Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

06 Jan 2013

A Ghose Of Health Crisis Past


I had an aunt year ago who had taken a nasty fall.  In fact, eventually it will be what probably led to her death.  We had gotten a call that she had been admitted to the hospital, and things were not looking good for her.  Wendy and I had stopped by the hospital to either visit, or pay last respects.  We had no idea how things would turn out.  Our daughters were with us.  Our daughters were with us, but after visiting with my aunt, I decided it would not be a good idea for them to see her in her present condition.

You see, the hospital that she was in was the same hospital that I had my open heart surgery.  My daughters knew this.  They knew that I had survived.  I knew that it would not be the last time that I would find myself there.  If by chance, my aunt would pass away in that hospital, and that would be the last memory my daughters would have of their aunt, then there would be the chance that they would believe that I could face that same possibility any time that I would go to that hospital, perhaps any hospital.  The last image that we remember a particulare person or memory of a place can be powerful and overwhelming.  Sometimes a flashback can be just as traumatic as the painful incident itself.

Last week, I was focused on a loved one, in the hospital I was all to familiar with.  He was in for a procedure that many of those in the medical world, patients, family, and doctors call very routine, cleaning of the carotid artery.  Both are fairly blocked seriously at 85% on one side and 80% on the other.  A decade ago, he suffered a severe heart attack, so to me, this was going to be anything but routine.  I delivered him at 5am for his procedure and it would be several hours before they actually started. 

The surgeon came out to the waiting room just after noon, and told me that he was recovering.  Except for a slight blood pressure issue in the beginning, the surgery went well.  I would be able to see him briefly in a little while during recovery.  I was sure to find out all the things he would need to follow once discharged, hopefully in a day or two.  I also made it a point to inform the surgeon, just how stubborn my relative could be.  I told the surgeon to make sure that he got it across to him how crucial it was to follow discharge orders.  He was a caregiver for his spouse and it was imperative that he recovered fully to return to that role.  He would need to accept help, something a man with a whole lot of pride was not in the habit of accepting.  My point was made.

I got the page that I could go back and see my relative.  It was not an unfamliar sight for me seeing someone hooked up to all kinds of machines, tubes coming out of someone, and medical personnel buzzing all around.  My first experience in this environment came nearly thirty years ago with a dear friend who had been in a near fatal car accident.  I have been in this type of room many times, for myself, and for others.  I have made it a habit that I do not panic, cringe or show any other signs of being uncomfortable.  As of late, it has been important to retain my composure to ensure that my ability to make decisions in these time are the proper ones.

He obviously is not used to being a patient and looks quite uncomfortable.  The surgery has left him with an excruciating pain in his ear on the side of his head that had the carotid artery worked on.  The one thing I told him was that this was normal as the artery runs long his ear canal and if he had pain, he had to tell his nurses.  The nurses could manage this for him.  He was also not going to be pleased to find out why they told him before the surgery that he was not going to be able to wear his underwear.  I told him that he would be fine and that the surgeon said everything went well and I would see him again in his room.  I went back into the waiting room to wait to be told that he was being moved and to where.

Approximately at 2pm I had been given his room number and proceeded to take his belongings.  The wing of the hospital was a familiar building to me though it had not hit me emotionally.  As I continued to walk down the hallway from the elevator that I just took to the lower floor, it finally dawned on me.  The last time I had been in this hallway, I was in a wheelchair late April of 2008 being escorted to my wife waiting in the patient pickup following my heart surgery.  Suddenly my knees felt weak.  I turned the corner to head towards the Kasych Wing elevators.  I looked at the slip of paper with the room number on it, 3K25.

In a sudden rewind, my mind went back in time, going in reverse, getting out of the car, having been assisted from the wheel chair, rolled back from the hall, and back up the elevators of the Kasych building.  But back then, the building was not called that.  As I came out of the elevator, I was no longer in the present, there to care for my relative.  I was there reliving a time that I never would have thought I would ever go through, heart surgery.  Directly in front of the elevator, was the hallway that I spent so much time recovering.

I do not recall how long I was in intensive care following my surgery, and I have never asked.  There were no windows so I had no concept of time.  I know that I had three nursing shift changes between Jackie and Joe, and there was a visit from a nurse named Heather that I had the day before for the procedure that had originally been planned to save my life, a catheterization with stints.  However long after it was that I came to, and disconnected from some of the machines, I was given the challenging news.  I was being moved to the room where I would spend the rest of  my time recovering.  The bad news?  They expected me to walk there.  I went from exercising  nearly two hours a day, to being exhausted when I would blink my eyes.  There would be a wheel chair following me to sit and rest while I walked.

