Health Update: I'm Alive and Doing Okay!
When you're diagnosed with any type of cancer, it's life-changing. When I was first diagnosed with prostate cancer in May, I'll be honest, I freaked out. I immediately thought the worst, "I'm gonna die!", hoping, of course, that I was wrong…
The "situational anxiety and depression" my doctor said I was experiencing, was so bad my whole body was responding to it. My stomach was in a knot, and for several months I was uncomfortable both sitting and standing. All day long I paced around my house while I calculated my chances of survival. My anxiety was so bad, in addition to my own therapist, Dana-Farber assigned me a social worker and a Psychiatrist to help me through it. It definitely helped calm me down a bit…
When I finally chose radiation as my treatment, there were several things I had to get done before it started. First, I needed to begin Hormone Suppression Therapy, which began with a daily dose of Bicalutamide in pill form. Then, after two weeks I got a shot in the ass of Lupron, a drug that stops 98% of testosterone production. My Medical Oncologist's PA made this analogy. "If I told you there was an angry bear in a room and I handed you a shotgun and told you to go in and kill it, would you want it to be asleep or awake?" After I answered the obvious, "asleep" he responded, "That's exactly what we're doing to your cancer. We're putting it to sleep so we can kill it with radiation." It made perfect sense to me, but not having any testosterone is a game-changer. My muscles have atrophied, I've got some additional belly fat, my energy is low, and my sex drive is obsolete… According to my medical oncologist, this is all temporary, and as soon as I'm off Hormone Suppression Therapy, my body will begin producing testosterone again. Let's hope so because going nut-free really sucks…
In order to be cleared for radiation, I also needed to have a bone scan, and during it, the technician came into the room suddenly and announced she needed to do a mini CT scan, that there were areas that were "unclear"… My big fear was that the cancer may have spread beyond my prostate and into my bones, and that would be a much bigger problem. Fortunately, both scans were clean.
Then, there was a mandatory colonoscopy. Although I'm 66, I had never had one. Because of the intense stomach pain I was feeling, I started to panic, concerned that I might also have colon cancer, but fortunately, not a single polyp. They said, "See you in ten years!", which was very encouraging.
I've remained home through most of this, choosing not to socialize outside my house. I feel and look different, and I really didn't want to see anyone. I went to one family event, and three days later I tested positive for Covid. I had symptoms for a few days, and then I felt better. We're thinking this was the perfect storm, and that now my antibodies will prevent me from getting it until after my radiation therapy is complete.
Next up was the placement of three fiduciary markers on my prostate, which are gold and serve as targets for the radiation. There's no easy way to get in there, and I dreaded the thought of having the procedure. It wasn't as bad as I thought. The same surgeon who performed my biopsy did this procedure. His assistant came in first, and he assured me this would be quicker than a biopsy and much easier on me. He said once the doctor began placing the markers the procedure would only take two minutes to complete.
The doctor came in, went right to work, and I felt like a NASCAR vehicle making a pit stop for a full tire change mid-race. As the surgeon placed the markers, he called out, "one… two… three… done!" It literally took him under two minutes to place the markers and to get me out of the room and on the road again. Vroom, vroom!
On the way home my imagination got the best of me. I was suddenly concerned that if there was a recession and someone leaked a list of people having gold markers, I might be in some kind of danger. My wife immediately shut down those thoughts, laughing and calling them "ridiculous". I was only kidding…
As I completed each procedure, my anxiety level started to come down to a point where it was manageable without relying on Lorazepam, and my goal was to remain drug-free, which I have. And, I'm down to only one therapist!
Next stop, another shot in the ass of Lupron. This time, the shot hurt and continued hurting at the injection site for a week. I couldn't sit or lay down, so I paced all day. And, I was feeling the side effects more with this second shot.
The last thing I needed to do was get alignment tattoos for radiation. For this procedure, I had to give myself a Fleet enema the evening before and again the morning of. The directions suggested two different positions, side or doggy style… I really hope no one reading this got a visual and don't ask, I'll never tell… I cleaned out and went in to have the tats.
I got my tats and a schedule. I was given a choice between 28 or 44 days of radiation. In the end, it would be the same amount, but by spreading it over 44 days instead of 28, the chance of side effects is greatly minimized, though there are no guarantees. I only live 10 minutes from the radiation center, and I have a 4-wheel drive truck, so I chose 44. My first appointment is on Tuesday, December 20th.
Everyone involved in my treatment has called my cancer "curable," and that's given me reason to be optimistic. I've always joked that when I die, some of my friends will say, "I meant to call him…" I do have several close friends who check in on me regularly, and that's been a big help too. I totally get it, it's a difficult call for some people…
Dave and Erika have been incredibly understanding during this extremely difficult time in my life, and I'm very appreciative. I've done my best to keep up with the blog and repurposing jokes (LTFU!) has been a godsend for me. Humor is so underrated…
Life is short, even when it's not. Enjoy every moment and laugh as often as you can…
No one wants to hear the C-word, but once you've been diagnosed with cancer you begin to accept it, and then you start dealing with it. This song by Bruce Hornsby has a hook that has always rung true to me, "That's just the way it is…"
That's just the way it isSome things will never changeThat's just the way it isThat's just the way it is
There's still time to buy some Prostate Cancer Awareness Merch, with 100% of the net proceeds being donated to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Think of it as a donation to a worthy cause…