Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Inspired By…”

Cancer – An Uglier Word Than…


When you first mention the phrase, “ugly word”, my mind immediately goes back to the comedic bit by George Carlin, and his “seven words you can’t say on TV.”  To me, those words are just that, words.  They cannot hurt physically, though they have the potential to hurt emotionally.  To me, cancer is an even uglier word than those recited by Carlin.  I have every right to make that claim, because just as the other words can hurt emotionally, so can cancer.  But cancer hurts physically as well.

I can make this claim.  Besides coming into my life with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma back in 1988, cancer has decimated my family.  My paternal grandmother died from cancer of the gall bladder.  My paternal grandfather died from complications of lung cancer.  My maternal grandmother survived breast cancer only to succumb to ovarian cancer.  My sister passed away from a relapse of aplastic anemia (a form of leukemia) after having been in remission for over three decades.  And this past May, I lost my father to lung cancer.

I have had many more friends pass away from cancer and have known many more who have died as well.  Yes, I get to state that cancer is a very ugly word.

Over the years, there have been many campaigns used to draw attention to cancer.  “Save The TaTa’s” is a campaign for breast cancer, a campaign I support (figuratively, not literally – no pun intended).  While it may lack “taste” to some, it does get attention, which of course leads to awareness.

A couple of years ago though, a new campaign began.  I first became aware of it while on a Facebook page for Lymphoma.  A young woman had been celebrating the announcement of their remission.  A picture had been taken of her holding a sign in one hand, and her other hand was posed with her middle finger sticking up with the old one-finger salute.  I know where the finger was directed because the sign said simply, “F*ck Cancer!”  Clearly she was making a statement of defiance.

Normally, when we hear or see the F-bomb, it is generally used in slang or some obscene sexual reference, and this is not normally acceptable used by society.  But I personally feel, when it is used an expression of anger or defiance, it is emotion that needs to come out.  Dropping an F-bomb on Cancer to me is not a “dirty use” of the word.  Cancer patients have every right to be angry, and I definitely want cancer patients to be defiant to cancer.  Cancer expects us to just roll over and die, not fight back.

Since the time I discovered that FB page, it has grown so much.  And it is now a movement with over 171,000 “likes”.  These are people who have stood up to cancer, or will do what they can to stop cancer.  But before you judge them, just because they use a word unaccepted by society, check them out:

https://www.facebook.com/FxckCancerUSA

I do not normally use language considered obscene.  I do not really need to do that when I have conversations.  But when it comes to taking on one of the ugliest words in the world, cancer, I have no problem saying “Fuck Cancer.”  I have more than earned my right to say that after what cancer has done to me and my family.

Cancer And Music


Music has always been a part of my life, forever.  I am a third generation vocalist, though admittedly, at this point in my life, it is purely for enjoyment and relaxation.  I look for any opportunity to simply hang out and listen to local bands jam, karaoke, or even just tune in with my Ipod.  But for a time in my life, it was probably one of the most important coping mechanisms to deal with my battle with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, and well into my survivorship.

Often times, we associate a particular song with an event, place, or person in our lives.  For instance, whenever I hear Chicago “Wishing You Were Here”, I recall hearing the song for the first time back in the early 1970’s blaring from the speakers outside of the entrance to the Thunderhawk rollercoaster at Dorney Park in Allentown, PA.  Every time.

But in 1989, as I was heading to St. Luke’s Hospital to begin my radiation therapy treatments, a song came on the radio which served as a stark reminder, that I was going to need great tunes to help me deal with the journey that was ahead of me.  As controversial as the song was, Madonna’s “Like A Prayer”, it reminded me that I needed more than just the doctors, nurses, and treatments.  I had strong faith back then, and just hearing the word “prayer” sparked that reminder.  But then I started to piece together a playlist of songs, that I would record onto “cassette tape” (for those of you that are reading this and are too young, the cassette tape is a small plastic case with a recordable tape inside, that we constantly had to use a pencil to re-spool the tape when the mechanism failed and just continued to feed the tape anyway), and then place the tape into my “Walkman” (yes, the predecessor to the MP3 player, the predecessor to the Ipod, which is now the process of whatever device is currently being used).  But every radiation treatment, and every chemotherapy treatment, I listened to my Walkman.  By doing this every day, I remembered that I listened to it the day before, which reminded me that I got through the day before, and I would be able to get through today as well.  Music took me away from the chair I sat in at the chemotherapy suite and allowed me to be distracted by other things.  And since the 1980’s brought on music videos, positive imaging, which I learned from Norman Vincent Peale was made even easier (and yes, “Positive Imaging” was the name of his book).

Now, as I continue my follow up visits, which require a lot of travel, I do use my Ipod, packed with music, and meditate while I ride the trains and subways to get to Manhattan.  This helps me to maintain calmness.  In spite of being in remission all of these years, I still face other health issues.  And I would rather be calm heading into my appointments, than already be torqued up, if given news other than I was expecting.

Meet Michael


10469469_593660520744037_4131540052153352777_n Throughout my blog, I have occasionally mentioned a young man named Michael.  Here is his story.

Having been born visually impaired, Michael had faced enough hurdles in his life. But with strong family support, he never faced any other serious issue, barely even a common cold. But early in 2013, after noticing a huge swollen lymph node, which grew quite quickly after a needle biopsy seemed to agitate it further, at the age of 23, coincidentally the same age as I was at the time I was diagnosed, Michael had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. He had already begun his treatments when his mother reached out to the Facebook page for information. That is when she found me. We began to exchange messages back and forth in regards to Michael’s care. And for the sake of their family, they were encouraged by the fact that they had found someone who had survived the same cancer for a long time.

