Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

17 Apr 2024

Heartversary #16 – Part 2


As I promised Dr. S., I arrived at the cath lab on April 17th, 2008, before the sun even came up. My daughters were still asleep when I left the house, but I made sure to explain to them the night before in details appropriate for a three and five year old to understand, “daddy was just going to be away overnight, and would see them the next day. Though the procedure was expected to be routine, just the mere thought of doing anything with the heart, let alone going up through the leg to fix it, was quite overwhelming. I hugged both of my daughters as long as I could without losing control of my emotions, with the fear of “what if” something went wrong.

The cath lab was nothing remarkable, a typical medical environment, meant for outpatient or simple overnight stays. As I was taken back to the holding area to slip into hospital garb, my nurse, Heather, began asking me pertinent questions about my health, oddly things I had not thought about or discussed in a long time, things related to my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma nearly eighteen years earlier, like not having a spleen or my chemo and radiation therapies. I have no memory of anything else, until I began to come to in a different room. Even under the fog of anesthesia, I could tell I was no longer in the cath lab.

At the foot of my bed, was a family member, a friend who had stopped by to check up on me, and Dr. S., my cardiologist. As my vision came into better focus, and my ears became unmuffled, the first words I heard were, “a major blockage of the main artery, the left coronary artery is blocked 90%.” Just then, my friend, who happened to be a paramedic, spouted out, “oh my God, a widow maker.” To which my cardiologist responded, “yes, but we don’t like to refer to it as that. We have Mr. Edelman set up for an emergency triple bypass at 6:30 in the morning tomorrow.” All that I managed to get out of that was the word “bypass” to which I joined in the conversation, “bypass? Bypass. Bye Bye. Bypass.” I was clearly still “flying.”

(this is what I refer to as the actual photo of my “death”, showing where the actual blockage was located and just how bad it was)

(this was the diagram my cardiologist used to explain how bad my situation was)

My cardiologist went on to explain that as soon as I was more alert, I needed to undergo preparations for the surgery the next morning. They would need to do an ultrasound of my legs to determine an artery to use for the bypasses, among other testing. I was obviously still not understanding what was about to take place.

Approximately two hours later, around dinner time, I only know this because I was approached with a light offering of food, I was encouraged to eat as I would be fasting for the surgery as of 8:00pm. But with the fog in my head now clear, and realizing what I was now up against, eating was the last thing on my mind. I did not want to die which was now clear, was a possibility from the situation itself, or quite possibly from the open heart surgery.

But there was something bigger on my mind, my daughters. They were only five and three years old at the time. We had really just begun our lives together. And as much as I did not want to lose them, I did not want them to have the pain of losing their father. I had never been apart from my daughters since they were adopted, and this night, would be the first of several, that I would be away from them.

I was getting upset, mostly for my daughters. I wanted to hug them, see them, tell them I was going to be okay. But I could not. They were more than an hour away, and I did not own an I-phone or I-pad that I could even see them. I could not give them one more hug that I so desperately wanted to give them. The best I could do, was talk to them on the phone.

Following my “dinner”, everything started moving quickly. I was lifted into a wheelchair and taken to various rooms for bloodwork, ultrasounds, x-rays, and CT scans. It was getting late, and I began to get upset, not because of the looming surgery, I wanted, no, I needed to at least speak to my daughters before they went to bed. I needed to assure them that I would be okay.

“How was school today?”, I started off. “I miss you. I’m sorry that I could not see you after school but I have something very important to tell you. Daddy’s heart is broken and is getting fixed. I’m going to be in the hospital for a few days, which is kind of like a hotel but with a lot more helpers in it, until I get better, and I will. The doctor will make everything better. And then you can come in and see me. And then I get to come home.” I needed to keep it on an age-appropriate level, but they also needed to know what was happening. They took it in stride. I had always been there for them. “Ok Daddy,” they both said.

“I love you Maddie. I love you Emmy. I love you both so much. I will see you both really really soon.”

It was now around 10:00pm, and there were more preparations for the early morning surgery. Everything was happening so quickly. Oddly, I was not scared. The biggest threat to my life, death, was imminent, as well as the possibility of not surviving the surgery. With the way everything was happening, I had no time to dwell on what was going on or about to happen. In a way, that was a good thing. I have seen so many others have to wait weeks or even months for their surgeries, torture, waiting for the time to come. My life would never be the same again, in less than eight hours.

