Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “Recreation”

I Miss These Days


I can still struggle to believe that I am still here, 37 years after my diagnosis of cancer, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I remember those early days of survivorship, especially that first year, fearful and scared of my cancer coming back as quickly as I was declared in remission. Symptoms that I had prior to my diagnosis reappeared reigniting concerns of relapse during my first couple of years, reminding me of an imaginary clock, planted in my brain by my doctors, “5 years.” Five years was the magic number I was told if I reached I could consider myself “cancer free.” Thinking of anything longer was not even a thought. I never thought of anything other than living to five years, never about the years after. And here I am, 37 years after that diagnosis. November 1988 to November 2025, there it is, four decades. It seems like forever, and though my memory is not as sharp as it once was, the details of 1988 are still clear as day to me.

While the first third of my survivorship is pretty much unremarkable, as in, it just happened, one year after another, it is when I became a Dad, that I feel my survivorship actually meant something, mattered, made a difference. Out of my 37 years of survivorship, my daughters and the memories we have made, make up 21 of those years.

I have one photo album completed with memories of our first two decades together. Twenty-one years together is a very long time, especially from a cancer survivor point of view. I assure you, these twenty-one years have flown by. There are so many memories we have made with each other.

But there was no bigger impact on my life, than when I faced the fight of my life, a “widow maker” blockage with my heart that my survivorship took on a whole new meaning, and I could feel it, a completely different drive or motive, an increased will to live. It was no longer about just surviving, I wanted to live. I had so much that I wanted to experience with my daughters. And most importantly, I did not want my daughters to experience what so many of their friends had already experienced in their young lives, the loss of a parent.

I remember the looks on their faces when they were finally able to visit me in the hospital, as I was still hooked up to tubes and machines. My excitement and joy to see them after being separated from them for the first time in our lives, could not ease the fear in their eyes and confusion by what was going on. It was only when I finally went home, the path to recovery and a return to “daddy/daughter time” would begin again.

The length of time that I had survived cancer had become a “back burner” thought (back burner referencing where people put their pots on the stove to just sit while the rest of the meal cooks). My survivorship had taken a different direction, now faced with dealing with late developing side effects from the very treatments that treated my cancer. My care as a survivor would take a different direction, and would not only be more involved, but more active as my first heart surgery would not be the only issue I would face in the rest of my life. In fact, there would be many more.

There is an expression among many of us in the cancer community, “not letting cancer define us.” This basically means, not letting cancer, or in my case, the many late side effect health issues that I deal with, take away from what is most important to me, my daughters. I acknowledge that I need to take care of these issues, but I must also pay attention to the needs of my daughters, and the time, likely reduced and limited that I will have with them. And clearly, if I do not take care of my health, that time will be even less. There is a need for balance between the two.

But here we are now, both of my daughters, now adults, are set to make their own paths. And there is so much I want to witness of their futures. I know they want me to be there to see all the things they do.

There is so much life after cancer. It is just hard to see that far ahead, but before you know it, that future is behind you, and you find yourself wishing to have those times back.

A New Normal


There are common thoughts in the journey of cancer and survivorship. From diagnosis through treatment, I know that all that I wanted to know was long term survivorship possible, beyond the five years that I constantly kept hearing about? Strangely, once I completed my treatments, combined with achieving the status of remission, my thoughts quickly turned from long term survival, to when does my life get back to what it used to be, “normal.”

While the cancer experience is definitely physically demanding, enough attention does not get paid to the emotional and mental toll that is taken on the patient. Sure, there is fatigue, fear, doubt, stress, paranoia and more that swirl around in the mind of someone going through cancer. One thing that we do not realize happens during the time from diagnosis through treatments, unbeknownst to us, we lose something very important to us. And we do not recognize it until after we are done with treatments, yet it plays a very important role in us moving on in our lives, in our survivorship, control. We go from doing what we want, when we want, to, you have to be here at this time, we are going to do this at this time, and a patient has no control of that. Decisions are no longer made by the patient, but by those providing the care. And it is in our best interest to do as they are recommending if we want to reach remission.