Like my relative, I am stubborn and do not like help.  Once I was removed from the bed, and on my feet, I began that journey, the wheel chair close behind.  From the second floor of the hospital of the cardiac intensive care unit, with my enterage, I got to the elevator.  I was strongly advised to sit down, but was afraid to because I had a goal to achieve to prove that I was going to get through this, because at that moment, I did not think I could.  As I got off the elevator, there was the hallway that I was standing in right at that moment currently.  I was warned that it was still going to be quite a distance to my room and it was my option to be wheeled the rest of the way.  They were pleased that I had gotten as far as I did.  But I needed to go the rest of the way.  I stood there staring down that long hall way then, and I did it again now.  Tears began to fall as I remember that time, the ghost of me standing right in front of me.  Telling me that I could get through this and so could my relative.  And I began to take those steps again. 

It is nearly a week since, and he is at home resting with his wife, anxiously waiting to return to his normal life and habits, go back to work, and be independent again.  He is glad to have had me by his side, but not nearly as glad as I am that he made it through this.

Posted in Cancer, The Heart | Leave a comment
06 Jan 2013

A Night In The ER


Earlier this week, I spent an evening at our local hospital Emergency Room with Wendy.  Between the two of us and our health issues, this is just all too frequent of an occurrence.  I believe that not a whole lot of people have a true appreciation or even know what a trauma unit goes through during their shifts, the different dangers they are exposed to, and the various behaviors that they must tolerate.

A bad response to the flu shot or antibiotic she had also just been given, flared up her issue with Fibromyalgia.  She is on meds to manage it, but every so often, she must deal with these flare-ups.  This particular flare-up was so severe, I watched her literally curl up, not just her torse, but her arms, legs, hands, feet, and fingers being crushed by an uncontrollable cramping.

I rushed her to the ER where they began the process of trying to get her body to relax and nothing seemed to work.  After about three hours, they finally found something that would allow her body to relax.  I figured that the hospital would not admit her for this.  I knew that they would not look to treat her for her Fibromyalgia.  The unit would just try to get her symptoms to settle down and send her home.  We have been through this drill before.

There is not alot for a spouse to do while waiting for recovery.  So as I am prone to do, I like to watch, nothing gory mind you.  I am way too squeamish for that, but rather ativity.  My subject tonight, the ER.  I must offer this disclaimer, this was a Tuesday night at 10:00 and I had not seen sleep since Monday morning.  I had to do something to stay awake.

There is a lot of buzz in an Emergency Room, There are all kinds of employees working as a team, not sure of all their roles but we knew our nurse, tech, and doctor.  But there were plenty of other people around too.  In another hour, several would go home, others would come to work in their place so if we needed any kind of comfort, now would be the time to do it.  On-coming shifts usually need some briefing time to gather information of activity in their unit.

There are portable machines being pushed around.  There are technicians walking around with white plastic baskets carrying phlebotomy supplies (these people are blood suckers).  My attention now turns to the other rooms in the unit, or those being wheeled in.

One elderly lady who came in was covered in bleach.  It was eleven o’clock at night and this woman who had to be well over 80 was cleaning.  But she was covered in bleach.  The strength of the chlorine fumes was staggering.  She had fallen and it  had not appeared that she had broken anything, just a decent bump on the noggin.  She had no idea what she was doing there and then became curious why she was getting the bath in bed?  It was really quite sad as the nurses asked the woman all kinds of elementary questions or simple recall questions like, “do you know where you are right now?” or “do you know what year this is?”

Moments later a call comes over the hospital radio.  A patient is coming in via ambulance from an alcohol ovderdose.  This obviously will not be pleasant.  The man is roughly my age, drank an entire bottle of tequila.  To make matters worse, he was skitzophrenic.  He was quiet as they rolled this tall man into the room.  A swarm of personnel followed into the room, I am sure part of it was protocol, the other part curiosity.  All I know is that all the attention that Wendy had been getting is now gone over to those two rooms.  This was going to be a long night.

