Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Cancer”

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?

Anticipatory Nausea


Some call it anxiety.  People who do not understand what we went through (or some of you reading this – going through) say we are doing this to ourselves.  I call it “anticipatory nausea”.

It is when you know what to expect when you follow the exact same steps just prior.  Everything will be the same.  You sit down in the chemo chair, they insert the line, perhaps you can actually taste one or two of the drugs, the needle comes out, and it is off to the races, the trophy being the Porcelain Cup, all the while rapidly going downhill with nausea.

There will be certain things that trigger the nausea.  I was okay for the first treatment because I had no idea what to expect.  But there was one negative thing about that first injection that I took.  It was a metallic taste that hit my tongue, the second it hit my veins.  Clearly, this was going to be my trigger.  The taste lasted as long as the infusion which was about twenty minutes or so.  I finished my chemo, and then as I said, had to get to the bathroom at home immediately.  Just for the record, eight cycles, never vomited in my car.  Once just inside my apartment (I had three flights of stairs to go up).

The second injection went without incident.  So in my head, it had begun.  Approximately two days before the beginning of my new cycle, my stomach would start to turn.  I began to taste that one drug already.  This was impossible I thought to myself.  When I arrived at the oncology office, I asked Brenda, my nurse, if I could have a mint to suck on while getting the infusion.  She said that she did not see why not, as long as I knew I would probably vomit it later.  I told her that I was hoping to overpower the taste that the one drug left in my mouth while it was being infused.  I also mentioned that this anticipatory nausea was causing me a lot of anxiety to which she had me take some Ativan to help me relax.  Unfortunately it did not work.  Nor did the medication given to me at the oncology office.

One major side note here, research has developed much better anti nausea meds to help lessen the side effects of nausea.  Ask for it.  Your mind is already working hard enough dealing with all the other toxicity that you are having done to you.

Final thought, following the completion of my eight cycles, at what would have been the time of the month for the next cycle, I could no longer taste that one chemo drug like I had the previous seven months.  The psyche is so powerful.

Hodgkin’s Disease – How I Got Through My Treatments


My world instant ground to a standstill when I found out that I had cancer.  On one hand, the natural reaction was to wonder if I would find success in treatments, or if I would be like so many before and succumb.  It seemed to take forever just to get all the diagnostic stuff completed.  Yet treatments needed to begin soon for me to have the best chance of survival.  It just took so long to get started.

Radiation seemed like the easiest choice because it would only go six weeks, a total of 30 treatments lasting about a minute each.  I looked at it as having been through x-rays, this would not have been much worse.  Fatigue was the biggest issue for me and totally underestimated.  All of a sudden I was going to bed at 7:00 in the evening.

The decision of which treatment to pursue was mine.  The oncologist had recommended chemo followed by radiation.  But I was too obsessess with what I believed that chemo would be too tough for me to handle, physically and emtionally.  Any knowledge I had of chemo came courtesy of the media, and of course, no movie or television show ever showed chemotherapy being a cakewalk.

Unfortunately, my oncologist was right with his call.  I was wrong with mine.

I came back from my honeymoon at the end of May, completed a CT scan, and new disease had been discovered.  There was no option at this point.  I was going to go through chemotherapy.  I had never met anyone who had gone through it.  I had a list of side effects to expect, nausea and hairloss, the typical issues.  But now I had to prepare originally for six cycles.  Cycles in my case meant months.  I would get half of my chemo cocktail in one appointment, get the other half the following week, and be given two weeks to recover.  But after those six cycles were complete, my oncologist felt the need to do either an extra two cycles of chemo, or additional radiation.  I had it in my mind that with my body and mind already involved with the chemo, and planning to get that far, I would be able to handle an additional two rounds of chemo.

So there it was, emotionally, I had to plan for eight months of chemotherapy.  Eight months is two thirds of the year.  Eight months seemed like an awful long time to look ahead.  It was overwhelming.  I had to find a way to convince myself that an easier approach could be had.  How could I reduce eight months, 240 days down to something that I could feel like was not forever?

Here was my formula for getting through chemo:  eight months of chemo, which would equal sixteen injections, of which only half of those injections would make me vomit, which the nausea would only last maybe a couple of hours after each injection = sixteen hours of nausea.  I have spent plenty of days with the flu and other virus when the nausea has lasted longer than that.  I could get though this.

The first thing that I had to do, just like in sports, take one day at a time, just like one game at a time.  It would do no good to look ahead when I had not finished the prior treatment.  So when I got through the first injection, the one that would cause nausea, I knew I could get through the second injection the following week.  Of course, after I completed the second week, I had completed one cycle.  I was able to get through one, I would be able to get through the next cycle (the second cycle).  Once that cycle was done, I was already 1/4 of the way through, and could get through the third cycle because I got through the first two.  Then I reached the half way point, and as tough as it had been, I knew I could get through the rest.  Each month, I treated the same way as the cycle before.

In month eight, my body had a different plan.  I had developed a fever, and my blood counts had dropped.  Chemo would have to be altered or postponed.  The truth is, I had tolerated seven cycles of full dose chemo, I did not want to accept anything less, so I asked the oncologist to delay the treatment by a week to allow my body to get stronger.  He agreed.  This is why you do not mark dates down on the calendar.  It was a huge disappointment not to get finished on the day that I had planned all along from the beginning.

And then it began, the final cycle.  Nothing was going to stop me at this point.  The following week, I came for the final injection.  And that is when I knew I made the right decision in choosing my oncologist.  Brenda, my oncology nurse was removing the catheter for the final time.  “Paul, when you get out of this chair, I want you to picture the biggest marching band you have ever seen in your life.  They are lined up down the hallway playing a victory song just for you.  You did it.  You have beaten cancer.  Now go live your life.”

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