Paul's Heart

A Horrible Line Has Been Crossed

I cannot even figure a category to put this post under.

Just when you think you hear or see the most horrible thing a person can do or has done, another piece of scum animal has come out of the woodwork.  My feelings at this moment are ten times worse than the tone I am using right now.

The thing is, we should have seen this behavior coming.  It was a matter of time.  After all, our media goes for huge ratings with the phrase, “the video you are about to see is quite graphic” and then proceeds to show the video of some hideous incident.

But most of now possess that ability to be our own reporter, courtesy of smart phones.

I mentioned that a tragedy occurred back in my home town of Emmaus over a week ago.  Two little girls, age 11, were crossing the street and were hit by a car.  One died, the other is still fighting for her life.  The story is tragic enough.

But then this dirt bag with a cell phone, starts video taping it.  Now some may want to defend this animal and say, he was in shock.  He was not in shock when he decided to post the damn video on Facebook of both girls lying down in the intersection where they were hit, that just a short time later, one of the girls would die from her injury.  This jerk was filming a personal “snuff” video.

Word got out about this video, and soon, there were over 400,000 views because of everyone sharing it.  Pressure had been put on Facebook to pull the video and ban the user, but Facebook had no problem posting a video of an 11 year old girl dying.  That one post has been deleted, but the other video remains, along with some other posts in regard to the young girls.

This recording and the posting of the video on Facebook was by someone the girls did not even know.  He comes back and video tapes another day a memorial growing, and the young kids sitting around the memorial.  He clearly has been deleting any negative comments posted to his posts, because the only ones left are those asking for prayers.

I am not sharing this animal’s name, nor the video.  You can find it easily enough if you feel the need to watch this video.  But as a father of two girls around the same age, this is definitely one of the most disgusting things a person can do following such a tragedy.  And Facebook protecting this animal’s right to post it makes them just as guilty.

This need to film people, and in this case, two young children in their most tragic state, crosses a major line that can never be crossed back.

My Dad Was Just Like Me

I wrote a story about the later part of my life with my father.  I published it back in April, but I thought, I would republish it today.  Please enjoy.

My Dad Was Just Like Me

“Like Father, like son.” A timeless expression echoed by the lyrics to the song, “Cats In The Cradle,” popularly recognized from Harry Chapin. The song tells the story of the birth of a son, the absence of the father in his life because he is trying to provide for his son. When the son is grown and on his own, the father tries to capture moments of fatherhood, only to find out his son is busy juggling his own life between work and family. One of the final lyrics in the song, the father says, “As I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he’d grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.”

For years I had often wondered, what would have reminded my father about me. But it was during my father’s battle with lung cancer, I discovered a new expression, “like son, like Father.” Most people grow up with two main role models in their life, their parents. But how often does a child get thrust into the role of role model for a parent?

My father had reached out to me, a long term cancer survivor, because he had just received news that doctors think he might have lung cancer. Though the news should not have come as a shock for a sixty-year-smoker, a spot on his lung was confirmed by a PET scan. My father was now the fifth family member besides me, to be diagnosed with cancer. And up to this point, I was the only one who had survived.

The times had changed dramatically even in just over two decades since I had been treated for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. There were better options available. Better technologies were to diagnose patients. Even the chemotherapy suites were more inviting, like a local coffee shop complete with meals and entertainment.

As time went on, my father underwent successful surgery to remove the tumor. Under doctor’s recommendations, my father underwent both chemotherapy and radiation therapies for preventative measures. It was during the radiation treatments, something went horribly wrong. Though there was no evidence of his lung cancer present during even the chemotherapy, some cells that had survived the chemo had transformed into an even more aggressive, and rapidly growing cancer.

We were all gathered by his side when the doctors came to discuss the situation with my father. His cancer was now terminal. My father always knew that lung cancer had been a possibility, and that he had cancer, and might die from it. But up until that moment, he believed he would beat it. Refusing to give up hope, although acknowledging the doctor’s prognosis, my dad’s response to the doctor’s final question, broke me down into tears due to the words, I was not prepared to hear.

The doctor and his care team had just explained to my father all the things that they would do to care for him, as the cancer progressed, to keep him comfortable. But my dad’s denial and defiance shined bright when the doctor asked, “What is one thing we can do for you right now?” My father responded, “I want to be a survivor like my son.” He pointed over to me as everyone in the room turned their heads in my direction.