It was not the elderly patient who was hard of hearing, it was the drunk.  As they started to access the intoxicated giant, he let out this loud groan/grumble as if some sort of warning, followed by several curse words which amounted to “what is happening, please stop, get off me!”  Just then, every person in the ER swarmed on room 21, including our doctor.  None of them would be able to restrain this guy if he got up and charged out of his room.  And then where to?  They gain control of the situation and calm the guy down and disperse.

In comes another elderly person, another fall.  It is 2am on a Wednesday morning.  What the hell are these people doing at this hour to end up here in the ER?  I could see a seizure or perhaps a heart attack, but all of these people were doing something that could have probably been put off until daylight, or in at least one case, not done at all.  I am not being judgemental at all, but the drunk was actually scheduled for surgery just a few hours later.  The doctor advised the patient, it might be best to delay that.

Just then, another call comes in over the hospital radio.  This time it is an alcoholic going through withdrawals.  Arrival five minutes.  And through the doors comes a middle aged man (though because of the alcoholism probably made him look older than he actually was) with his hands behind his back.  Oh wait, his hands were handcuffed.  And he was escorted by a police officer.

And then there was Wendy, who at 2:15am, had finally drifted off to sleep.  But her body had settled down at this point.  Which is good, no electrical current, no overdose,  Let’s go home.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
06 Jan 2013

My Co-Worker Has Cancer. What A PIA He Is!


We spend most of our adult lives at work, eight hours or more a day, five days or more per week, year after year.  We spend most of our waking hours with our co-workers, easily more than our spouse or significant other, or any member of the family.  It is naturally assumed then, that no one would know you better, than your co-worker(s).  If there was one person that you should be able to count on, it should be a co-worker.  But what if it is not?  What if it is exactly the opposite?  What if it is worse than that, nearly your entire working environment?

When I was diagnosed with my Hodgkin’s Disease, I was devastated.  To my knowledge, my employer had not really ever had to deal with cancer, on the personal level of an employee.  If the owner of the company would be moved to tears upon my announcement, clearly those in my office (at the least) would respond in kind if not more so.  Instead, for the first time in my life, I experienced the bizarre behavior of what I call “whataboutme syndrome.”

Instead of rallying around me in support, scuttle got around the company that I was getting special favors or treatment from upper management because of having cancer.  THIS WAS NOT FAIR!!!!  Really?  I was the one diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease yet it was my co-workers who faced the bigger challenge of making sure they were going to be treated as if they were going to die.

The truth was, my employer did do something special for me.  Actually it benefited the entire company.  When Jeff found out about my cancer, and the limited and restrictive coverage that his employees had because of me, he made a phone call that night, and had the coverage increased, so that I could receive the best possible treatments available at the best facility.

Being a semi-private person (until I started this blog), not many people knew anything about my personal life.  The response by my co-workers was not going to help that issue.  So other than a “Get Well” card signed by everyone in the company, this is what I did to my fellow co-workers by getting cancer:

I Got Extra Days Off Paid From Work

Never happened.  I had the same amount of time off as everyone else.  I had arranged for my treatments to be done last of the day, which allowed me to break up my sick days into hours.  It made it appear as I had 16 sick days instead of 10.  I was out for an entire month for one of the diagnostic procedures, and was only paid for 8 of those days.  But no one asked.

They’ll Never Reprimand Him When He Does Something Wrong

The operative word is “when”.  I have a fairly strong work ethic, and really, all I cared about was being treated as if nothing was wrong with me.

I Have To Do All Of His Work Because He Is To Tired To Deal With It

I never asked anyone to do my work for me.  And the lack of any reprimands also confirms that I got my work done, regardless of how I felt.

There are more examples, but you get the idea of just how much of a pain in the ass I was to everyone for having cancer.

This is not just an isolated environment either.  In 2008, I saw this behavior taken to a whole new level, co-workers had gone beyond just being selfish, they hade become bullies.

Bullying is a repeast abuse of perceived power, repeatedly, and intended to harm.  It can be physical, emotional, or social.  It is destructive, stressful, and can be fatal if not dealt with.  It used to be that bullies were only something that had to be dealt with in the school environment.  But over time, the methods used to deal with these incident began to be accepted as a rite of passage, a phase “all” kids go through.  There is one major problem with this thinking.  Everyone becomes an adult, and unless the bullying behavior is dealt with as a child, how is that child going to be any different as an adult?  A bully will grow up to be a bully.  A victim of a bully, especially if repeated will grow up still accepting this dominating treatment, or even the opposite, pushing back on anything that goes against him as it is perceived as bullying.  There is no such thing as choosing battles when it comes to this level.  And it has a profound effect on adults that often, is not reversible.  Relationships, careers, and friendships are many times destroyed because the person isolates himself by his own actions, or by others who want nothing to do with this type of personality.

