Paul's Heart

My Co-Worker Has Cancer. What A PIA He Is!

We spend most of our adult lives at work, eight hours or more a day, five days or more per week, year after year.  We spend most of our waking hours with our co-workers, easily more than our spouse or significant other, or any member of the family.  It is naturally assumed then, that no one would know you better, than your co-worker(s).  If there was one person that you should be able to count on, it should be a co-worker.  But what if it is not?  What if it is exactly the opposite?  What if it is worse than that, nearly your entire working environment?

When I was diagnosed with my Hodgkin’s Disease, I was devastated.  To my knowledge, my employer had not really ever had to deal with cancer, on the personal level of an employee.  If the owner of the company would be moved to tears upon my announcement, clearly those in my office (at the least) would respond in kind if not more so.  Instead, for the first time in my life, I experienced the bizarre behavior of what I call “whataboutme syndrome.”

Instead of rallying around me in support, scuttle got around the company that I was getting special favors or treatment from upper management because of having cancer.  THIS WAS NOT FAIR!!!!  Really?  I was the one diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease yet it was my co-workers who faced the bigger challenge of making sure they were going to be treated as if they were going to die.

The truth was, my employer did do something special for me.  Actually it benefited the entire company.  When Jeff found out about my cancer, and the limited and restrictive coverage that his employees had because of me, he made a phone call that night, and had the coverage increased, so that I could receive the best possible treatments available at the best facility.

Being a semi-private person (until I started this blog), not many people knew anything about my personal life.  The response by my co-workers was not going to help that issue.  So other than a “Get Well” card signed by everyone in the company, this is what I did to my fellow co-workers by getting cancer:

I Got Extra Days Off Paid From Work

Never happened.  I had the same amount of time off as everyone else.  I had arranged for my treatments to be done last of the day, which allowed me to break up my sick days into hours.  It made it appear as I had 16 sick days instead of 10.  I was out for an entire month for one of the diagnostic procedures, and was only paid for 8 of those days.  But no one asked.

They’ll Never Reprimand Him When He Does Something Wrong

The operative word is “when”.  I have a fairly strong work ethic, and really, all I cared about was being treated as if nothing was wrong with me.

I Have To Do All Of His Work Because He Is To Tired To Deal With It

I never asked anyone to do my work for me.  And the lack of any reprimands also confirms that I got my work done, regardless of how I felt.

There are more examples, but you get the idea of just how much of a pain in the ass I was to everyone for having cancer.

This is not just an isolated environment either.  In 2008, I saw this behavior taken to a whole new level, co-workers had gone beyond just being selfish, they hade become bullies.

Bullying is a repeast abuse of perceived power, repeatedly, and intended to harm.  It can be physical, emotional, or social.  It is destructive, stressful, and can be fatal if not dealt with.  It used to be that bullies were only something that had to be dealt with in the school environment.  But over time, the methods used to deal with these incident began to be accepted as a rite of passage, a phase “all” kids go through.  There is one major problem with this thinking.  Everyone becomes an adult, and unless the bullying behavior is dealt with as a child, how is that child going to be any different as an adult?  A bully will grow up to be a bully.  A victim of a bully, especially if repeated will grow up still accepting this dominating treatment, or even the opposite, pushing back on anything that goes against him as it is perceived as bullying.  There is no such thing as choosing battles when it comes to this level.  And it has a profound effect on adults that often, is not reversible.  Relationships, careers, and friendships are many times destroyed because the person isolates himself by his own actions, or by others who want nothing to do with this type of personality.

Case In Point

I have come to realize that with my bullying history, repeated bullying, and usually by gangs of kids, never one on one (I should feel good knowing that they thought they had no chance against me that way), I do not take shit from anyone.  I have been that way now for over 30 years.  On one hand, it has been a blessing, because of the way I attack health issues, I will defeat them.  But when it comes to human interaction, especially with my employer, it has come at a severe cost.

So I have never really been close with my co-workers, by design.  Professionally, we can get the work done with each other.  But personally, we rarely interact.  I cannot trust most people and their intentions.  This was made worse when I had my heart surgery in 2008.  After realizing how close to death I came with this, it was the perfect timing that I had received a “get well” fruit basket from co-workers and management.  I was truly touched.  I wanted a starting point to turn things around for me personality wise, and this was going to be the moment to do it.  Or so I thought.

