible because instead of paying attention to the teachers, I was busy watching the clock.  And this was all day.  I would watch the clock anticipating phys ed class because no matter what the activity, I was going to receive extra contact throughout the period.  I hated lunch for two reasons.  The first because the walk to the cafeteria was routinely accompanied by being shoved into things like doors or lockers or having my foot kicked behind the other to force me to trip.  Recess of course was just a matter of haning around the teacher monitors as long as I could because it was only a matter of time until I was dragged into this small alcove between the two buildings.  With all the goings-on occurring on the playground, no one could ever hear me in this area.  Even going to the bathroom, or in the bathoom was not safe.

Following lunch and recess, the clock would be watched to see how much time I would have left so I could plan my route home, which had to change every day.  And with the efforts to bully me being a group effort, rarely a day would go by that I would not get caught.  So my planning begun with the fact that I was on the 3rd floor of the building.  Which of the two flight of stairs would have the least amount of bullies waiting for me at the bottom.  Once I arrived there, there were three possible doors to exit from, one at each side, and the front door.  Again, which would provide me the best opportunity of escape?  Once out of the door, it would be a mad dash across the street then having to scout the street in front of the school, which of the two streets and two alleys heading towards home would not have the ambushes waiting for me?  As I got to the alleyway after that choice, if I saw another group of thugs, I had this opportunity to choose another alleyway or street to head down.  Once I got to my street, it was just an all-out run.

The beatings would normally last between five and ten minutes and none would leave anything physically visible.  My bookbag would be torn apart.  And the last thing I wanted to do, was bring the bullying up at home, because that usually followed with a call to my principal, which resulted with a meeting with the bully’s parents and response “not my child”.  And the next day the beatings would be worse.

Jefferson Elementary may have been torn down, and a new building now stands in its place.  But those memories of my elementary education have lasted over 40 years.

My Story, Your Comments, The Future – What It All Means


I have to laugh when I think back to my college English days.  It was my second year, and I had received my first negative comment/grade on something that I had written.  All through high school and the first year of college English, I truly enjoyed  the various projects and topics that I got the opportunity to write.  But then second year English came along and changed that with my very first paper of the semester.  I got ripped apart by my professor.  And it was enough to make me put my pen away.  Every now and then I would pull it out to send something off to a local newspaper if I felt like stirring something up, but that was all.

But then an opportunity came up.  Though I have been involved with the program a couple of years, I am still learning the who’s, what’s and where’s of it.  The hospital that I travel to has a program of creative writing which joins up the writer, usually a cancer patient or survivor, with a writing coach.  And it is that simple, nothing more complicated.  There are opportunities to go further, such as writing articles for its cancer support newsletters and an awesome book called an Anthology which is published annually.  Each chapter published is also written by a patient or survivor of cancer.  And if even luckier, some of those chapters are selected for a live performance by professional performers at special survivor’s event.  I will have my second submission printed in that anthology this year.

I realized then how energized writing was making me again.  And to have a coach assist me in many of my writings gave me a completely different direction.  I made the decision that I wanted to write my own book.  I am still tossing around idea about the topic or topics, fiction or non-fiction.  But I had to do something with everything my brain was pushing out.  A very dear friend to me made the suggestion to put my stories on a blog.  There was some hesitation just because it was an entirely new concept to me, to be extremely public (beyond a local newspaper).

So I took her advice, created several topics which I have a personal interest or advocate for, and then I let my fingers do the walking.  I will do my best to mix up the topics so that no one loses interest, but also, I do not want to overwhelm anyone with many of the serious subjects that I write about, so I will try to mix in some lighter writings.  But it would end there would it not be for all the comments, compliments, recommendations, and constructive criticisms that you all have given me.  I am thankful for the efforts that you support me with by sharing my blog stories and recommending me to your friends.

I have several projects currently under way and I have literally dozens of new posts begun.  “Paul’s Heart” is more though than just some ramblings that escape the pocket between my ears.  It has also provided me with some very much needed self-therapy.  It has personally been amazing to look back on some of the things that I have been through, several which I had long forgot about.  But I am also developing a strong appreciation for the things that I have gone through and where I am today.

Ultimately, I hope that no matter what my story, it provides you with the needed laugh, the welcomed comfort, inspiration and hope when all seems unreachable, and so much more.  I have been so touched by many of the comments I have received as I honestly did not expect the deep sincerity and history of some of the comments.  I thank you for helping me and encouraging me to write about “Paul’s Heart.”

Paul Edelman

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