When we lose things, such as our car keys, our wallet, material things, it produces an inconvenient anxiety. When a loved one is “lost” or passes away, we mourn or grieve. The loss of control then, I feel would fall in between those two extremes. Without any thought, once treatments are over, the “keys” are handed back over to us, and we are supposedly back in control. But why does it not feel that way then? If the treatments and the tests are done, when does it start to feel “normal” again?

Control and normal are two different things, yet combined create an interesting dynamic, an experience that must be dealt with, and accepted. Soon, we realize what that loss of control did, and what it took from us, normalcy. And once we realize what we considered “normal”, and that particular “normal” is gone forever, we soon come to terms, this permanent loss, is similar to the loss we experience when someone passes, and must be grieved. We need to give ourselves the chance mourn what we looked at as what was normal in our lives, before the cancer.

Unlike the passing of a loved one, we have a hope or even a second chance with remission at normalcy, but something we in the circle of survivors call “the new normal.” As a cancer survivor, we all get this new normal, and it is exactly that, new and whatever we want to consider as being typical in our lives going forward.

What exactly is normal? What do you consider normal? What makes things or life normal? If normalcy is based on never seeing doctors again once in remission and totally forgetting you had cancer, nope, not going to happen. That normal is gone. Over decades, medicine has finally recognized late developing side effects as a reality, not necessarily for all, but for some, and the problem is no one knows who will develop these late effects. Therefore, ALL cancer survivors should continue following up with their primary care doctors once they are released from their oncologist, with guidelines from the oncologist what issues to keep an eye out to potentially occur, not definitely, but possibly. That is a new “normal” especially if you are not one to have ever seen a doctor regularly (besides the oncologist).

Aside from the medical new “normal,” I have come to realize that each day brings a new “normal.” And because I am someone who has a variety of late developing side effects, the “normal” for that day depends on if any of those effects are gathering attention or not. What I have found, and actually accepted, is that this is okay. Another new “normal” I have been able to achieve, is how I deal with stress, much better.

Perhaps my most important “normal” however, are my daughters. Becoming a Dad, now decades ago (a surreal thing to say as a cancer survivor), has been the most normal part of my life. There are no quotes around the word normal this time, because you can quote me on this, for me, becoming a parent has been the best kind of normal I have gotten to experience. And each day, I look to build on that normal.

The truth is, normal is what you make it. And that is what makes it “new” after a battle with cancer. Because now, you, the individual are the one deciding what is normal.

Happy Father’s Day


Happy Father’s Day to all who are celebrating today, and my heart goes out to all of those who recognize this day, to remember their Fathers, no longer with them, and for those, who through no fault of their own are kept apart. At one point, I checked off all three of those boxes, so I understand all the emotions involved.

As a Dad of two amazing daughters, this is my day, bigger for me than Christmas, birthday, even my once favorite Halloween. But the biggest part of my life, my legacy if you will, is having made the decision, to be responsible for two children, to teach them values, morals, right from wrong, all the while making sure they learned in school, and became responsible adults. Of course, as you know reading “Paul’s Heart”, this has not been easy with the variety of health issues I have faced as a cancer survivor. But this I know, I do not take any day for granted, and I celebrate every new day that I get with my daughters.

But as I said, I checked off more than one box when it comes to today. I lost my Dad to lung cancer eleven years ago, he was just ten years older than I am now. He was not alive to see what I went through as a Dad dealing with the family courts in regard to the relationships with my daughters. Of all the things unresolved with my father (my parents divorced when I was three years old), my Dad was only aware of the beginning of my own divorce and custody fight, as that was when he was just diagnosed. I could not throw this issue on him, while I dealt with both simultaneously. I am hoping, that my Dad is looking down on me and his granddaughters, and seeing how well things turned out with the my daughters and I.

The link above is for a performance for a special piece that I wrote in tribute to my Dad.

However you are recognizing today, I hope it is a good day for you.

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