Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Family and Friends”

Relay For Life


My Story

“Hodgkin’s Disease is a rare, but very curable form of cancer that often affects younger people.”

I’m sorry.  I did exactly to you what my first oncologist did to me.  Without a scan, without an exam, without an introduction, my entire future was laid out to me.  How rude!  Here is how I would have liked both then and now to have taken place instead.

Good afternoon, my name is Paul Edelman.

It was November of 1988.  I had a lump in my neck just above my shoulder, that had been misdiagnosed as the common cold.  A biopsy revealed that I had lymphoma, Hodgkin Lymphoma.  Over the next two months and several obsolete  and barbaric procedures:  bone marrow biopsy, lymphangiogram, and a laparotomy, I was staged at 3b.  I went through 30 treatments of radiation exposed to  4 times the lifetime maximum of radiation and 8 months of a chemo cocktail which included a drug used in wars and by dictators meant to inflict harm on thousands of people.  But used for the good, I have been cancer free for over 23 years.

One stereotypical image that I had of cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy patients were severely emaciated, malnourished appearing people.  Strangely, this was not my experience.  Quite the contrary, I experienced what many of us refer to as “pumpkin face.”  Instead of losing weight, due to the high dose prednisone in my chemotherapy cocktail, I actually gained over fifty pounds.  This was made possible by an out-of-control appetite.

There had been a long term plan once I completed my treatments.  A follow-up schedule had been determined all the way up to my five year anniversary – every three months for the first year, four months for the next two years, then six months up to the fifth year, after which, I would be seen annually.

In the short term, I needed and wanted to get back into a similar physical condition prior to my cancer diagnosis, which meant dropping my chemo weight.  I worked hard exercising and dieting, and lost the fifty pounds that I had gained, and a few extra.

My long term plan went as scheduled also, taking the five full years to achieve annual follow-up visits.  But due to a simple office move, my status as a patient changed.  While ultimately, it was my responsibility to make sure that I continued my follow-up care, I laid all accountability on my oncologist who appeared to not remember my annual check-up, which I was okay with.  For the first time in seven years, I finally had a life again, without cancer.  After all, that is all we want from the time we are diagnosed.

Thirteen additional years would go by before my lapse in judgment would become apparent in a harsh way.

A rare complaint from me to my primary care physician, and my physical status would change from hopeful Adonis to Starship Enterprise “Red Alert.”  I was about to have a fatal heart attack at any moment.  The only thing that was more surprising for a seemingly healthy 40-year-old needing an emergency bypass, was the cause.

The very treatments that saved my life from cancer, over time, had damaged the main vessel to my heart.  Further testing would reveal even more damage, to other parts of my body.  You see, even as little back as the early 1990’s, survival of cancer patients was still based on five years.  There was no firm protocol to follow up on us after that time.

There was never a doubt that I would beat cancer.  But not once, did I ever think that I would see the day, that I would stand in front of so many inspirational people, patients, caregivers and survivors.  And while I am humbled by you, I am more than excited to tell you, that there are millions of cancer survivors, all over the world.  I have met many of those survivors.  From Johanasburg, Africa, to England, Canada, France, California, Pennslvania, and the Lehigh Valley, one year survivors, five year survivors, twenty year survivors, and yes, I have met a sixty year survivor, we exist.  We may not be celebrities or professional athletes, popular musicians who have never-ending media coverage, but we have something much more powerful… opportunities with events such as The Relay For Life, Light The Night, Race For The Cure, and so many more allow us to see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears, and believe with our whole hearts that we can not only survive cancer, but perhaps in our lifetime, actually prevent cancer.

A lot has happened in the more than two decades of my survival, historically as well as personally.  I ended up having a career working in the same field that saved my life, medical research.  I was engaged during my diagnosis, married during my treatment, divorced years later, dated, and married again.  I have two beautiful little girls that we adopted from China.

To be honest, it was not easy.  There was not a lot of knowledge back then about what could happen as a result of my treatments.  But through research funded through events such as this, the risk of late developing side effects to the heart, the lungs, muscles and several other areas of my body are much less likely today.  Just two decades ago, the knowledge, expectation, and publicity of long term survivors was not well known.  Today, there are not only less toxic treatments with lesser side effects, short term or long term, but better survival rates due to more strict follow up guidelines.  Major cancer facilities now not only treat cancer patients, but also treat survivors.  An important need given a lot of attention is the emotional toll of survivorship.  Whether dealing with the discovery of a late developing side effect or the struggles of survival guilt,  there are now resources available world wide.  There is help for the survivor who wrestles daily with the emotions of why someone dies from cancer, while I live, why some face multiple relapses and I faced only one chapter.  Cancer survivors are no longer seen as hypochondriacs with mysterious ailments because someone in their early forties, physically fit, extremely active, should not be experiencing shortness of breath and tightening of the chest, especially when he looks healthy.  Therefore, the critical tests might not have gotten done.

