Life seems short. Except when you are holding your breath. It
is, until it’s not. Or it is unless it’s not. These are the visceral binary
positions I dream up when I am trying to start a blog post. I haven’t written a
post in several years now. A failed experiment; daily journaling. My
step-father has been journaling daily for as long as I can remember. When we
were kids, I remember he would sit in his chair with one of those old timey arm
key typewriters on his lap and type a letter to his father. Curtis and his father
had a great rapport on paper. Perhaps Wayne inspired Curtis to write, even if
only for his own eyes.
I’m staying on topic, until I’m not. Back to my binary assertion.
Life is short unless you’re holding your breath. I’m fifty-four years old as I type
this, and I have just recently been diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. I never
thought in a million years, that I would ever make such a statement. I wasn’t
holding my breath.
My wife is a Nurse Practitioner, and she keeps our family on
the right track staying current with our family practice doc., keeping up with
our blood tests, or just doing the right thing generally. I have been on a routine
of getting the basics done with blood work, including the test which measures
your Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA). Over the past year, my PSA levels have
risen. The most recent test brought back the highest level thus far, which was
a 3.9. When you look at the age specific charts, that number does not exactly
incite panic. It’s a tad high, but not through the roof by any stretch of the
imagination. So, when my family doc called and said she wanted to refer me to a
specialist, I was skeptical, but I went along with it. Then when the Urologist
called and informed me that they have scheduled me for a Prostate Biopsy, I
responded with, “Woah. Slow down Doc!” At the time I was still not convinced
that this was necessary.
I called the Urology clinic back and told the receptionist
that I would like to talk to the Doc before we do this. She agreed and switched
my date from a biopsy to a consult. I then thought I would go to the lab and
volunteer a new PSA test to show them that this is not Cancer. Well, I thought
I would show them. When I went to the lab, and volunteered my blood to prove my
point, the 3.9 came back.
Damn!! So much for that idea.
I took the lab to the consult with the doc. He performed a Prostate
exam, and then reported, “I felt a nodule on the left side of your prostate.”
To which I replied, “Oh alright already. You can do the biopsy.”
The time period from consult to biopsy was a couple weeks.
During that time, I rationalized to my wife, my daughter and her family, and to
myself, that this is not going to turn out to be Cancer. Nodules appear in the
body all the time, right? Mary’s Mammograms have shown nodules that were benign.
Mine should be too, right? Ok, I know. This form of inductive reasoning leads
me down the wrong rabbit hole.
When the biopsy date arrived, I went in thinking this was
going to be an enlarged Prostate, or some other problem that most men encounter
as they get older. I now know that Prostate Cancer is among the many very
common problems that men experience into their 50s and beyond. The biopsy, as
was stated in the literature, was not a painful experience. As stated in the
brochure, the needle felt like a slight snap of a rubber band on your skin. The
doc had me positioned on my side, facing away from him. He had a monitor that
showed the sonogram image, and they had a second monitor showing the sonogram
so that I could see as well. As he was sticking me with those needles, I could
tell he could see something. It finally sunk in at that point. I am going to
hear him tell me I have Cancer. As it turned out, the news came in the form of
a phone call from the clinic’s office staff.
The goal of that phone call was threefold. First to break
the unfortunate news. Second to schedule a CT Scan so that they could look and
see if the Cancer had spread. Lastly to schedule a follow up with the doc.
The time frame from phone call to doc visit was less than a
week. Some men might take that time to freak out. I just remember thinking, “Yay!
Another day off.” Please don’t take that to mean that I am absolutely flippant
about my life, the lives of my loved ones, or just about life in general. I
have been doing a lot of reading since this whole thing started, and based on
that reading, I concluded that while this situation is not to be taken lightly,
we have caught this thing rather early, and my prognosis will be in high favor
as we move through it. Also, I have come to be at peace with my mortality. I
don’t want to go anywhere for a long time, but by the same token, I don’t
believe fear will be my response when I find myself at the edge of that cliff.
I could be wrong. I’m just guessing because I have never been there. Or I have
been there but didn’t realize I was there and didn’t have time to freak out.
The follow up visit was a bit of a surprise for me. Mary was
with me, and I think she noticed the “deer in the headlights” look on my face.
I thought the doc was going to say something like, “Well Mark, you have Cancer,
but we can just hook you up with some of that radiation, and things will be all
better.” That is NOT what we heard. Instead, the doc told me that among the
risk levels, mine was intermediate. He told me removing the Prostate was
the best option. I asked about the radiation treatment, and he said while it's an option, implementing it would limit options in the future. Scar
tissue would complicate surgery options if the radiation didn’t get it all. Time
to heal was also the reason the prostatectomy would have to be scheduled no
less than six weeks after the biopsy.
So, here I am. Waiting for the sixth week post biopsy. Still
not freaking out. But I am a bit anxious about the surgery. Lots of questions
are popping up in my mind. Will they find cancer outside of the prostate? Will
they have to compromise sexual function in order to remove Cancer cells in that
area? Will they compromise sexual function by accident? Will they leave the
hemostats in my abdomen?
The official name for the procedure is Robotic Radical Prostatectomy.
The doctor is sort of like a kid at the arcade. He sits in front of a high res screen
and controls the robot with joysticks and buttons and such. The brochure states
that the robot is called “De Vinci” after the famous artist who was obsessed
with the human form. The De Vinci apparently produces much better post-op
surgery results than a surgeon and his manual tools. De Vinci doesn’t have
coffee shakes and makes incisions more precisely. Patients experience less
blood loss, less post-op pain, and faster healing times. This is encouraging.
That’s my story so far, and I am sticking to it. I have
about three or so more weeks before the surgery. Once I get through it and am
able to sit on my butt for a few minutes, I will write a new post with all of
the new things I have learned.
Just remember. Life is short, so don’t hold your breath.
