Paul's Heart

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).

My Mom

I am going to do something I do not believe I have done yet, in the history of “Paul’s Heart.”  It is definitely long overdue.  This is my mother, Barbara, pictured along with my two daughters, HER granddaughters.

There is a lot of historical events between my mother and I over the years, some good… some not so good.  My mother had to work second shift to support my sister and I, which left us in the care of my grandmother during the week.  In my teen years, I occasionally had issues dealing with “step parenting” after she married to someone other than my biological father.  One quick side note, a comical one, she remarried another “Edelman”, but of absolutely no relation.  She obviously saved money on monogrammed items not having to change anything, but the most awkward event came during my first wedding, where at the reception, and the time came to introduce the groom’s family…

“Entering the room now is the groom’s family, mother of the groom Barbara Edelman, and she is escorted by her husband John Edelman.”

Of course everyone clapped.  And then this…

“Next is the father of the groom, Paul Edelman and he is accompanied by his wife Shirley.”  Wait for it… and we did.  The applause finally started about three seconds later when my bride’s extended family, and my non-family guests realized that I had stepparents.  Being a former disc jockey myself, and having done hundreds of wedding receptions, I never ran into this situation myself.  Looking back, I can still chuckle about it.

But during the second half of my life, I cannot say enough about the support that I have received and continue to receive from my mother.  It is hard enough for a parent to endure even one crisis involving their child.  She has gone from one crisis to another.  She has been there with me from my cancer diagnosis, my life-saving emergency heart bypass surgery, 2 near fatal cases of septic pneumonia, and now my second divorce.  My mother’s concern and love has never waivered.  And to be perfectly honest, also during these times she has also not been afraid to contradict my actions.  My mother believes in me, and it is not just because she is my mother.

My parents divorced when I was around 3 years of age.  And I want to state clearly, I have no idea why the divorce took place, nor do I want to know.  It is of no benefit to me, nor has it ever been.  During the process, all that mattered, was that the children were kept out of the middle of the proceedings and any aftermath.  Children were never, and should never be collateral damage.

My maternal grandmother, her sister, my uncles… I never heard anything bad about my father, nor the reason for the divorce.  My paternal grandfather, my dad’s siblings… I never heard anything bad about my mother., nor the reason for the divorce.  My sister and I were never restricted from seeing either one of our surviving grandparents or family members.

Now in my situation, it is a little more tricky, because I live so far away from my daughters.  But I do try to arrange visits with my mother and sister for my daughters.  My daughters love their cousins and want to continue seeing them.  When I do get to see my daughters, they may not always get the chance to visit with them, because my daughters must travel to visit me, and time would probably not allow a drive-by visit.

So I count on the old court adage, “do what is in the best interest of the children.”  My mother got to enjoy my daughters’ school choral concert (I wrote about the concert back in December, that I go to watch it live via Tango).  And not too long after that, my daughters go to spend the day with my mother, sister, and cousins.  Games were played, a movie watched, and enjoyed some yummy food.  They had a blast.

And that is what I want to give my mother credit for.  She knows of nearly every detail of the divorce, and continues to be impartial, while still offering me support.  There is no conversation with the girls about the divorce process.  And the only mention of me is to tell my daughters how much my mother knows that I love them.  With me living so far away, all she wants is to be able to see her granddaughters, and because my mother has not interfered with the divorce process, she has made visits successful, and about the girls.  Visits with their paternal grandmother are in the best interest of the girls.

Look, in the divorce world, it is hard enough getting the parents to work things out amicably, especially when one parent continues to drive a “dagger” through the heart of the process, a win at all costs.  But only recently are grandparents finally getting rights to see their grandchildren.  The laws are vague because of terminology, instead of using “visitation”, the courts want to use custody, which in many cases, it is not about the grandchild staying with the grandparent, but only for there to be allowed visits.  And while the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the parental rights over the grandparents (Troxel v. Granville 2000 – a 3-3 decision by the way), it was clearly a vague resolution, saying that it was never made clear through the Washington State Supreme Court that “harm” would come to the children by the grandparents being denied the right to see the children.  The decision would be left up to “fit” parents, what is in the best interest of the children.  Of course you can see how that works… with a couple divorcing or separating.

But in  Pennsylvania, the U.S. Supreme Court decision was challenged in 2006 in Hiller v. Fausey.  The case involved an 11 year-old boy whose mother died, and the father refused to let the maternal grandmother visit with the boy.  It was established that the boy had been close to his grandmother prior to the mother’s death, and thus, it was in the best interest, and decided by the court, to allow the grandmother to see her grandson.

While it was a victory, it should not come down to a court to decide what is best for a child.  But some feel it is best to go that route as if to prove something so pointless, that the actions clearly are not only not in the best interests of the child, but only self-serving for the objecting parent.

Bottom line, if forced, the courts will order what is best for the children’s interests.

Look, I loved my grandmother.

I only wish that she would have had the chance to meet my daughters.  My girls would have loved her, and currently would have been taller than my grandmother.

But every child, when given the chance to be with their grandparents, grows a bond that has a bigger impact on a child than one can ever imagine.  And I saw this every time that my daughters visited with my mother and my sister and her family.  And it is my hope that the arrangements that we currently have, allow our daughters to have those visits.  As a courts agree, it is in the best interests of the children.