At the time of my twentieth anniversary of the completion of my treatments, I corrected something that I should have addressed twenty years earlier, realizing that I had not done so.  In the emotions of completing my treatments, in the race to run away from that oncology office and never look back, I forgot to do one important thing.  Sure my oncologists, my faith, and the support of my family had a lot to do with my success, but the unsung heroes of my story and many others, more likely than not, do not often get the appreciation or the recognition or hear the success of their efforts.  And so I set out to find Brenda, Noreen, and Ilona, my nurse, technician, and counselor during my battle with Hodgkin Lymphoma.  Unfortunately, one had passed away, from the cruelest of ironies, cancer.  But I did find Brenda, my oncology nurse, and Noreen, my radiation technologist still working in the field that saved my life, still doing what they did best, caring for cancer patients.  I gave them each a hug, we share stories and tears, and most importantly, I thanked them.  I thanked them for caring for me and caring about me.

These are some things that were invented or discovered in the last twenty years:  seedless watermelon, anti-lock brakes, the digital camera, the English Chunnel, the Mosaic web browser,   the protese inhibitor to stop the growth of the AIDS virus, the plasma TV,  stem cell research, the portable defibrulator, Tivo, Wifi, the Xbox, the Genome Sequencer to make diagnostics quicker and more accurate,  Google maps, and of course, the I phone,

In just 20 years since my treatments, survival rates for many cancers have increased:  ALL 94%, Hodgkin’s 95%, Non-hodgkins 80%, Retinablastoma 95%, Neuroblastoma, 75%, Wilm’s Tumor95%, Osteosarcoma, 70%, Medullablastoma 85%,  Prostate 98-100%, early stage breast cancer 88%.

A lot has happened in more than 23 years.  My grandmother, my cancer role model who battled and beat and breast cancer fifteen years, faced cancer a second time.  Of course, there is my own history.  And most recently, just weeks ago, my father was informed that he has lung cancer.  And at the age of 70, I can hear only one thing in his voice, he will survive.  He was born and grew up in the time when cancer killed everyone, when cancer was contagious, when cancer carried a stigma.  But he won’t survive because of statistics, he will survive because he has seen it with his own eyes.  When I share my stories, I will tell everyone of all of the people that I have seen and have beaten cancer, and many, living long lives.  And for those of you looking for someone who has survived a long time, here I am.  And yes, I am still followed up, by one of the top doctors in the country who was a pioneer in studying Hodgkin Lymphoma and late treatment effects.  And just as younger physicians today have been taught, it is much easier to deal with any of the late effects that I have experienced, when caught early enough.  And today, with less toxic and more effective treatments, and knowledge of side effects to look for in the long term, doctors, technicians, nurses, and therapists can now take care of you before it is too late.  And you are followed-up from the final treatment through the rest of your life.  As much as all we ever want, is to be rid of cancer, to never hear it mentioned in our life ever again, post-care is critical and medicine today knows this.

I would like to close with a signature line that I often use in emails and posts when congratulating survivors on milestone anniversaries, welcoming patients into Club Remission, or encouraging patients that their cure can happen.  “As I travel down the road of remission, I will keep looking in my rear view mirror to make sure that you are still following me.  And if you’re still fighting your cancer, I’ll drive 55 so you can catch up to me.”

Thank you so much for this opportunity to share my story with you.  I wish you good health and longevity, and most of all, on behalf of all cancer patients, caregivers, and survivors, thank you for all of your support and efforts.

The Easter Bunny?


I do not really do well with the holidays.  If it were not for my daughters and the childhood traditions that they look forward to each year, I would probably never know which holiday is being celebrated and if it has come and gone.  I am not proud of this, now does Wendy like it.  After twelve years, she still cannot understand the bell that tolls for me seemingly every time a holiday approaches.

I do not begrudge anyone celebrating the holidays either.  I have hoped for a long time, that I would stop feeling the way that I do about Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and so on.  But each time ground is gained, it happens again, and again, and again.

