Paul's Heart

Life As A Dad, And A Survivor

A Misguided Protest, Also Misdirected


The majority of my posts, are usually off the cuff. When I reveal feelings, they raw and unedited. I do not have any problem being that open when I write. But occasionally, there are times, when I need to let “fireworks” exploding through my mind settle before I hit “publish.” Today’s post is one of those I was better of waiting to press the “publish” button.

In full disclosure, I have always disliked wearing seatbelts. I had only been driving for approximately five years when Pennsylvania joined other states, in making seatbelts mandatory in 1987. In 2008, following my heart surgery, my refusal to wear a seatbelt became more steadfast, even though it was the law, for one simple reason. My breast bone had been broken to access my heart, and the incision itself was very tender. The seatbelt rubbing against my chest hurt, A LOT!, but even more of a concern, in the event of an impact, a jolt forward against the seatbelt, I felt would snap my breastbone in half, something I never wanted to feel.

While I have gotten better at dealing with my rebellion, not so much in the beginning. My first traffic stop for it, was in Manhattan, and cost me nearly $300, just for the seatbelt violation. I did not care. I was not going to wear it. Other traffic stops, not in NYC, cops were a bit more sympathetic to my issue, as I explained in the same way to the NYC cop, and let me off with warnings.

Here is the thing. Do you understand why we are required to wear the seatbelt? I was given one reason by an officer, that it improves our driving, by making us more aware of our safety and our driving. I call bull on that one. I still have all of my other driving habits in tact. But the other reason, and repeated by the other officers, made me aware of something I had not considered.

A seatbelt will keep the driver or passengers secured in the vehicle, preventing an ejection from the car, and possibly a certain death. How many police officers do you think have had that experience? Worse, have you ever had this experience?

I cannot imagine what it is like, for an officer to have to be the one, to notify a family member, that a loved one had been killed in a car accident, and simply because they were thrown from their car, when a seatbelt might just have made a difference.

Oddly, even though I can recognize this “other side,” I still have the resistance to wanting to wear the seatbelt, and for additional reasoning. I will admit, it is not logical thinking, as at least my chest area made sense. But the bottom line, the officer made it clear, the seatbelt is not just about me, but how it affects others.

So, what had me so pissed off yesterday that I risked writing an “F-bomb” laden post? It could not have been about seatbelts, could it? Actually, while not about seatbelts, what happened yesterday, is totally relatable. And before I get into that, I want to preface the rest of this post, my commentary IS NOT POLITICAL nor is it meant to change anyone’s opinion. But rather, to produce an awareness that what we are going through today, really is more than just about us, but those around us.

I have been undergoing cardiac rehab for several months now, at a hospital facility. As any patient going through this, during Covid19 times, we are more than aware of the risks of being there and exposure. But I am also super appreciative of the efforts to keep me, and all of the other patients safe as we recover. At least most of us. One individual clearly does not. And yesterday, when I saw it, I was pissed off.

Again, this is not about Covid19, testing, vaccines, or even masks. And while I fully support the right to protest, ANYTHING!, when I saw what his mask actually said, I thought, “you are fucking disrespectful ingrate.” His mask reads, “worn by FORCE”, with “force” spelled out using the American flag, followed by “not by fear.”

Back in the beginning of the pandemic, I often said, those who were opposed to the recommendations or requirements of masks, this would be a perfect opportunity to post your opinions or whatever on the mask itself. What better way to let people know your position. And while I get that this jackass definitely is anti mask, that is not my issue.

Think back to the discussions I had with cops about why I wear a seatbelt. My opposition to wearing a seatbelt had the potential to affect others. And at least seatbelts are not contagious. As the title implies, his protest is misguided and misdirected. I do not have a problem with him wanting to state his opposition, and I do not care why. What I do care about, is those that are affected by this mask.

First, the misguided issue. His “worn by force” claim, using the American flag. The United States has nothing to do with him having to wear a mask during cardiac rehab or anywhere on hospital grounds. It is the policy of the hospital, to keep patients and staff as safe as possible, regardless if we have governor that appears to be pro-Covid in governing. But the second half of the protest, “not by fear,” again is a false trope. Those who do not fight the recommendations to wear a mask, are not living by fear. We are living smart, for ourselves, and others. Need proof?