Posted in Cancer, Education, Family and Friends, Inspired By..., Side Effects, The Heart | Leave a comment
16 Apr 2024

Heartversary #16 – Part 1


Of all the anniversaries that I recognize, good or bad, this one is always the hardest for me to deal with, and of course it is a bad one, of which I had many. But on this date, sixteen years ago, my mortality was being recognized, and I was only 42 years of age. Now before I get to the meat of this post, I’m going to put upfront, the lesson of this post, in case anyone jumps off at any time later on in the post. And this is very important.

To be clear, if you are exhibiting any of these symptoms, it does not mean that you are having a cardiac event, such as a heart attack, but it is important enough to let a doctor figure out if you are or are not. Call 911 immediately, and let the doctor decide what is happening. So here are the most common symptoms:

  • any kind of discomfort, pain, or tightness in the chest, especially the left side
  • extreme pain in the arm (again the left side), back, or neck
  • excessive sweating, cold sweats
  • shortness of breath
  • nausea, dizziness, vomiting
  • severe heartburn, indigestion

For women, there are a couple of extra things that women may experience as a sign of a cardiac event, stomach pains and fatigue.

Bottom line, if you are experiencing any of these symptoms, it does not mean you are having a cardiac event for certain, but you need a doctor to determine if you are or not. And timing could not be any more critical, with any delay, potentially being lethal. I should know. Not just in my case, but with at least four other long term Hodgkin’s survivors who reached out, with symptoms similar to what I had experienced back in 2008, I convinced them to get help, and it saved their lives as well.

So on April 15th, when I saw my family doctor, complaining of a chest tightness that I had been experiencing for several weeks, a temporary symptom that lasted less than a minute, with an escalating heartbeat up to 150 within that same minute, my doctor had a hunch. And based on my health history of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, and the treatments I received, she ordered a nuclear stress test to be completed, the next day in fact. Take note, if she had asked me to get that test done on my own, it likely would have taken months to get the appointment. She got me in the next day. This post might otherwise have not gotten written.

With that, here is how April 16th, 2008 went for me. I arrived at the medical building in my sweatpants and t-shirt, sneakers, a bottle of water, and definitely hungry as I was told to fast the night before. I was also told to avoid caffeine, not an issue as I do not drink coffee.

I was escorted back to a lab-type area, where an IV was put into my arm. A radioactive isotope would be injected for the purposes of seeing the blood flow to my heart with a special x-ray type of machine, referred to as a “gamma camera” to complete the study. Once injected, I was escorted back to the machine, and a series of photos were taken. This would be the “at rest” or “no stress” photos of my heart.

After the photos were done, I was taken back to another room, an exercise type room, obviously because it had a treadmill in it. I laid down on an exam table, while a dozen leads (for the EKG that would be followed) were attached to my chest. Then it was up on the treadmill.

I must admit, while I was not looking forward to the symptom that I knew was going to happen to me, and no doubt would happen this time, as all three techs in the lab were female, and I could feel a bit of machismo that I needed to “man up” and do well on this test, not look like a wimp.

Then the test was explained to me. The treadmill would increase every three minutes as well as the incline. I do not recall how long the test was supposed to take, nor did it matter. In less than four minutes, the test had been stopped, clearly I had not gone as far as was supposed to. I was asked to sit down on the exam table and rest. While I was indeed having the symptoms I was always experiencing, it did not seem that they were concerned about those, but rather they spotted something on my EKG. Something was happening.

(it needs to be noted – later on, years later, this condition, an inverted T-wave would frequently get extra attention, often times, my advocating that it need not be of concern according to my normal cardiologist).

I was escorted back to the first lab, where another dose of the isotope was injected, and then back to the x-ray machine. Once that was done, it was back to the reception room, to wait for the results.

Comedian Bill Engvall has a trademark bit where he makes jokes about the obvious, with “here’s your sign.” Well, once seated, I saw a pattern develop, people who came in for their appointments after my arrival, leaving the office before me. They were getting their results before mine. Here was my sign, something was wrong. And then a nurse came out with a folder in her hand, “if you would step this way,” she led me to an exam room. She told me the cardiologist would be in to see me shortly. A cardiologist? What? If you read my book, “Paul’s Heart – Life As A Dad And A 35-Year Cancer Survivor,” I had a similar experience when I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s. Why was I seeing a cardiologist?