Case In Point

I have come to realize that with my bullying history, repeated bullying, and usually by gangs of kids, never one on one (I should feel good knowing that they thought they had no chance against me that way), I do not take shit from anyone.  I have been that way now for over 30 years.  On one hand, it has been a blessing, because of the way I attack health issues, I will defeat them.  But when it comes to human interaction, especially with my employer, it has come at a severe cost.

So I have never really been close with my co-workers, by design.  Professionally, we can get the work done with each other.  But personally, we rarely interact.  I cannot trust most people and their intentions.  This was made worse when I had my heart surgery in 2008.  After realizing how close to death I came with this, it was the perfect timing that I had received a “get well” fruit basket from co-workers and management.  I was truly touched.  I wanted a starting point to turn things around for me personality wise, and this was going to be the moment to do it.  Or so I thought.

During the next two weeks following the surgery, my wife had stayed home with me to take care of any needs I would have.  In the mean time, two of our co-workers, who incidently happened to be the only two people who were even a slight bit close to us, had conspired against Wendy.  To this day, we do not know what caused it.  A huge rash of accusations and false treatments had put a target on Wendy’s back, and the bad thing was, everyone was believing it, instead of just discussing things with Wendy or I.  Wendy’s career was now in jeopardy.  She almost lost me, and now she had to deal with this shit.

The time had come for me to return to work.  I have a very physical job, and my employer does not allow for easing back into the job.  You either do it all, or do not come back.  I was supposed to be out for six months recovering, by I had been warned that my job was jeopardized for an attendance policy as my FMLA had run out.  Over 30 years of working, hardly missed any time ever, including my battle with cancer, but open heart surgery, I had to rush back from to save my job.

To help me back, with my lungs not being full capacity, and my legs not strong at all, I had obtained a “handicap” placard temporarily so that I could park closer and have to walk less in extreme weather conditions.  That very first day I had heard of a complaint “why was I parking in a handicap spot if I was cleared to come back to work?  What was still wrong with me?  If I had to park there, I should be sent home because I am not well enough to come back.”  That was it.  Every day since, I have grown angrier and angrier as on a daily basis, I must protect my job, because morons have decided it is their right to determine if Wendy and I are allowed to earn a paycheck and support our family.  These bullies have the power to set us up falsely, to have us put into the postitions of being reprimanded.  After 15 years of basically a flawless behavior record, in the last 3 years, Wendy has been suspended 3 times, close to termination on one of those occasions.  All with the influence of our co-workers.

You see, they see someone who just happens to be having a good day, health wise, and might just be smiling.  So the person must be better.  And when the person is out sick the next day because of a flare up, the person must be faking it.  If you do not look the part, you are lying.  If you have cancer, you must look frail, bald, and sick to really have cancer otherwise you are faking.   Call out sick from work, do not get caught in a pharmacy shopping, while waiting for your prescription to be filled.  You will be caught in the act.  As time has gone on, I have had restrictions on some of my work activities, and by law, the American With Disabilities Act, it is required to accomodate me.  My co-workers do not believe in this law and call it unfair.  The fact that I miss up to two days per month just in doctor follow ups for my long term survivor issues is a major inconvenience to them.  Though in fairness, I have never given them to accept the opportunity to live in my shoes for just one day.

The fact is, 99% of the people we work with, have never, ever been to our home or spent time with us personally.  And that is something I take responsibility for.  Of those 99%, 95% feel qualified to know if Wendy and I have real issues or not as they are surely in direct contact with our doctors.  But they are all 100% responsible for starting the fires and feeding them fuel on situations none of them know anything about until they acheive their goal of having you fired.

My co-workers have been responsible for countless other co-workers that were targeted to be removed due to personality conflicts.  I have been asked so many times, why would this happen?  The only thing I can figure is Wendy and I are happy.  We have a good family.  I do not rely on going out to happy hours daily or sleeping with co-workers.  I come to work and do my job and they would rather have someone else to join their club or, they simpy are tired of being reminded of the loser existence they live.

Posted in Cancer | Leave a comment

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