During the next two weeks following the surgery, my wife had stayed home with me to take care of any needs I would have.  In the mean time, two of our co-workers, who incidently happened to be the only two people who were even a slight bit close to us, had conspired against Wendy.  To this day, we do not know what caused it.  A huge rash of accusations and false treatments had put a target on Wendy’s back, and the bad thing was, everyone was believing it, instead of just discussing things with Wendy or I.  Wendy’s career was now in jeopardy.  She almost lost me, and now she had to deal with this shit.

The time had come for me to return to work.  I have a very physical job, and my employer does not allow for easing back into the job.  You either do it all, or do not come back.  I was supposed to be out for six months recovering, by I had been warned that my job was jeopardized for an attendance policy as my FMLA had run out.  Over 30 years of working, hardly missed any time ever, including my battle with cancer, but open heart surgery, I had to rush back from to save my job.

To help me back, with my lungs not being full capacity, and my legs not strong at all, I had obtained a “handicap” placard temporarily so that I could park closer and have to walk less in extreme weather conditions.  That very first day I had heard of a complaint “why was I parking in a handicap spot if I was cleared to come back to work?  What was still wrong with me?  If I had to park there, I should be sent home because I am not well enough to come back.”  That was it.  Every day since, I have grown angrier and angrier as on a daily basis, I must protect my job, because morons have decided it is their right to determine if Wendy and I are allowed to earn a paycheck and support our family.  These bullies have the power to set us up falsely, to have us put into the postitions of being reprimanded.  After 15 years of basically a flawless behavior record, in the last 3 years, Wendy has been suspended 3 times, close to termination on one of those occasions.  All with the influence of our co-workers.

You see, they see someone who just happens to be having a good day, health wise, and might just be smiling.  So the person must be better.  And when the person is out sick the next day because of a flare up, the person must be faking it.  If you do not look the part, you are lying.  If you have cancer, you must look frail, bald, and sick to really have cancer otherwise you are faking.   Call out sick from work, do not get caught in a pharmacy shopping, while waiting for your prescription to be filled.  You will be caught in the act.  As time has gone on, I have had restrictions on some of my work activities, and by law, the American With Disabilities Act, it is required to accomodate me.  My co-workers do not believe in this law and call it unfair.  The fact that I miss up to two days per month just in doctor follow ups for my long term survivor issues is a major inconvenience to them.  Though in fairness, I have never given them to accept the opportunity to live in my shoes for just one day.

The fact is, 99% of the people we work with, have never, ever been to our home or spent time with us personally.  And that is something I take responsibility for.  Of those 99%, 95% feel qualified to know if Wendy and I have real issues or not as they are surely in direct contact with our doctors.  But they are all 100% responsible for starting the fires and feeding them fuel on situations none of them know anything about until they acheive their goal of having you fired.

My co-workers have been responsible for countless other co-workers that were targeted to be removed due to personality conflicts.  I have been asked so many times, why would this happen?  The only thing I can figure is Wendy and I are happy.  We have a good family.  I do not rely on going out to happy hours daily or sleeping with co-workers.  I come to work and do my job and they would rather have someone else to join their club or, they simpy are tired of being reminded of the loser existence they live.

Congratulations! It’s A… (Diary Of A Kidney Stone – Part 2)

The following story while filled with humorous commentary, also makes adult references that may not be suitable for younger readers. Parental discretion is advised. Seriously. Don’t let the kids read this. Perhaps, maybe men shouldn’t read this either.  I really mean it this time.  No one should have to go through this, EVER!

So when I last left you, I was having a stent put inside me to assist with urination, the source of the severe pain caused by the stone blocking the passage of urine from occuring.  I was out cold for the procedure, so that was no big deal.  When I awoke, I was not in any kind of pain, and in theory, I should have been able to go if I had to.  Of course the dick doctor (take that in any context you like – I was not really crazy about his bedside manner, wait, that is just making the description worse) does not explain fully about how I am going to feel.

It was late when I finally came out of recovery and rather than chase Wendy an hour to come and get me that night, I asked to be kept overnight.  And I am glad I did.  I did not sleep at all that evening, because every time I layed down, I got an urge to go to the bathroom.  I would sit up to go, and nothing.  This went on all night, literally.  Had it not been for the nurses, I would have gone out of my mind.  Not to mention that things just really did not feel normal down there, not painful, just not normal.

