Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

Archive for the category “The Heart”

A Letter To My Daughters


To my daughters, in less than two months, you will both be students in college. Both of you have your directions that you are going in. Both of you have an inclination of what you want to do once you have earned your degrees. But know this, I have done all that I can, from the times that you were placed into my arms, through elementary school, middle school, and high school, to prepare you for this next part of your life.

I wanted to give you as much as I was able, definitely more than I had been given. And though our journey as a family did not follow as planned, I am hoping that the lives we shared with each other, provided you both with the foundations and experiences, to not only get through college, but in each of your lives.

I am going to put aside all of the childhood and family memories that I have of us because they will always be there for me. But now, as this first part of your life has been completed, I want to focus as I watch you both, become the women you were meant to be. The decisions you make are now your own. I am simply here, with words should you need advice. The experiences you have, are yours.

As you continue to grow, and yes, that means get older (I told you to stay kids as long as you could), keep these words in mind.

Whenever you need, I am just a phone call away. And when I do get calls from you, it will bring me such joy. Whether it is just to say “hi” or “I love you and miss you,” or simply, “I need you,” I will likely reply with “miss you more”, “love you more,” “need you more.” In fact, a billion times more.

Believe in yourselves. I know that I believe in both of you. No matter what obstacles get thrown in front of you, know that I will be there, and I will always support you both no matter how far apart we may be. You will always succeed as long as you keep trying. You used to say that I needed to let you “fall” so that you could learn how to pick yourselves up. And now, it is up to you to find your own way. Yes, my heart will be sad if or when this happens, in silence with any struggle you face, but the sadness will turn into pride when you overcome those moments. Just remember, you can only fail if you stop trying.

People tell me that you are both lucky to have me as a Father. I believe it is the other way around. You are both a miracle to me. The blessings and memories that you have given me so far, have given my life meaning. But I know that I cannot keep you as children forever. I am so excited for what is ahead for both of you. I have been as honest, loyal, and strong for you and with you as I can, whether in times of joy or sorrow. I wanted to be your role model not just for your character, reputation, and morals, but in how you expect to be treated by those you bring into your lives. Of all things I have done with you, it is those examples that I consider the most important thing for me to have taught you both.

Our visits with each other will be less for the next several years, but the moments that we are able to get together with each other, all together or with just either of you, I hope you will be as excited to see me as I am to see both of you. I will be anxious to hear all of the things you have done since I last saw you. I am no longer able to pick you up, hoist you upon my shoulders, but I will always be able to give you the biggest, and prepare for it, the longest hugs I can give both of you.

I know that I cannot promise to be there for the rest of your lives, but I can promise to be there for both of you, for the rest of my life. No matter what you go through, I will always love both of you, as I have always said, “to the moon and back.”

Your Realness


My daughters and I were having a conversation about their late uncle, who passed away from ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). It has been nearly eleven years, and I still miss him. As my older daughter understands and reminded me, “I know he was like a brother to you, not just a brother-in-law.”

Through Mike’s battle, he taught me many things. But one thing stood out, probably having the biggest impact on my life. Admittedly, I still have a hard time executing that lesson.

At the time of his diagnosis, I had been struggling with the diagnosis of all the different late side effects being caused by my treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I was dealing with a swallowing issue, unbeknownst to me, caused by radiation treatments for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The mechanics of the whole thing is a separate post by itself. But the bottom line is that I was slowly losing the ability to swallow, to the point I could not even get water down. I often found myself choking unable to get anything down my throat.

A few months before things got really bad for me, my brother-in-law, had begun developing his own unique symptoms, his speech slurring. Many of us would joke that he had one too many “Jack and Cokes.” He was at a loss for what was happening, because it definitely was not caused by any drinking. Testing would reveal and confirm, Mike had ALS. The disease is discovered from either muscles twitching or getting weak, swallowing, or even, slurred speech.

As Mike’s speech issue and eventual swallowing progressed, he soon found the need to rely on artificial intelligence to assist his speech. At the dinner table, we soon discovered a problem, in stereo if you will. We both were having serious issues swallowing our food, caused by different reasons.

But if there is one flaw in my personality that I know that I am aware of, it is perspective. It can work for me, or it can work against me. No matter what I am dealing with, I will always believe someone is dealing with something worse than what I am dealing with. And with my brother-in-law, that was definitely the case. As I sat across the dinner table from him, me not wanting to eat for fear that I would be the one to actually choke at the table, Mike struggling to get anything down himself, I blurted out, “so Mike, which one of us is going down first?” After a few awkward chuckles, I continued, “I’m sorry Mike. I have no room to complain about this. What you are going through is far worse.”

Mike replied, “but that does not make what you are going through any less real, or severe. The only difference is each of our prognosis. That does not make your pain any less real, or relevant. Go easy on yourself.”

I would like to think it was at that moment, that after twenty-two years, I finally learned to do just that, but after thirty-three years, I still have not. Mike’s message is one that I share with any of my fellow survivors who have a moment, when one of their late term issues just happens to be overwhelming them, and they feel in the grand scheme of things, compared to other of our survivors, they may just have it better and therefore should discard their feelings. No, they should not. The feelings that they have are real, and have a huge emotional impact on their survival.