I was diagnosed with my Hodgkin’s Disease, just days before Thanksgiving in 1988.  I am coming up on the five year anniversary of my emergency heart bypass surgery.  While married to my ex-wife, she was involved in a horrific head-on collision just after New Year’s Day.  There was a horrific time period between Christmas and New Year’s Day that three of my relatives passed away.  The list of sadness goes on with several more incidents, all around the major holidays.  I can get just so close to finally opening my heart and beliefs to receiving the holidays for the gifts that they can truly be, and then again, I am leveled.  I am literally petrified of approaching holidays, afraid of the doom and gloom that I believe without a doubt that is going to accompany it.

Just a couple of weeks ago, it has happened again.

My father was diagnosed with lung cancer.  I am encouraged at the staging of the disease that he has a good chance to beat it.  While I do not believe at all that holidays cause bad things to happen, I have grown tired of the coincidence of the timing, seemingly every time.  I know my father feels the same way.  More than a decade ago, my father’s life changed forever just days before Christmas.  Following an unresolved argument, my father went out to his car, started it, and looked for my stepmother who finally walked out of the house.  Both angry from the argument, the moment in time can never be taken back, nor, according to my father, can the guilt that he has lived with since that night, ever be resolved.  As my stepmother crossed the street, my dad watched her get hit by the car she did not see, fly through the air, severely injured.

For the same reason I still do, my father will celebrate the holidays, because he knows they are important to my daughters, his grandchildren.  There is an innocence that both of us will not take away from the girls whether it be Christmas  or Easter.  For at least the day, we forget all of the negative things that have happened in the past, and do our best not to wonder what will happen next.

My parents divorced nearly forty-five years ago and in stereotypical history, the common custodial issue of siding with one parent, the parent with the custody, I grew up with skewed feelings of my father (I am obviously putting this nicely).  Half way through my life, my father and I made amends.  And in recent years, he has asked only one thing.

My dad wanted to host a family dinner for Easter.  My dad has taken the back seat with every holiday during my childhood, and during adulthood, the holidays at best, were split between he, the rest of my family, and my in-laws (both sets).  But a few years ago, Wendy agreed with me, to let Easter be my father’s holiday.

He enjoys having my sister and stepbrother, all of the grandchildren and now great-grandchildren.  It is only for two or three hours, but it is the one time that he can truly enjoy a holiday.  Just as we have done with other years, following dinner, my stepbrother and I will go out, toss Easter eggs throughout my yard, which I just cleared out of “dog bombs” that had been revealed from the melted snow.

But once again, there is a specter hanging over this holiday.  It is weighing heavily on his mind.  I do not think he shares my confidence in the prognosis as last week, when discussing who would come visit tomorrow, he stated “I just want one more Easter with everyone.”

I am a cancer survivor.  Years ago, my dad revealed to me why he could not be more involved with me during my battle with cancer.  And it is something that I am going to keep within for the time being because I need him to concentrate on “now”, not then.  In a couple of weeks, I will return to the “public speaking circuit” to talk about my life as a cancer survivor.  It is my hope to reach as many survivors and inspire them with my longevity, that hopefully they too will see decades of future days with newer and better treatments being used today.  Never before has one of my speeches been so important for inspiration, as it is right now.

And my dad knows this.  He has me in his corner as an advocate.  I have heard the conversations with the doctors, and my knowledge and experience of cancers and treatments, I believe that he can beat this cancer.  But I respect his fear.  I have been there.  There are no guarantees and I know that.  But I also respect his wishes, that we get together today.

My daughters, one now ten years old, still both believe in the Easter Bunny (as well as Santa Claus and leperachauns – well at least our older daughter does not let on as if to protect her younger sibling).  Early in the morning, they will come downstairs looking for the basket of goodies that the Easter Bunny traditionally hides in our home (and has done so since I was a young boy).  We will have dinner, and then they will gather eggs scattered in our yard.  My dad will hear so much laughter.  And at least for a little while, my dad and I will forget what is looming.

Be Careful What You Ask For…


Sleep is over-rated.  At least, it would never be the same after March 12th, 2004.  I cannot even say that I got normal sleep that evening as Wendy and I were too excited.  The next day we were going to fly half-way around the world to adopt our oldest daughter, Madison.

The key factor in this equation is that the part of China we were travelling to was thirteen hours ahead of our time zone.  Wendy and I had travelled to Seattle a long time ago, and screwed up our sleep schedule that we laid down for a nap, and woke up sixteen hours later.  Our mistake was closing the drapes and making it completely dark.

We made the transition to Chinese time, immediately.  When we landed, we were informed that our schedule for actual adoption had been moved up.  We would fly to the capital city of Nanchang (Jiangxi Province) ten hours after we landed in Hong Kong.  Neither of us slept during the sixteen hour flight to China, and we were so keyed up, especially knowing in less than twelve hours, Madison would be in our arms.