As I began this course of rehab, just prior to the Omicron surge, one of the nurses said to me just a few weeks ago, “this is just so heartbreaking. We were done with this. The numbers had all gone down.” She of course was making reference to how Delta, the prior variant, had caused so much death and heartbreak, and finally the numbers began to look like we were finally getting through this. But then, the intro to our class given every morning went from “anyone exposed to or have a fever, cough, cold, or Covid?” to then include, “we really mean it now,” making reference to the wildfire spread of the Omicron variant.

I have spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals during this pandemic. I have personally seen all the efforts taken by the hospitals to keep everyone safe. I have heard of fellow Hodgkin’s survivors having procedures delayed not just because of lack of a hospital bed, but lack of staff to care for the patients. I have had conversations with nurses of all years of experience from decades to just out of nursing school, having experienced the worse their careers could ever have faced.

To say I was furious yesterday was an understatement. I am also really surprised my vital signs did not show my ire. But here was this moron, wearing a mask, protesting that he had to wear it inside the hospital, all the while, staff were following his sweaty ass from machine to machine, disinfecting it for him before the next patient used it, just as every machine was cleaned before he used it. And every member of the staff there, from nurse to therapist, was there at their own risk of exposure to Covid, including potentially from him, and he was going to gripe about it. His mask may as well have read “nurses are stupid.”

Look I said it, and I meant it, my issue is not that he is anti mask, anti mandate, anti whatever. And I support anyone’s right to protest. But in just the last week alone, stupid and insensitive decisions like this, have an impact on everyone else around. Look at the London bound flight from Miami, turned around and aborted the flight, an hour and a half into it, just because some stupid fought the flight attendants on wearing her mask, something she agreed to do when she bought her tickets. Or this one, a Virginia woman who was just arrested for threating a Virginia school board, that she would show up with guns if her kids were forced to wear a mask in school.

After two years of dealing with this, you either have common sense, or you do not. You either agree to mitigation and prevention or you do not. Not many at this point are going to be influenced to see the reason we are still dealing with Covid after all this time. We definitely know what works, and what does not work.

And what this patient is saying with his mask, has nothing to do with the false trope of “patriotism”, as much as he is flipping his middle finger at the staff trying to help him recover. And before you say, well, “well, what if that is the only mask he has?” There are plenty of disposable masks at the entrance to the facility. He could grab one on his way in. Like I said, protest all you want. I support that. But to do so in spite of those trying to help you, at their own risk? You’re an asshole. There is a huge difference between not wearing a seatbelt, not contagious, and fighting mitigation and prevention of something contagious. But with both, your actions have an impact on others.

Yet Another Anniversary To Remember


No, I did not become a king of some small island country. This is not a crown.

This, is an artificial heart valve. To be exact, this is a replica of a “bovine” (cow) artificial valve, placed inside of my aortic valve, one of three impacted by long term side effects from radiation and chemo damage decades ago.

If you have followed my blog, you have then also witnessed the progress and improvement of technology of diagnostic and treatment of diseases, especially over the last thirteen year, and from decades ago.

But when I had my first (of three) heart surgery in April of 2008, it was known, that there were potential other issues with my heart. And what may not seem like a logical decision, to not fix everything while in there, it turns out that there is good reason not to.

The original diagnosis, was a major blockage of the LAD (left anterior descending artery, a main artery of the heart), and a considerable blockage of the RCA (right coronary artery). It also seemed that there were valve issues as well. The original plan was to leave the valve issues alone, because at the time, the surgeon, unaware of my radiation history (at that point I did not realize the correlation), the surgeon felt that the valve situation, as well as the RCA, would resolve themselves following a double bypass of my LAD.

I would later learn, that there was another school of thought to “letting things go”, basically until the time that they needed to be repaired.

Open heart surgery carries with it, many risks. And for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma survivors like me, from decades ago, treated with high dose radiation and ultra toxic chemotherapy, the surgery is not the only risk, but so is recovery. Bleeding and healing are two higher risks.

When I tried to pin down my doctor, not worried about the RCA or the valves, focusing only on the bypass, I asked, “so how long will this last?” A reasonable question, but one the doctor would not give a straight answer to, not even a ball park guess. So, after some research, looking up the method that was used to do the bypass (there are different arteries that can be used), using my mammary artery, the consensus I saw, was between 10-15 years. Which meant, at the age of 42 at the time, I would be looking at having an issue again around the time… oh SHIT! THAT WOULD MAKE THE MAXIMUM TIME NEXT YEAR!!! Not to worry, I know a secret that I will get to shortly.