Look, during these three decades of survival, I have said goodbye to so many fellow long term survivors. A shorter lifespan, due to all the trauma that my body has been put through is expected by many of us, but by no means dwelt on. But that is a reality. Emotionally, survivorship takes its biggest toll, because that is when we are most likely not to give ourselves the slack when we need it most, especially if there is another survivor going through something we perceive as more serious. As Mike said, “it does not make it any less real, and deserves attention if necessary.”

A few weeks ago, I happened to crack two of my ribs, just sitting in my chair. I bent over to pick something off of the floor. I heard it, and worse, I felt it. And though I am known for having a fairly high pain threshold, because others have it worse than me, this is one time pain actually has my attention. This injury is likely related to osteopenia that I developed as a long term side effect from my treatments. But where is my focus? On my other fellow survivors. I consider this a minor inconvenience as I will be restricted from certain activities as my ribs heal. Though as I worry about my other survivors and their health issues, that does not make my injury any less real.

Rob


My fellow long term survivors and I lost a good one a couple of weeks ago. Do not mistake me, all of my fellow survivors are good ones. But Rob, there was something extra inspirational about him, that not only gave many of us hope, but also challenged us. As he went through the last few years, in spite of the struggles, he never gave up. Even in the end, it was on his terms. Rob was in control.

I had known Rob for many years, though I never had the chance to meet him in person. He was a long term survivor of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, just like me, and just like me, he had late developing side effects from his treatments that had gotten bad enough to require intervention.

It is easy among our “group” to forget that we have other things in our lives, that our world is not just about our current health crisis. Though that is exactly how our support is set up. As survivors, we share our experiences and knowledge, so that if a survivor is dealing with a doctor who does not get “it” as to what is happening with our bodies, we can hope that the doctor will be open minded and pursue the possibility of something unrealized.

There is more to our world than surviving the cure that gave us all this extra time from cancer. Sadly, it is only after Rob’s passing, that I learned of two of his interests that I would have loved to have our conversations dominate rather than cancer.

I never knew Rob was a musician and singer. Wow, the conversations that we could have had based on this common thread between us. But I have only found out recently just how good he was, and how much he enjoyed the world of music.

It could not be any more appropriate than to describe Rob as being “out of this world.” A web developer and and project director for online media, Rob was a valuable staff member for a wonderful art/science museum/exhibit known as “Exploratorium.” I cannot come close to even begin describing how awesome this experience is. But if you have ever been to an “immersion” type of museum exhibit, this is definitely not one to be missed. Clearly, Rob enjoyed his “work.” You can check out Exploratorium at the link below.

https://www.exploratorium.edu/

Rob was a true outdoorsman enjoying his environment around him.

We have a place that many of us like to share our lives outside of survivorship. And all too often, as many wonderful things we do get to talk about and share with our fellow survivors, that there is life after Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, our conversations do return back to our health as it comes back to the forefront, sometimes in a rude way.

Personally, and though I have written about many survivors who have passed, this took me a bit longer. Like many of our Hodgkin’s survivors, he had heart complications from the treatment later on in life. We are faced with so many factors that determine our fate if we go through with any corrective surgeries, that can result in success or failure. There is no bigger risk for us, than with open heart surgery. But depending on how badly scarred our insides are (from radiation damage), less invasive methods with lower risks are not an option.

Rob was someone who faced open heart surgery for his issue. Informed of the risks, he made the decision to proceed. And although not perfectly smooth, all of us, including Rob, thought he had turned a corner. There would be setbacks, and with each one, he seemed to overcome those. Of course, the majority of time this all occurred, was during the Covid pandemic. And even one of his caregivers exposing him to a Covid infection himself, something that should never have happened, never dampened his belief that he would get through this. It had been so long.

He finally decided his body had been through enough. If you have ever had to deal with a medical trauma or long term illness, one of the worst feelings you have, is the loss of control of “you.” As you get treated or recover, you do not have control. If there is one phrase that really bothers me, “lost ‘his’ battle with…” It has not been used in Rob’s case, and I wish this would be the case more often for others. Rob did not lose his battle. He decided that he had gone through enough. He took control, control that had been taken away from him.

I have everything in writing, as well as having discussed with enough of those around me, my decisions when it comes to getting through the rest of my survivorship. I feel that if my body is strong enough, which I consider enough as of this post, my body will fight to survive on its own, and I will get through it. However, if there is any lopsided risk with something being proposed to correct with my health, there are two things I do not want to happen. I do not want any complications that would leave my survival being a burden on my loved ones. And I do not want any lasting image other than when I was last seen out and about publicly. I am firm in what I want.

But then someone like Rob comes along, and he has not been the only one throughout my survival, in spite of the risks, makes the decision to go all in, and fight with every fiber of his being. His updates though not great, still gave hope to him, and all of those who knew him. It was this fighting spirit, and like several before him, that often lead me to question my personal decisions, and comparing levels of “fight,” which really is not fair.

Time and trauma, both worked for Rob, and against him. And there is not one fellow survivor or anyone who knew Rob personally, who were hoping for anything less than turning that final corner, and getting back to the things he enjoyed. Sadly, time ran out, the trauma was too great.

Rob, your spirit, your support, and just your wonderful outlook on life, will be so greatly missed. I have never known anyone who has played in a Blue Oyster Cult tribute band. But growing up, I got to hear Blue Oyster Cult in concert, from miles away from my home, at an outdoor festival, because they were that loud. Rock on wherever you are, and we will hear you play.

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