I followed Michael throughout the majority of his treatments.  Approximately half-way through his treatments, we “met”.  “Met” is in quotes because we did not meet in the traditional way face to face, but since he was located over a thousand miles away, we used current technology, Facetime.  And there he was.  He may have been 23, but I simply saw someone just too young to have gone through this.  In spite of what he was going through, he had a smile that stretched from ear to ear.  And I thought I knew a lot about lymphoma and treatments.  This kid studied everything he was going through as well.  He would actually recite statistics and information to me about his experiences.

At one point, he even took me along to one of his treatments to show me how different things were from the dismal times that I was treated.  Little did I know at that time, his gift to me would help me deal with the fact that months later I would have to accompany my father into a chemotherapy suite, something I had not done in over 24 years.

I followed Michael through his treatments, his booster shots for white cell and red blood cell production, and an occasional issue with some minor side effects.  After all, that is why blood work is done during treatments to monitor how well your body is tolerating the treatments, and to set the course for the next treatment.  He was finished with his treatments and had been declared in remission.  This young man had made such an impression on me.

I had been working on some other ideas pertaining to “Paul’s Heart” and expanding my public speaking arena, when it occurred to me, that the area where Michael was from, had a huge networking area.  So in effort to investigate those options, I arranged to meet Michael during my visit.  I also participated in a local Breast Cancer fundraiser for the American Cancer Society called “Making Strides”.  What happened next, I do not even have the right to call it a nightmare for me.  I barely knew Michael after all.  Michael, and those who loved him dearly would face a devastating situation.

It was mid-October, and Michael’s mother had been in contact with me about a chronic cough that he had been dealing with for three weeks.  Michael’s mother wanted him to be seen by the doctor, but over those weeks, his doctor simply prescribed antibiotics and steroids to deal with the cough.  I suggested that she take him to the doctor, that it was probably nothing more than some sort of post-nasal drip.  He had not been sick.  The doctor decided to have him see a pulmonologist.  With the appointment scheduled for the following week, all they could do is just wait.  But a couple of days later, Michael’s mother actually called me and said Michael’s cough had grown worse, and it kept him up all night.  There were still days to go until he saw the pulmonologist.  I urged her to take Michael to the emergency room.  A pulmonologist would have to deal with the issue instead of making him wait any longer.  Michael’s mother hung up.  And I just sat, watching my phone for a text message that he had been seen, treated, and would be going home.  Instead, these were the text messages that were exchanged:

“the doctor has seen him”

“they have him on meds”

and then about a half hour later

“CODE BLUE!”

And that was the last message that I had received for over twenty minutes.  All I could do was pray that there was some other activity going on in the emergency room area, but as time dragged on, I could only fear the worse.  It had to be Michael.

Michael’s mother finally sent me another text.  It was Michael that coded.  They were able to revive him but a bigger problem had been discovered.  It was not his lungs that were causing the problem, it was his heart.  The chemo drug Adriamyacin, had damaged the left side of his heart that it was no longer able to pump blood efficiently.  I believe the number was less than 15%.  This drug has been known, to have this rare side effect, but there is no monitoring for damage during treatment, only before (for a baseline), and at a follow up post treatment which had not even been ordered.

Due to the complications of his cancer care and the involvement of Michael’s heart, the local hospital was unable to go any further with treating Michael.  So he had to be flown by helicopter to a hospital two hours away, that would be capable of handling such an extreme cardiac situation.  To save his life, they would need to put an artificial pump in Michael to do what his heart could no longer do.  And since he could not be considered for a heart transplant because he had just completed his chemo, Michael was going to have to live with this for at least five years until possible consideration for a transplant.

His family stayed by his side for over a month, sacrificing work and home just to see that Michael recovered.  There were struggles, but just before Thanksgiving, Michael got to go home.

Three weeks later, an issue developed with the pump, causing another emergency airlift back to the hospital, as their local hospitals were not equipped to handle such cases.  The pump had failed and would need to be replaced again.

Out of respect for the family, I am not discussing any further details.  Just barely into the new year, Michael, at the age of 24, lost his battle, unable to recover from all the trauma to his young, tiny, fragile body.

The drug that caused this to happen is an anthracycline, and though it does not happen often, it does have documentation of causing damage to the heart muscle.  But perhaps even more puzzling, is why did the damage hit Michael, and not me, or the hundreds of other people I personally know who have been given the drug.  But since we cannot determine who is affected by the drug as severe as Michael, I have made it my personal wish to his family, that I will push as hard as I can, for surveillance when this drug is used.

A simple ultrasound performed at the latest, midway through Michael’s treatment regimen I feel would have shown results different from the baseline scan that had been done.  At that point, that drug could have ceased to be used, at the least modified, or even a different treatment regimen could have been ordered.  We monitor bloodwork to see if our body is up to the next treatment.  Why do we not do it for a body organ that may have the potential to be affected, like the heart?  I do not want to hear that it is not cost-effective.  Tell that to the family who lost their son and brother.

Do not get me wrong.  Adriamyacin is a good and effective drug to treat Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  But it is dangerous.  And as the telethon Standup2Cancer demonstrated last night, we need to find better and safer modes of treatment.

In memory of Michael, and on behalf of his mother and father and sister, I ask you to share Michael’s story.  Help to push for better surveillance for side effects that may not seem so obvious on the outside of the body.  It was decades before my side effects were recognized what damage the drugs had done.  But at least I got to live my remission.  Michael did not get to live more than two months post treatment.  I would have given anything to trade places with Michael to give him that shot at life.

In closing, I want to stress, what happened to Michael is not the norm.  I know plenty of other survivors who have not had any issues.  But I tell this story in hopes of preventing another parent from having to shed tears for a life gone too soon.

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