The wierd thing about the procedure I was going to undergo, a lithotripsy, is that no hospital appears to have the machine to do it.  This traveling road show goes from hospital to hospital, and that determines how soon you can have it done.  My wife insisted that she not be exposed to the “catastophic pain and screaming” that had been occurring.  And so my appointment was set up the earliest it could, at a hospital another hour away.

I must admit, that I am getting spoiled with all of the hospitals that I have had to go to for either tests, surgeries, or treatments.  There are a lot of nice facilities.  Were my expectations of “Bleeding Heart” Hospital (not the real name of course) too high.  Registration at 5:00 am.  When I went to check in, all computers were down.  Plan B was to photocopy my license and insurance card.  Copiers were also down.  So, there I went, into the operating room, WITH NO IDENTIFICATION!  Are you kidding me?!?  So I come to following the procedure, and am told everything went well, all that I had to do, was get rid of the now stone-reduced to rubble residue.  Won’t go into gory details, but out it came, no pain, plenty of blood, but no pain.  And with that, I simply walked out of the hospital totally unsupervised.  True story.

Given all the traumatic abuse my lower region had been subjected to, I was told that I could expect a little more blood yet.  I was okay with that as long as there was no pain.  All I had to do was have the stint removed, and they would do that a couple of weeks later.  But that was supposed to be all that there was to it.

I have had catheters removed before, not pleasant, but tolerable.  Shoot, I have even had tubes pulled from my chest and my neck, but pulling out this stint clearly, CLEARLY was not acceptable to have done without anesthesia, at least for me.  Again, I had been warned, some possible bleeding.  But as the time came closer to have the stint removed, and yes, still had some bleeding, I was having more frequent and much stronger anxiety attacks.  I was prepared just to call the whole thing off.  My therapist was the last one keeping me anchored to sanity.

So I took what measures I needed to, and got through the appointment.  I give the nurse credit.  This was the first time I had been exposed to what countless women go through routinely, propping my legs up in stirrups wearing only a paper cloth exposing my manly bits for all to wonder.  She had a great sense of humor if the timing would only have been different.  I am all for trading innuendos, but at that time, I was in no mood for NC17 humor, especially at my expense.

Now gentlemen, I may lack experience with the whole dating scene over the last two decades, but I do think it is a safe bet, that foreplay does not involve grabbing the plumbing with two fingers, other hand hidden behind her back, and then says, “this is going to burn a bit until it goes numb.”  All she was missing was perhaps a “needing a magnifying glass” comment or asking for an extra set of hands (that would have been preferred).

Crazy to say, this would not be the last time because I continued to have bleeding issues and they would need to perform a cystoscopy.  Of course, you can tell “oscopy” means some sort of medical pictures.  And since it involved my genitalia, I was not a happy camper.  But Wendy was getting tired of feeling like a crime scene and I was wondering if somehow my thingy had been switched with a bayonett.  The bleeding had gone on long enough, even beyond the stone being removed.  Something serious was wrong.

In anticipation of the pain and discomfort I knew that I was going to feel with this procedure, I loaded up again to control the anxiety.  Only this time, the pain and discomfort was worse.  And when the nurse tells you to think of a happy place, it is kind of hard to think of something pleasant when a Louisville Slugger is going through your garden hose.  I should be happy that the results were negative, especially for cancer.  But I was still bleeding, and the urologist was talking only of going back up again.

And like that, I fired him.  I was no longer going to allow anyone to go near me again, selfish of me as it was.  But it was no longer worth it.  What were the chances that my ducts were just getting irritated from all the internal manhandling?

Several of my other doctors that have never done me any harm, convinced me to return, at least to a different urologist.  Which is what I did.  But I told him, no more poking, probing, or “going back up”.  This new urologist was convinced that with everything that had been done, there was no need to worry, and yes, perhaps my plumbing was just irritated.

It has been over a year now, and I still stand at the urinal or toilet looking down for what might or might not come out.  I have been told that once you have a kidney stone, more are sure to come.  And since conventional medicine I felt was to blame for this whole mess, I took matters into my own hands.  No, not that way.  I thought about what had changed about me that after decades, I would finally develop a stone, and the only thing I could figure was that it had to be one of the new meds I was put on following my heart surgery and subsequent discoveries of late side effects from my cancer treatments.  Against my doctors recommendations, I quit taking nearly everything that was not pertinent to my heart beating.  So far, so good.  Not necessarily a smart decision.  But Mr. Happy is happy at least.