Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

An Odd Comparison Between Cancer And Covid19


Back from “stay-cation.”  Unable to go anywhere because for some reason, we are still dealing with Covid19, with no end in sight, I simply stepped away from my laptop and my smartphone to avoid any kind of headlines, fairly certain things were not going to be changing anytime soon.  Of course, without flipping my laptop open, that meant no writing.

One of the “prompts” that I had in my mind to write once I dusted off my keyboard, actually was an expansion of a topic that I wrote about some time ago, in reference to the belief at one time, that cancer was contagious.  As I often do, I am going to preface this post, that I do not want the post to reflect a political lean, and will do my best to keep it from going there.  Honestly, it may not be possible.  At the end, I think you will understand why.

Speaking only of myself, in 1988, I knew of no one who had survived except for two family members.  I knew of no one outside of my family, including friends and their families who may have had cancer.  Those battling cancer today may not understand this, because of having social media.

When the news broke at work that I was diagnosed with cancer, the immediate impression I felt from everyone, was that of impending death.  Everyone dies of cancer.  And now 50 people actually learned of their first known instance of someone with cancer, quite possibly.

From diagnosis to final treatment, I spent nearly eighteen months mostly isolated.  Sure, I went to work, but co-workers avoided me.  At home, I had no visitors.  For eighteen months.

Through my years of survivorship, I have learned a lot about cancer, and the many psychological effects over the decades, and in the past, even before my time.  It turns out, there was a lot more about cancer to learn besides the fact that not everyone dies from cancer.  One big myth that existed at least  up until my diagnosis, was that cancer was contagious.

That’s right, there was actually a belief that cancer was contagious, and that was without social media to spread that untruth.  But by the same token, social media was not there to correct it either.  It was one thing for those not in my family to be afraid of “catching cancer” from me, which cancer has the potential to be fatal, but this also occurred with some in my family as well, including my newlywed wife (#1).

She never talked about it, but I could sense it.  She was afraid that she could catch cancer from me.  But I could also tell, she was worried about being “poisoned” from my treatments, especially during any times of intimacy.

This is the way people thought back then.  A deadly disease, not contagious, caused people to avoid those who had it for their “safety.”

Now, here it comes.  The year 2020, over 30 years since my cancer, Covid19.  A deadly virus (approaching 180,000 deaths in the US as of this post), highly contagious.

Unlike my time back with cancer, where you were fortunate that cancer was ever spoken in your circles, today, odds are pretty good that nearly everyone knows of at least one person who has been diagnosed with Covid19, or worse, has died from Covid19.  Personally speaking, my statistics with knowledge of personal Covid19 cases is much lower than my world of cancer, but it has led me to go “hmmm” in deep thought.

With my cancer, not contagious, people avoided me.  They could not catch it from me, but they avoided me nonetheless.

With Covid19, highly contagious, we have two different types of thought, prevent or deny.  And this is where it gets confusing to me.  I am a big science and fact guy, because of my health history.  I have been through several other potential contagious health crisis, but none as severe as Covid19.  But we have the warnings and advice.  All we need to do is follow it.  That is the school of thought when it comes to prevent getting Covid19.

But what makes someone go to the extreme of not just denying the existence of Covid19, but to actually fight efforts to prevent or protect?

When we had a disease that was not contagious, but deadly, people acted.

When we have a disease that is contagious, and deadly, we have too many that either just do not care or deny.

I said I was not going to get political, and I have done my best to prevent that position, but it really is the only reasoning I can come up with.  Initially, when the news of Covid19 broke, it appeared an opportunity to criticize the president, which clearly his supporters objected to.  And to be fair, although I do not approve of the president, he did not cause the virus.  But that still should not be a reason for rational and intelligent human beings recognizing the severity and danger of the coming pandemic.

But as the pandemic got worse, and again, being fair, I myself expected more out of any president, in a response to preparations for the pandemic, which six months later we still do not have, the criticism, now deserved, has only entrenched the president’s supporters and their efforts to protect him, even if it means denying their own safety, or their respect for the safety of others.

There are so many shiny objects and conspiracy theories flying around now, making this even more of a dangerous time, because it now risks being able to bring an end to this pandemic.  We know the advice, and that is what it is, advice, what we can do voluntarily, but those who deny, see this advice as a “conformity” or “sacrifice of freedom and liberty.”  I can only imagine how it would have played out decades ago with cancer, when we were told to eat healthier to prevent cancer or quit smoking.