So, long story short, I did recover (obviously), went through cardiac rehab, and then would discover all of the other issues created by my treatments. However, they do not apply to this post.

Just before the Covid19 pandemic hit, I was undergoing a routine follow up for my heart, and up to this point, everything had been routine. Comments were noted about my valves slowly getting worse over time, but I had been prepared to “watch and wait,” only doing something when needed to be done, something I call “the ticking time bomb” approach.

But this appointment had a familiar feeling to it. Following my treadmill test, I was being told I needed to see the cardiologist. There was another urgent situation. I was questioned why I had not said something sooner. My answer, “I didn’t feel anything wrong.” When I had my original heart surgery, I definitely did not feel well. I could feel something was wrong back then. But this time…

Well, remember the surgeon let that RCA go, thinking it would resolve on its own? Well, in a normally healthy person with just donuts and cheesesteaks as their problem, sure, it could. But for someone with cumulative and progressive radiation damage, the RCA would only get worse. And once again, I found myself at “defcon 5” and a blockage that could have had major consequences.

This time however, the surgery would be different. Scared at the prospect of a second open heart surgery, one that had increasing chances of not surviving, this repair would take place going up through my leg, trans catheter. To my knowledge, this was not something just years earlier, people with my history would not qualify for because of the complications.

And yet, that was exactly the plan, to open up the artery using a stent. Amazingly, I was sent home from the hospital the next day. Once again, went through cardiac rehab again. And of course, started playing the “how long do I have” knowing that stents only last about 10 years, never giving attention to my bypass which had now entered the 10-15 year window for my bypass. There would come a day, that I would need this stent replaced.

Again, follow up cardiology appointments continued. All appeared to be well, with the exception of the valves seemingly to worsen at a slightly faster clip. My doctor felt, at least one valve would require attention soon, as in 3-5 years.

Then Covid19 hit. The warning to me was simple with this unknown, and deadly virus. “If you get it, it will kill you.” My cardiologist was referring to one of the two major events of this unknown disease. Covid pneumonia, which with my lungs majorly compromised would certainly result in my demise, but blood clots that resulted, and with the condition of my heart, definitely lethal.

I still needed my follow up care, all the while, being cautious. Which is not to be confused with the political trope of “living in fear.”

My follow up appointment in 2020 resulted in a decision from my doctor, it was time to replace the aortic valve. Great, right in the middle of this pandemic. Not only having to deal with the virus, but then be in a building where the virus is populated with patients. A short detour however, as another scan pointed out another pressing issue, which resulted in something needing a higher priority than my valve, my carotid artery, also followed for years, was now at a stage that needed to be fixed. Though not what I want to discuss on this post, it was fixed. But then the attention needed to turn to my heart valve.

Just as my “widow maker” situation back in 2008, my symptoms had grown so much worse with my valve. Most notably, SOB (shortness of breath), a major sign of heart failure. I could barely make it from one room of the house to another and this symptom was rapidly getting worse.

The surgery would be the same process almost, going through my leg, and then into the heart itself, to place this crown-looking device, inside of my damaged aortic valve. When I came to hours later, the results were immediate relief. And again, sent home from the hospital the next day. I am currently wrapping up my 3rd round of cardiac rehab. I do still have issues with two other valves, but they are not near the level to require attention, and I have two other anomolies with my heart which I have only begun to learn about, as it is a condition that right now, does not require attention.

Today marks 3 months to the day, that this device, gave me heart relief like I had not felt in years. Sure, I am still dealing with my other health issues, but believe me, if your heart is not feeling right, your quality of life is not really what it should be. Gives new meaning about “putting your heart into things.” (Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones went through a similar procedure back in 2019)

These devices are meant to last 7-10 years, and for someone my age, 56, that would mean likely, another surgery for the valve would be a guarantee for someone with a normal health history. And honestly, it is quite cool how they would do it, if able. You see, there are multiple sizes of this artificial valve.

Just like a child’s toy, as long as you did not start off with the smallest of the valves, doctors in theory will be able to insert yet another valve if needed, directly inside the replacement valve, which was seated inside the original valve you were born with (hence the children’s toy reference).

I am one of the lucky ones because I do have a valve the size that will allow another replacement if needed.

But here is my dilemma, math. And with the precision of a scientist tracking a meteor careening towards earth, there is a collision course likely in my future.

