Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Cancer”

Adding An Insult To An Injury


I have to go back to 2007, for the last time that I visited a doctor for anything not related to my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and treatment past. Since April of 2008, it seems that all of my appointments following my emergency heart surgery, have had some sort of tie to what I had been exposed to.

My health history prior to me having cancer back in 1988 and the time between the end of my treatments in 1990 and April of 2008 could not be any more simple. I had only three primary care doctors. One died still practicing in his eighties. Another retired. And then the current doctor I still have, now well over thirty years. The most challenging thing I usually gave them, was a seasonal allergy that resulted in a steroid injection to get through the Spring. Other than that, if they saw me in the office, it is if everyone was put on red alert, something had to be seriously wrong. Like the time I got into some poison sumac (I will spare you the pictures), way worse than dealing with poison ivy let me tell you. My medical record could not really be more than maybe a half an inch thick.

Even my battle with cancer did not change the size of my file too much with my personal physician. Cancer records would be kept with my oncologist. But once it was determined that I was dealing with issues related to my treatments, and that multiple disciplines of medicine would be followed, I needed to have a central advocate for my care, the main communicator between them all, and that was my primary care doctor.

It was not long before I would have more frequent communications and visits with her, coordinating everything from all the specialists that I would eventually see. Soon, my file grew to two inches thick, and then a second folder would be started. Today, with everything being digitalized, I am happy to see that a tree will no longer be sacrificed for my record keeping.

As I said, it has been a long time since I had a “normal” doctor visit, not related to my Hodgkin’s past. The last injury that I had to deal with was back in 2003, a tear of my left triangular fibro cartilage in my wrist.

Concern over carpel tunnel was eliminated because that would have occurred on the other side of the wrist. I was performing a function at work, that caused a “jerking” of the wrist, hence tearing that cartilage. The workers compensation process was a major thorn in the side as I was originally denied the claim, went through the legal process of appeal, and it was determined that this type of injury only occurs at someone’s employment.

With one caveat. Apparently, as you approach your middle ages, forty-ish, this cartilage begins to deteriorate until you have none according to my understanding. I was in my early thirties at the time, so this was not the issue. The injury was determined to be work related.

Seventeen years later, I found myself in need to seek medical help for the first time, something not related to my Hodgkin’s.

I had a huge pain in my foot. I tolerate pain fairly well, so it is often quite a time before I do anything about it. But with levels reaching between 7 and 9, and a well pronounced limp, and given my history of high dose prednisone during my chemo treatments, leading to one of my many late side effects, osteopenia, I have a higher risk of bone breakage. For the life of me, I could not recall when or where the pain first started, but I was concerned that I could have had some sort of stress fracture in my foot.

Now used to all of my medical appointments beginning with me explaining my cancer history and where I am healthwise today, I was cut short by the PA and I quickly realized, this was not an appointment having to do with my cancer past, well, as far as they were concerned. But because I did emphasize my osteopenia, to which I was immediately questioned how I knew, they opened the door, and I explained briefly, a word not often used with me, a DEXA scan confirmed it due to my chemo past. And with that, an x-ray was ordered. Fortunately, no break was found.

But as the PA ran her finger underneath my foot, from the ball of my heel, towards my large toe, my pain level shot through the roof.

I am not sure how, as I am not overly active, more than a daily walk, but I ended up with what is called Plantar Fasciitis. The tendons under my foot were angry, very angry. So, I was given a list of things to do to help the healing and recovery for a common ailment for many, concerned friends and family inquired to my diagnosis.

It is one thing to have to deal with this injury, but as one of my “concerned” friends promptly pointed out, while this kind of thing is common, it is also associated with getting older. Thirty-one years out from my cancer, I have gotten to that stage in my life, I did not think I would see, getting older. But having done so, not only do I have my cancer issues to deal with, but now I get to add “getting older,” adding insult to injury.

Happy Father’s Day


If there is one thing in my life that I will say defines it, it is Fatherhood. All I have ever wanted to be, was a Dad. Along the way, I have been challenged in the most extreme ways from cancer to divorce, but nothing has stood in the way of the unconditional and never-ending love of my children. My daughters are the reasons behind every decision that I make, and the drive to keep moving forward.

Historically, prior to the arrival of my daughters, Father’s Day was just another day in June.

This is one of three photos that I possess with my father from childhood, none occurred on or around Father’s Day. In fact, I do not remember spending any time with my father for Father’s Day. To be clear, this was his decision, a result of the divorce from my mother. Another reason for my sadness of Father’s day, my grandmother passed away the week before Father’s Day in 1998. And then, my Father was memorialized on Father’s Day weekend in 2014 after passing from the effects of lung cancer. Admittedly, this was something that I requested.

Even with my daughters, Father’s Day seemed to take a back seat, as with other holidays, because I was expected to work. I had a 40-hour/week job, but if offered overtime, so I was expected to work it, even on Father’s Day, the one day that should have been about me with my daughters. I was supposed to just be grateful for the few hours I had to spend with them once I got home from work.

To be clear, there is no one more important to me, than my daughters. When faced with emergency open heart surgery back in 2008 due to late effects from the treatments that cured me of my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, it was the fear of never seeing them again, them having the possibility of experiencing what one of their close friends experienced, losing a parent, that really pulled me through.