Like I said, not trying to be political about this.  Just from a psychological standpoint, trying to figure out how our thinking about a deadly virus, contagious or not, can have such a different and expected response.  It makes absolutely no sense to me, that dozens of people are willing to cram a music club or party, ignoring the recommendations, just to prove you can, and to prove others wrong.  I personally know of two people who ended up having to eat their words as they contracted the virus themselves.

The advice given will work.  We can function as a society.  The alternative, accepting a death toll as “it is what it is,” is not acceptable to me, anymore than someone dying from cancer.  It is not what it is, especially when it can be prevented.

I wish for everyone reading this, good health, stay healthy, stay smart.

You Were Always There For Me


Well, this story was not supposed to take this long to come out, but as the organization that was supposed to publish it, got delayed because of Covid19, I have decided not to wait any longer.

So, this is a project that I do every year.  It is a short story piece that I write and submit for publishing.  This year I had decided to write about experiences with my late fur friend, but from his point of view.  I hope you enjoy it.

I want to thank fellow long term cancer survivor and author Lara Vaughan Lazenby for her help with this story.

 

You Were Always There For Me

Hi there.  My name is Pollo, pronounced like the cologne, but spelled like Spanish chicken.  I do not know why I was given that name.  But hearing it has always made me happy, and I heard my name a lot.

Paul always seemed to know what I liked, and what was best for me.  In fact, I knew I could always count on Paul.  There was this one time he took me swimming, because I really liked the water.  I was a really good swimmer too!  I think I had fun because all I remember of that day is one moment I was splashing away, and the next, I was running from this other person wearing a white coat, towards Paul.  His eyes were leaking.  I did not understand this.

Fortunately, I would remember everything else as I got older.  Like this one time, Paul went out the front door, but did not come back in, for six lights and darks.  This was unusual, because Paul never went anywhere without me.  We were buddies.  When he finally came home, I was so happy.  And I let him know it too.  My tail wagged so hard and fast, it knocked everything over within reach.

But there was something odd about Paul.  He did not seem like himself.  He actually smelled kind of funny.  I have never experienced that smell before – not from the house, the car, outside – very unusual.

Paul was happy to see me too, though he could have been a bit more excited.  Something was different about him.  When he would feel better, we could get back to normal and play.  In the meantime, I just sat beside him, stared up at him, with my head on his knee.  He had always taken care of me.  It was my turn to take care of him.

Another situation would happen again, only this time, strange men came into our house, woke us up, and then took Paul away on a bed with wheels.  It would be days before I would see him again, and he came home with that same odor.  I did not like that smell.

I could not understand why this kept happening to him.  We liked to play and have fun.  I missed that.  From what I could comprehend, Paul was sick a long time ago, and these events that kept happening to him were because of that.  The important thing… he kept coming back home.

And it was a good thing.  Because I found myself needing attention too.  Being a golden retriever, I loved to eat… everything.  This one time, I found this thing in the ground.  It was so yummy, but soon after, my head started feeling funny.  Then my stomach.  Paul had to take me back to those people with the white coats again.  And just like Paul, I came home.  Every time.  You see, I kept on doing it.  They were so yummy.

We both got older, although I feel like I got older more quickly.  Of course, my backyard habit did not help every time I ate those things.  Paul and I hung around the house a lot more than we used to.  I guess we each had our own reason.  I was happy to just sit next to him, or on him, and have him scratch my ears.  I really loved that.

We kept taking turns going away.  Paul seemed to do it a lot more, but he always came home to me.  He needed me.  He could depend on me.  And I could depend on him.

There came a time when things got really quiet in our house.  It was also more dark inside the house and outside.  Paul turned on lights making it brighter for him, but the funny thing was, it did not get brighter for me.  I could not get up the stairs anymore, so Paul made sure I had a comfy place to sleep downstairs not just occasionally, but all the time!  He always took great care of me.

One morning, Paul came downstairs right on time to let me outside.  He caught me by surprise, but I knew it was him.  I could feel it.  I stood up, stretched.  He opened up the door.  But I did not move.  I could not.  Just then, I felt myself being lifted… but in such a way that I felt as if I was being tightly hugged.  I could not see him, hear him, or smell him.  But I knew it was Paul.  We always took care of each other.  He always knew what to do.  I liked when he hugged me so tight.  But all I wanted to do now, was run again.  Now I can.  Paul made sure of that, just like he promised.

Back When Pro Wrestling Was Fun To Watch


I am taking a deep breath today.  No Covid19 talk.  No protesting.  No cancer.  Nothing serious today.  Instead, I want to share some memories from a simpler time.  It was a simpler time, as I often remind my daughters, “stay a kid for as long as you can.”  It was a time period in my mid-teens.  I had just switched schools.  I made several friends right off the bat.