While my bypass has now passed the 15 year mark, and had not needed repair, it is continuing to fail again, with its current status at 40% blocked. I would estimate it is likely, to need attention, not waiting for it to reach “widow maker” status to repair, in approximately 7-10 years. Combine that with my RCA stent, and now my valve, there is the potential, if necessary, that all three things would need to be addressed at the same time, no easy fete, filled with all kinds of risks.

And if you read yesterday’s post, you will see I have another factor creeping up on my, the curse of my paternal longevity.

But I have one thing in my favor, a major goal. One that has me trying to do all the right things health wise that I can, most importantly, believing that I can get there.

Back when I first became aware of all of the late developing side effects from my treatments, there was only one thing I wanted, to live long enough to see my daughters grow. Never a doubt, my doctors share my desire, and with careful and diligent follow ups, each year becomes one milestone closer.

An 18th birthday so far. A high school graduation coming this year. Another 18th birthday next year. One in college in the Fall. Another high school graduation the following year. Another in college. Two college graduates. Two marriages. Hopefully grandchildren (at least one daughter has promised me many). These are all goals within my reach, I can feel it. Fourteen years ago, my doctor told me I was lucky to be here, it was “not a question if” I “was going to die, but when.” And that has been all I have thought about, every year, every health event I have had to deal with, and for the last two years, dealing with Covid19 all around me.

But I am doing it. And I am getting closer to my goals, one at a time.

What Would Be?


I always have mixed feelings about “birthday” posts recognizing “what would have been,” someone’s birthday, if they would be alive today. I can understand why it is done, that desire to think about what it would be like, if they were still here today. Or perhaps to recognize how long it has been since the loved one had passed.

These two photos are the first known, and last photos of me with my father. Today is his birthday. Oddly, it was not until about a decade ago, that I could remember what day of January it was and then it hit me, one month after mine. I have not forgotten it since.

Sadly, all I get to do on my father’s birthday anymore, is just remember it, remember him, and remember what we had gone through with each other over the first half of my life.

There are not a lot of stories from my childhood of my father, or photographs (something that I have more than made up for when it came to his granddaughters). My parents were divorced when I was three, and without going into details, not relevant to this post, I hardly saw my Dad.

It was not until the second quarter of my life, that we reconnected, and made amends. There was a lot to talk about and a lot to deal with. Long story short, my Dad took advantage of that second chance with me.

We both had our health issues, I had already gone through my battle with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, and he would have a major heart attack in his late 50’s, leading to major lifestyle changes. Following that heart attack, I found myself paying even closer attention to my Dad and our relationship. If he needed something physically done, I would take care of it for him, such as chopping firewood for the winter.

That would change when I would begin to develop health issues myself, related to the treatments I had received for my cancer, now 32 years ago. The two of us, with our heart conditions, would actually become an issue, as, even though we saw different cardiologists, it was in the same health network computer-wise. We have the same first and last name, and yes, the same day of the month. Had anyone paid attention to the year of birth, there would be no mistaking who was who. But on at least two occasions, I had to correct the nurse, that I was not the “Paul” with the heart attack and a smoker. Our charts were definitely different inside.

But there is one thing in common that we do have, actually seems to run in my family on my father’s side. We are not known for our longevity. My father, one of five children, is only the second child to live past 55 years of age. His younger sister died at 48, his mother at 49.

My father and I had never really given family longevity a thought, especially since he survived his heart attack. Admittedly, given all the health issues I deal with, I have passed 55 myself, but I do not take every day for granted with all the cards against me.

At the age of 65, and a smoker for at least fifty years of those, my father had been diagnosed with emphasema. But it was a mild enough case, that they told him, if he were to quit smoking, he could actually reverse the progression. Unfortunately, he could not quit, and not for lack of trying. But two years later, he would face his most difficult challenge ever, a diagnosis of lung cancer.

Again, I won’t go into the details here (I have written about it in “My Dad Was Just Like Me”), as by now you know the ending.

But it was a comment that my father had made, which stands out, every birthday just before his birthday, the year that he died. “I just want to make it to 70.” He would be one of the few, to make it that far. He would pass away four months later, and I do not know if he realized that he had done just that, made it to 70. The cancer had spread enough, that it was not causing memory and other cognitive issues. He had his clear moments, and then, there were those that we could not recognize him.

As humble as any man could be, I am glad that he lived long enough to be a part of his granddaughters’ lives. And I know he was glad to have that time.

I miss him dearly. And I remember him often. And though my health challenges are just as if not more serious than my father’s, I do hope to live long enough to see things that I have set as goals.

Happy Birthday Dad.

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