Lap 69--My journey with cancer

"Life with God is not immunity from difficulties, but peace in difficulties." ~ C. S. Lewis

Well, Lap number 69 is almost over.  I'll be starting on number 70 in about two months.  

In my last entry, I told my readers that I had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, that I had undergone  surgery to remove my prostate, and, as it turned out, a lymph node as well. The cancer had spread to that node.  After the surgery, my PSA dropped like a rock, but not enough, and in a month it had even risen slightly. 

Not a good sign. In the non-medical way of describing the surgical results, they "didn't get it all," at least not as indicated by the blood test.  

My urologist set me up for a couple scans to take a look, after monitoring with blood tests for another month.  I had two different CT scans, one with a "dye" and one without.  The end result of these tests (which were not as unbearable as the MRI I had before) was that there was an area "indicative of residual disease in the prostate bed." Nowhere else.  But the %$#! PSA was still climbing, albeit very slowly.  That brought about an appointment with a radiation oncologist, and the start of a whole new set of procedures.  

Oh, my urologist also started me on testosterone reduction.  If you picture prostate cancer as a fire, testosterone is like gasoline.  That has its own set of problems, which I'll get to later...

It took a few tries and scans to get the 'map'--as it were--of my innards so that the equipment that delivers the radiation "knew" where to zap. 

The equipment that delivers the high energy X-rays is called a linear accelerator.  Sounds like something out of a science fiction movie, doesn't it?  Reminded me of the TV series "Quantum Leap", and I often asked the radiation therapists if they could send me back in time like the main character in that series. (I wanted to go back to the mid 1970's, which is a whole 'nother story...)  The therapists operate all this from a room that looks like NASA mission control, behind a lead shielded wall.  

I was scheduled for 25 sessions, Monday thru Friday each week.  The oncologist is one of those people who just naturally makes you comfortable. The radiation therapists were the most kind, and thoroughly professional medical types I had experienced in all this.  (As contrasted with a medical oncologist I was asked to see whose total lack of manners prompted me to not return). They made the whole process more bearable. No one would call it "fun," but they would, for example,  put on whatever music I wanted to listen to, and we even laughed about the fact that I had no sense of modesty left from the various stages of undress I had to be in front of a bunch of strangers! A sense of humor really helps!  

First, I had to have a full bladder.  I had figured out how to time my consumption of water so that I was not on the verge of exploding by the time they brought me to the table. That necessitated a clamp that got placed...well...lets just leave that to the reader's imagination.  I laid on my stomach, on a hard table, with pillows and cushions that gave the x-rays a good target, but were terribly uncomfortable. After the first 7 treatments, the therapists pretty much had my positioning figured out.  In total, each treatment lasted about 25 minutes from the time I entered the equipment room.  I became accustomed to the buzzing, whirring, beeping and other noises the machine made, and learned to tell how far along the  treatment was by what I was hearing.  

The first 15 or so treatments, I experienced almost none of the nasty side effects I was warned about.  Little did I realize that as the radiation was cumulative (hence the small doses each treatment), the side effects were as well. I won't mention them, other than the extreme fatigue, except to say that I was pretty miserable when they hit.  

I completed the treatments, "rang the bell" and thanked the therapists.  They do a difficult job, dealing with a deadly disease, and the folks who worked with me did it with class.

 I won't know anything for a couple months yet, I'm still recovering.  

Blessedly, when the treatments ended, the nasties faded pretty fast. I feel pretty well, all in all.

Almost forgot the hormone reduction therapy!   That is pretty simple, just periodic shots in the abdomen.  (OUCH) I am experiencing side effects from that, which are almost predictable.  We all have both male and female hormones, and if you suppress one, the other tries to kick in.  I am having hot flashes, a double whammy of fatigue, have gained weight, and I am really emotional.  Like my wife says, I'm essentially going through menopause!  

So, what does this mean for Lap 70?  

I hope and pray to start that lap with good news.  God did not cause my cancer. He is probably more upset than I am about it, as I am, after all, His child.  (Ever seen the parents in the St. Jude's Hospital commercials?) But there is one thing that I am certain about, and that He will be right there beside me as I run Lap 70, and beyond.  He's not going to leave me to do this by myself.  He has blessed me with a loving family, good friends and a lot of others, all guided by His grace. I will never be alone,  

Thank you for reading this far!  Its a lot, I know, but there is much to tell.  I have to say that I really don't think about having cancer.  I pray, and attend Mass often. I love my family.  I write. I do volunteer work,  I even ride my Harley!   I just live the life God has blessed me with.  

He went to all that trouble to straighten out the mess I was making of it, its the least I could do, right?  

See you next year for Lap 70!

 "Jesus promised his disciples three things—that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble." ~ Gilbert K. Chesterton