Those were the encouraging words my urologist said when I saw him in February of 2009. He had been monitoring the antigen level for four or five years, and had seen it slowly rise ... 4.6, then 5.5, 6.2, 7.9, 8.6, and finally, ...
You've got cancer.
Just like that.
Clinical manners of a crocodile, I say.
But he saved my life.
Read on.
-So now what, Doctor?
- You're gonna have a biopsy done.
-A biopsy? You mean ... Someone's going to take a piece out?
- More than one. Twelve.
Did I say clinical manners of a croc?
So I went to the hospital to have a biopsy. A little bit of anaesthesia, then a feeling of an instrument up my bum, until the gland is found.
kachunk, kachunk, and kachunk again, for time and time again, until I thought its done, but the physician says, Its for Dr Z , let's do a couple more just in case. A guy in the waiting room ran away upon hearing the sound of the knife.
The samples go to the lab. The results, Dr Z says, are back. I go in: and ask, peremptorily, "so what's my Gleason score?"
Six. Whoops. That's not pleasant.
Next step: an oncologist. Two possibilities: surgery (prostectectomy) or radiation therapy. Well, I'm a nuclear physicist, so RT was fine with me. I was introduced to a radiation oncologist and at the first meeting I said ,umm, I'm a nuclear physicist, can we skip the Radiation 101 which I've taught here there and everywhere --- and so what's next?
Well, have you heard of IMRT? Intensity modulated radiation therapy? No, I said. Doc says, why don't you read a couple of papers of mine. I did. Good stuff. I knew then that I was with the best.
A few more procedures followed.
First, gold seeds, three of them, implanted into the gland so the CAT/MRI could pinpoint the location of the radiation beam.
Then, a tattoo on my nether regions, again to assist the radiation technician to align the apparatus.
... and the first day of 37. I knew each treatment would be 60 short bursts of gamma rays during into the prostate ... zzt ... zzt ... zzt ... I counted them all.
"Of course," she said, "everybody does", laughing.
Then, at the end, 37 days plus later, another PSA.
Normal!
But, the oncologist says, don't scream to high heaven yet. We shall be following it " forever and a day" lest the cancer return.
It hasn't. Yet.
Moral to all Men: get your PSA measured, and I know, I didn't mention all the other tests, especially the DRE (digital rectal exam), aka "relax, buddy, I'm only going to put my finger up your bum."
Did I say bedside manners of a crocodile?
And did I say he saved my life?
Thanks, Dr Z.
And thanks also to Dr B, the radiation oncologist.
And thank you to all here for reading.
Pax.
Monday Night Cancer Club is a Daily Kos group focused on dealing with cancer, primarily for cancer survivors and caregivers, though clinicians, researchers, and others with a special interest are also welcome. Volunteer diarists post Monday evenings between 7:30-8:30 PM ET on topics related to living with cancer, which is very broadly defined to include physical, spiritual, emotional and cognitive aspects. Mindful of the controversies endemic to cancer prevention and treatment, we ask that both diarists and commenters keep an open mind regarding strategies for surviving cancer, whether based in traditional, Eastern, Western, allopathic or other medical practices. This is a club no one wants to join, in truth, and compassion will help us make it through the challenge together.
7:09 AM PT: UPDATE: Please see the excellent diary here:
http://www.dailykos.com/...