One of those friends invited me to come along to his bowling league.  I had prior experience where I had moved from.  I enjoyed it.  But had no opportunity in my new location.

My friend had told me that he was going to be a “coach” also for the younger bowlers, the real little squirts, back before there were bumpers in the alleys.  The plan would be to bowl the first shift, early in the morning.  Then we would walk a few blocks away to his grandparent’s house, have some lunch (a hoagie from the local grocery store), watch this thing called “pro wrestling” for a little bit, and then walk back to the alley to coach the little kids.

We did this for a few years.  It was the same routine.  And while my bowling skills improved over time, it was the time in between the bowling shifts that I remember most.

I enjoyed my friend’s grandparents.  They were very sweet.  During our lunch break, my friend’s grandfather would always tell us of his experiences in the military during the war.  This was not entertainment I want to emphasize.  I was learning.  I was drawn to his details and that is where I first learned to always say thank you to those who have served and sacrificed.  This “friendship” would carry on into adulthood, and we would all bowl together as adults in league play, even winning a championship.  I often felt of him as a grandfather, because that is how kind he was.

So anyway, after we were done eating and talking, we would go into their living room and turn on the television to channel 9, a New York based channel, for Saturday pro wrestling from what was filmed by Vince MacMahon, the son of the prior owner, of the original World Wrestling Federation.

The first thing I had to learn, was that pro wrestling was fake.  The second thing I had to learn was not to say that pro wrestling was fake.  Pro wrestling is definitely not fake, though it is performed.  But you really have to be in awe of some of the physical conditioning of some of the athletes and superstars, as well as the physical stunts they perform, 99% of which I would never survive (I am fairly confident I can bounce off of the ring ropes).

Unlike today’s WWE, that records their shows in major venues like stadiums and arenas, back in the day, pro wrestling used to be filmed in a “farmer’s market” section of the Allentown Fairgrounds in Pennsylvania, called Agricultural Hall.  Once or twice a month, the WWF would roll into town, and record three episodes worth of matches to be televised on Saturday mornings on syndicated cable television.  Attendance was probably the size of a basketball court, not the arena, smaller than the size of an elementary school gymnasium.

Another cool fact, the ring announce, was an elderly man by the name of Joe McHugh.  A scrawny cigar smoking man, holding the mic lowered from the rafters, wearing Mr. Magoo glasses.  He was THE announcer before Michael Buffer was ever born.  Turns out, his brother was the principal of my high school, located just blocks away from Agricultural Hall.  My connection to watching the WWF was firm.

My stepfather, did accounting work on the side for local hotels.  It just happened that some of the hotels were where many of the pro wrestlers would stay while in town.  This would lead to one of the few subjects that I could talk about with my stepfather.  I needed to know who was in town as if it would give me a clue as to potential changes of championships and such.

My interest would take a strange twist.  One night, while visiting my grandmother, I asked to watch pro wrestling on her television.  And that is the first time I learned that my grandmother was a fan.  I lived with her for nearly fifteen years, and never knew it.  She enjoyed the women wrestling and the “midget” (yes, I know not a nice term, but that was how they were referred to before we all got woke) wrestlers.  What she enjoyed was those wrestlers getting involved with the referees of the match.  Really it was quite silly to watch.

But those Saturday mornings, they were special, fun, a lot of memories.  I honestly do not recognize the majority of pro wrestlers today.  As we deal with the restrictions of Covid19 (yes I know I was not going to say that word), the WWE, which films here in Florida, films in front of an empty audience.  And it is just weird, almost as sad as watching a soap opera.  But either McMahon or the network got smart and made the decision to show older matches, and not just from 2018, but completely retro, back to when I used to watch.

Recognize this guy?  That’s right, it is The Rock, Duane Johnson, also known as Rocky Maivia.  His father was also a great pro wrestler, named Rocky Johnson.  All of a sudden I was seeing all kinds of matches back from when I thought the WWF was enjoyable, involving Shaun Michaels, The Undertaker, Brett Hart, even Hulk Hogan.

But the truth is, I go back way further than that.  After watching a documentary the other night of a career autobiography of a journalist, part of his life was focused on his personal interactions with the WWF.  And then my mind really went off the deep end in memories.  Reflecting back to those Saturday morning with my friend and his grandparents.

Yeah, this is when I thought pro wresting was good.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved watching the Undertaker and Brett Hart and all of that next generation.  But once the story lines began to involve McMahon and the owners, and making it more nepatunistic, I began to lose interest.  Today, I find it difficult to watch at all.

But for today, I am remembering those fun and simple times.  Good memories for me.  A time that I clearly took for granted and would give anything to have back.

 

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