Madison was nearly a year old when we adopted her, so she had already established a sleeping habit, and she definitely enjoyed her sleep.  With all the hustle and bustle that she had been thrown into, she still managed two and three hour naps, AND slept through the entire night.

We had received plenty of advice about our return home, and returning to our normal schedule and getting Madison adjusted.  We were fortunate.  There was no jetlag.  Madison continued her long siestas, and with her routine now returning to an inactive pace, to our wonderful surprise, Madison’s normal sleep length was anywhere from twelve to thirteen hours each night.  It did not matter where, a step, in the car, in the warmth of her own bed, she slept when she wanted it.

We cannot say the same with our younger daughter.  Emmalie has been with us over seven years, and she has NEVER slept through an entire night.  She did not like naps, and when she took them, it was never longer than a half hour.  Her nightly “naps” as we called them lasted three or four hours.  And she did not let us know through unhappy cries and screams.  Em would just flat out wake us up.  And if we would not stir, she would pull the old Tom & Jerry cartoon move, and actually lift up our eyelid to see if anyone was home.

Yes, on February 6th, 2006, we no longer had any opportunity to sleep throughout a night.  The chain of coherence began with Emmalie waking either myself, Wendy, or Madison.  Even the poor animals in the house were not safe from an arousing “WAKE UP DOGGIE!!!!”  No naps, waking up at six in the morning-ish, and if she had her way, she would stay up well past eleven in the evening.  Em wakes up first, then wakes up Madison.

Currently, on an average day, I do not mind the girls waking up early.  I get them ready for school while I get ready to go to work.  By the time that they wake up, I have enough time to spend a few moments with them.  I appreciate that.  But since days off from work, and other interests are rare, I make no secret.  I WANT TO SLEEP IN which translates to “I would like to sleep at least until seven in the morning.”  An impossible task.

Which makes what happened recently more than ironic, quite comedic in fact.  As an employee, I have a reputation for being on time, always.  No matter the weather, no matter of my physical well-being, in spite of efforts by Wendy, I have always been on time.

But a couple of weeks ago, Thursday morning to be exact, the girls woke up to a special treat, something to offer them hope.  All Winter long, we have not received any decent amount of white precipitation.  In fact, the girls would get the chance to peek outside, catch a few snowflakes on their tongues, then get off to bed hoping that even without a delay in the opening of school, they would get to partake in some chilly activities, at the least, making a snow angel.  Cruelly, the snow has not been enough and melted by the time they have gotten home from school.

But whereas any other morning that I have gone to work, they either wake up on their own or I need to jostle them.  On my days off from work, they can be relied on to rile me out of bed around six in the morning.  But on this particular Thursday, as if convinced the snow now covering the ground will not only prevent them from going to school, may also prevent me from getting to work.  Or so I thought.

I woke up at 7:12am.  My travel alarm clock set for 5:20am.  The first alarm on my cell phone set for 5:50am and the second set for 6:10am.  My clock has an annoying chirp to it, clearly loud enough to wake the entire house.  My cell phone alarm is the ring tone from Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train”.  There is no doubt that by the second alarm, and Wendy has fallen from the ceiling of the bedroom, I would be clearly on my way to beginning my day.

Not on this day.  The first alarm had been turned off, as was the first alarm of my cell phone.  I never heard the second alarm go off because I had rolled over onto it, my belly muffling the laughing and terrifying scream “All aboard, ah ha ha ha ha ha ha, aye aye aye aye , duh duh duh duh, duh duh… and the ringtone went on, repeatedly.

At 7:12am, my eyes opened, and I look over at another clock in the bedroom.  SON OF B$&%%$!!!tch!  I am late for work.  I am supposed to punch in at 7:10, 7:20 at the latest.  I quickly throw on some clothes and clear most of my steps to the downstairs.  Fortunately, I have hair care and teeth hygiene products at work.  I race into the kitchen to grab my car keys from the counter.

Over the kitchen counter, I can see the tops of the heads of my two darling daughters who are deeply entrenched in one of their early morning Disney channel shows.  But not to wrapped up in the entertainment to inform me… “Daddy, you’re late for work.”

Later that evening, as I explained to them the importance that if they should notice that I am not awake by the time they get up from bed and I need them to wake me.  Perhaps I should have been more clear, on days that I need to go into work.  In their defense, “but Daddy, you always tell us to let you sleep.”  Day of all days, I got what I asked for.

Post Navigation