Unlike my father, I was there for my daughters for Father’s Day, with the exception of three, two of those were beyond my control, and the other was purely for everyone’s health and well being. A process with my divorce led me to miss two Father’s Days. And in 2020, Covid19 and all the uncertainties left me no other choice, than to keep my daughters safe, and that meant not having them travel to see me. Those three years, came and went, each time, leaving me with a broken heart, no other options available.

But just after the last time that I missed spending time with my daughters for Father’s Day, I made sure that they knew every Father’s Day, they are my priority. They are the reason I wake up every day. They are the reason I look forward to every tomorrow.

This Father’s Day is more than just having lost last year’s time together. For years, I have had friends prepare me for the time when my daughters would get older, and the likelihood that visits with them would be less frequent because they had their own things to do a la Harry Chapin’s “Cats In The Cradle”. In all honesty, for my one friend, he got much less years than I have in regard to that situation. My daughters know how important Father’s Day is to me, as important if not more than, our visit at Christmas. Father’s Day is the day, I get to celebrate and cherish all of the memories from the thousands of photos I have taken of my daughters over the years, opportunities that have lessened from the demands of the teenagers.

My daughters have a biological father, somewhere. But I am the only Father they know. And whether they are six, eighteen, or forty two, they know I will always expect this day to be ours, together.

Yes, their mother and I are divorced, and unlike my Father, I made the conscious decision, to stay in their lives, to be active in their school and interests, to be one of their two main role models, to guide them with their decisions toward their future. Each and every day, I make an attempt to reach them, through various means from phone, to Facetime, to text, a reminder that every day to them, that I am thinking about them. That I miss them. That I love them.

There are so many fathers that I do hear from, that for any reason, are not getting that opportunity this year, perhaps for several years now. For some, it is their first year without either their children, or their father. My heart breaks for them, because I understand the many different issues surrounding the emptiness of this holiday as an adult child of divorce, a divorced parent, as well as someone who lost their father.

The time with each other is only temporary. It can be a few years, or decades. But it is only temporary. That is why it is important every year, on this day, you celebrate if you are able to still do so with each other. And if you are in the unfortunate situation, having been alienated from your father or from your children, you DO NOT EVER give up! Time will heal. I got that chance to do that with my father before it was too late.

I do not know what Father’s Day will look like in 2022. But after having lost Father’s Day last year due to Covid19, this year will be more special than ever to me and my daughters.

Needless to say, as few photos there are of my father and I, my daughters will never have that problem.

Happy Father’s Day.

The Last Of The Simple Times


It started out with a simple post coming across my news feed. “Missing the gang!!!!” It was posted by a friend from decades ago, reconnected through social media. I initially responded with a “thumbs up” just to let her know, that as I was not sure what “gang” she was referring to, there was a gang that we were a part of, and her post had reminded me of them all.

In fact, of that gang that I refer to, I have reconnected with nearly everyone from the days that started my life and hobby as a disc jockey, beginning on college radio. I cannot help when I see posts from them, but immediately click back to 1984 when it all started. It has been amazing to see all of the different directions our lives have taken. We are all forty years older now, yikes, sorry for that reminder. It does not take long, for us to remember what we were all like together back then.

And then comments began being posted. They were from the other jocks in our group. I still do not know what the meaning was behind the post, but clearly, others felt similarly. Suddenly, I found my mind going back to the mid 1980’s, hanging out in one of the two studios, or partying on a weekend. Great friends. Simple.

I do not know much what each of my friends had experienced in the years after that. I see our heavy metal guy extremely (and gracefully) looking grandfatherly, another is in another country on the other side of the world, one is “trapped” in a much earlier time enjoying revolutionary re-enactments, and the stories go on.

Most if not all, are aware of the health issues that I have struggled with, but are also aware of where I am in life, with two beautiful daughters who mean the world to me. While my daughters have seen me DJ live in the past, they still have a hard time grasping my voice coming from the radio long ago.

But one of the questions that often comes up on my cancer/survivor pages, “do you remember life before cancer?” And I actually do. I am not even referring to the fact that I was engaged to be married, having a great time, partying and travelling, looking toward a future. I do not consider this part of my life “before cancer,” because it was during this time, the rug got pulled out from underneath me.

No, it was during my years at WXLV, 90.3fm, on the campus of Lehigh County Community College in Schnecksville, PA (that was the entire tagline as I recall), where not only my life as a DJ began, but where I met and made some great friendships, friendships that I know, just as happened a few years ago with one of those fellow jocks, a reunion with any of them, would bring back nothing but good memories. To me, these are friends that, sure, we would acknowledge and sorrow or crisis we may have faced, but what we shared with each other back then, we would be right back to supporting each other with that same level of friendship back in 1984.

I am not denying where we are right now in 2021. But I am saying that the time back in 1984, a simpler time, and being able to reflect and remember those in my life at that time, reminds me, that who I was back then, still exists, because I can still see it.

Craig, Roxanne, Matt, Dan, Mickey, Jack, Brian, you all remind me of that simpler time, my life before cancer. Something that will always be important to me.

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