This hit me two ways. I beat my cancer, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I had his genes, his personality, his pride, his determination, and perseverance. If anyone had a better chance of defying a cancer death sentence, it was my father. I survived cancer. My dad witnessed it could be done.

But in that same moment, I saw his comment for what I truly think he meant. We never expressed feelings in my family, and up to that point, my father and I could have just been two ships passing in the night. But I took his words that I will always remember, he was telling me that he was proud of me. I had never heard that from my father before that moment.

He would live another three months. And as I sat by his bedside each and every day, we share memories that we remembered, and memories that we did not share in the past. We forgave each other for things we had done and said. And during the night before he passed, as he lapsed into a calm and peaceful state, for the first time in our lives, he heard my voice, not in spoken form, but in music. As I said goodbye to my father, who was a true survivor and just could not recognize it, I sang to him, the words that I could not speak, “Cats In The Cradle.”

In the end “Dad”, your boy is just like you. I am glad we had the chance to know that.

Dad, I miss you so much.

My First Primary Care Doctor… Ever

No, this is not a picture of my first primary care doctor.  It is a photo of me when I was two years old.  It was around that time that I can still recall Dr. Gerald Backenstoe.  For those of us who are old enough to remember “house calls” and such, back when doctors were still allowed to practice medicine freely, clearly, he would not be enjoying medicine today.

Anyway, as the title states, Dr. Backenstoe was my first family doctor, and as so until he passed away at the age of 81, which put me at approximately fourteen years old.  I have had only two other doctors, both through a different practice, who until he retired a few years later, I ended up with his successor and have been with her (and occasionally her husband who also practices with her) ever since, more than half of my life.

Currently, I am more than 1300 miles away from my family doctor, and for that reason, I do all that I can to stay healthy.  I do not care for what I call “revolving door medicine” or “roulette” medicine, never knowing which doctor you are going to be seeing that particular visit, and then having to trust that doctor is fully informed of your health history before prescribing anything.  Committing my care to the same doctor means that I do not have to explain my health past 100 times to different doctors.  My doctors know everything about me.

Getting back to Dr. Backenstoe, I do recall him making at least two house calls for me, as well as follow up phone calls.  His office, which also was his home, is indescribable.  It had that “sterile” smell about it, so you definitely knew you were in a doctor’s office.  And throughout all of the exams room were antique medical equipment.  But never once did it ever cross anyone’s mind about sterility and cleanliness there, because everyone trusted Dr. Backentstoe to care about not only his patients, but also his career.

For some reading this post, and who may have been his patient, how many recall sitting on that wooden bench, just inside the entrance, wondering which exam room you would be taken to, and then glancing up at the walls to see not only his medical studies history, but also his fondness for aviation?  He had a colored history of flying experience including the Army Air Corp, logging over a million miles in the air, and two folklore-ish tales.  He had a “cancelled” framed ticket for the fateful Hindenburg hanging on his wall.  And after hearing the other tale, I am glad he was not able to keep that date.  The other tale was having dinner with Amelia Earhart in his home with joined by his fiancé to become his wife the next day.  that date was kept.

While his flying history is quite impressive, as is all of his other credentials of memberships in all kinds of organizations, it is the fact that he practiced medicine for over 50 years.  For sports fans, that is a rare mark like a baseball player playing 4 decades like Tim McCarver or a pro-football player playing more than 12 years.  But Dr. Backenstoe has that achievement to his name.

He will be forever remembered by me as a kind and gentle doctor and the reason today, that I know what I want and expect from my health care.  And to this day, I know with my current doctor, and her husband, in spite of regulations and restrictions, I not only have one of the best doctors, I also have one of the two greatest advocates for my health care (and I have both of them).  Because I see the same doctor, no matter the distance or schedule, she will be forever credited with saving my life from a fatal heart attack that could have happened at any time.  For that story, go to my page “CABG, Not Just A Green Leafy Vegetable.”  But she is also my children’s doctor.

Great doctors are hard to come by, and I need my current doctor to put in fifty years too (sorry doc, but I told you, when you retire, I am done with seeing doctors – I will never have another one that can do what you have done for me).