(the actual report from my nuclear stress test)

Dr. S walked into the exam room, a young and pleasant demeanor. “Mr. Edelman, I’m Dr. S (I am not using the full name intentionally). I’ve looked over your nuclear stress test, and well, I don’t usually say this, but I’m 100% certain that you have a blockage somewhere.” He then proceeded to show me the images that were taken before and after, and I did not need a medical degree to see the color that was my blood flowing through my heart before the exercise, and the lack of color, a.k.a. no blood, going through my heart once the test was interrupted. “The good news is, you are right here. I want you to go next door, to the cath lab, they are waiting for you. We will pop a couple of stents in you, and you will be good as new within a week.” A “cath” is a procedure, less invasive than open heart surgery, where they go up a vein or artery in your leg, in this case, to place a stent where they suspect a blockage. Sounds easy enough. Right.

Again, referring back to my book, and this issue I have with denial and bargaining (referring to Kubler Ross’s stages of grief). This was no different.

“Ok Doc. I understand. But look, here’s the thing. I have a wedding that I am DJing this Saturday that I need to do. So, let’s do this Monday morning. I promise I’ll be here.”

“Mr. Edelman, I don’t think you do understand (cue the dramatic music, duh duh duh). You have a blockage that could quite possibly cause a heart attack at any moment. Your heart is not getting the blood it needs.”

Ok. He really had my attention. That did not deter me. “Ok, but here’s the thing, I need to go home to explain to my family, especially my daughters what is going to be happening. I know you have me scheduled tomorrow morning. Can I just come in first thing? I just want to go home and get some things taken care of that need to be, before I am laid up.”

Dr. S agreed to it. “Fine, but just relax tonight. Nothing strenuous.”

“No worries Doc. I will. I just plan on mowing my yard which is very relaxing for me.” He looked at me like he wanted to give himself a facepalm in disbelief. “No. Are you an idiot? I said relax, that means nothing. Sit. Lay down. Do NOTHING!”

The message was finally received loud and clear. And I went home to explain what was just discovered, and what the plan would be. I had dinner, then went to bed after putting my daughters to bed. I did nothing strenuous. I had a big day the next morning.

Posted in Cancer, Education, Family and Friends, Inspired By..., Side Effects, The Heart and tagged , , , , | Leave a comment
26 Mar 2024

The Mind Of A Cancer Survivor


This post has been sitting in my head for quite some time now. It became impossible to sit on any longer, though I needed to hold out one more day. Yesterday was my oldest daughter’s 21st birthday, and I wanted yesterday to be her day. Because yesterday was all about her milestone, not mine.

Yes, with my oldest daughter turning twenty-one years old, that is another milestone of mine, as a cancer survivor, that I have reached, that I really never thought I would see the day. But as happy as I was for my daughter, there have been so many thoughts running through my head, that I cannot control, just how lucky I truly am, to have reached another milestone, of many already reached.

The meme pictured above came across my feed today, and the timing and the wording could not be more perfectly said. Over the years, I have made reference to “survivor guilt,” which many mistake me for feeling guilty that I survived cancer, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is the guilt of why others have not been as fortunate as me. Please understand, and I am going to shout it, “I AM SO GRATEFUL THAT I AM STILL HERE AND THERE IS SO MUCH MORE THAT I WANT TO DO AND EXPERIENCE!” But my guilt and sorrow is for those who never got out of remission, developed other complications or other cancers and passed away, and other survivors whose bodies simply could take no more.

As the second part of the meme states, “Holy Shit!” every day is a reminder what could be gone tomorrow. And as my daughter celebrated her 21st birthday, actually her second birthday outside of the US, she was celebrating with friends and I could not be more happy for her. I celebrated her birthday going through old photos of her, her younger sister, and myself.

You see, neither of my daughters were around when I battled my Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. It would be more than a decade before I would even get my chance at parenthood. But being in long term remission, I really did not consider parenthood a milestone. I was done with cancer. I was “over it” as many people wanted me to move on with my life after cancer.

But four years after my oldest daughter was adopted, and two years after my younger daughter was adopted, my world of cancer survivorship, eighteen years after that I thought I was done with cancer because the doctors even told me so, my cancer past came crashing to the present. I was dying. I was not aware of that, but following the emergency double bypass I had to have for “widow maker” damage to my heart, with a blockage of 90% of the LAD (left anterior descending artery), my cardiologist put it bluntly after the surgery, “it was not a question if, but when” I was going to die.

There it was, the first event that nearly took my life from my daughters. I will recognize that day next month, sixteen years ago. So my heart got fixed, that should be the end of the story, right? Unfortunately not. You see, what my oncologist (cancer doctor) was unaware of back in 1995 (my five year milestone Hodgkin’s-free), that the radiation therapy and chemotherapies that I underwent, had the potential to cause progressive and lethal situations. It turns out the scientists knew about it. They just never passed it on to the doctors.

But nearly four years later, I was carried out of my house on an ambulance stretcher at 3am, again, dying. I had developed sepsis, a fatal infection. I was unaware of what was happening, felt fine even as I went to bed that night. I had developed something called “aspiration pneumonia”, which without getting too technical, was caused by me unknowingly inhaling gastrointestinal “stuff” into my lungs while I was asleep (another complication due to radiation). Sepsis had developed, and without the correct and fast treatment, I would have died. Again, this is where the story should have ended, but it did not.

I had another round of aspiration pneumonia nine months later. All the while, remember me mentioning about the “progressive” side effects from my treatments? They were still doing their things. But here is the kicker. Because of the risks of doing anything to correct any other issue being more risky than doing nothing, the situations needed to be as dire as the other events I had gone through. I had to hear the words “severe” for any issue to get corrected. I often refer to my body as a human ticking time bomb. The good thing is, I have been watched by many doctors, participating in a “survivorship clinic” setting. This is where doctors exist that “get it” when it comes to following up the needs of cancer survivors that too many other doctors still do not get. So all these different doctors that “watch” me decide when it is time to do something, in other words, yep, death or some other serious issue is impending.

Case in point, 2019, I needed to have the RCA (right coronary artery) stented, because back when my bypass was done, that cardiologist felt the RCA would get better on its own. It did not. Then in 2020, my left carotid artery had finally reached “severe” status, scorched by radiation damage as well, and the risk of a stroke was now a reality if not corrected. Next, in 2021, my aortic valve had reached a “severe” status from the calcifications from radiation damage needing to be replaced.

Is there more? You betcha! But you get the idea now how the second part of that meme plays out. And the truth of the matter is, any of the events that I mentioned, or any of the many that I did not mention, any of those could have led to me missing what I consider some of the most important milestones of my life, in my daughters lives. And for sixteen years, that is what both of my daughters have known. It has become a “given” by my daughters, that any health challenge I face, I will get through it, because that is all that they know.

But I know something that they do not. Time is not my friend. You see, all of the things that I have had corrected, because the progressive issues from my treatments are still at work, will need to be redone again some day, and possibly some other new issues develop, because they have had time to do so. The question is, will my body handle second attempts or the new things that develop. For some of my survivors who faced similar situations, their bodies could take no more. And for some, they were not even aware of anything when their survivorship came to an end. With my daughters still so young, they have not been introduced to that stage of my survivorship yet. But that time is soon coming.

Look, I know this post is probably one of the heaviest posts anyone has read from me in a long time. As my daughter was celebrating twenty-one years, I could not help but, because my brain betrayed me that way, reflect on the many things that almost kept me from seeing their school graduations, birthday milestones, and so much more.

I will leave you with this. I really am a positive minded person. It is a disservice to me as a friend to tell me to “just get over it,” or “just be positive” because my body and my cancer survivorship dictates otherwise. But I do go to bed each night, expecting to wake up the next morning, and do the things I have planned tomorrow. And there are many more tomorrows that I want, college graduations, weddings, grandchildren, so that means I will continue to let the doctors do what they need to help me reach those further milestones. But ultimately, I have no say in tomorrows. I have learned that from other fallen survivors.

Yes, I am grateful for surviving Hodgkin’s Lymphoma thirty-five years. I am grateful having survived all of the medical side effects that I have faced. But I also realize, that at any moment, as I am constantly reminded, I could also miss the next milestone. This is what cancer survivorship is to me. I am making the most of my years as I can.

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