No Modesty Towel Today, Sir?

“Then Jessie handed me the modesty towel”

When I first started this journey some three weeks ago I had no idea as to how I was going to physically do it. My thought was to deal with it one day at a time. I recently read something by a famous writer who used an analogy of driving a car at night to describe writing. As I look back on the last fifteen days, I see the same similarity. “It’s like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. You don’t have to see where you’re going; you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you.”

A treatment plan that took almost all summer to decide on is near its end. Today marks day fifteen of the sixteen day plan. I went to treatment today with mixed emotions. Firstly, I went with a sense of relief that I am almost done. And secondly, I went with the feeling that somehow I will miss going every day. (I know my therapists are going to think I am a really sick person when they see this comment) But that is not saying that I love that rectal balloon anymore than I did on day one. What I am saying is that going to therapy every day means that I am actively engaged in combat with the villain. That not going everyday tend to imply that I’m waiting for the next round or to see if the fight is over, for good. (That was profound, yes?)

Besides all that, I have become really comfortable with my therapy team. When I first started I was embarrassed pulling my pants down around my ankles in front of them. (You know, assume the position) But by day fifteen that was old hat. Fact is, I arrived this morning, got into the therapy room, dropped my pants and underwear and didn’t even use the modesty towel. There I was, up on the table and with not an ounce of embarrassment. Then Jessie handed me the modesty towel, reminding me that I needed to cover up my stuff. That’s how comfortable have become with them. My other “peoples.”

“…has given me the inner strength to look at myself…”

My journey with the treatment plan has been a real growth process for me. As I said yesterday,it has been both a learning process as well as a revealing process. In addition to my therapy team, I have a lot of people to thank for that. I want get to naming names for fear that I will leave someone out. Anyways, thank all of you for reading about all my experiences. Writing has given me the inner strength to look at myself in relationship to the grand order of things in life. Early on I told myself that whatever came out of all this would make me a better and stronger person. I meditated a lot about the possible outcomes while at the same time strongly believing that what was going to happen will happen. My job will be to take what happens and figure out what that has to do with the grand order of things in life.

I’m up, Later!

I'm Glad You Asked

By now you know that I am in the final week of radiotherapy for prostate cancer. Sometimes I call it radiation treatment. They are both the same. Since I found out I had prostate cancer I have learned much about cancer and about myself in the process. I can talk more openly than I did in the past. (Sometimes I think I talk too much) Anyway, I was never one to deal with all the body parts. Mine were all functioning so there was no need deal with such matters. But now it seems like I can’t know enough. My therapy team thinks I know a lot, but there is still more that I don’t know.


I have been asked many good questions; questions that I also asked myself in the beginning. When I was told that I had prostate cancer, I didn’t even know exactly where my prostate was located, what it was, or what it looked like. Besides the obvious questions of what it is, where is it and what does it do, here are the questions that I am asked most often:

• “Doesn’t the radiation make you sick?

When most people, including myself, think chemotherapy when you say the word “cancer.” That’s not the case anymore. Radiotherapy and chemotherapy is not the same thing. Chemotherapy uses medications to destroy cancer cells anywhere in your body. Chemotherapy is given either by pill or injection. Radiotherapy uses a beam of radiation, much like that of an x-ray, directed at the prostate to destroy the cancer. My whole body doesn’t get radiation.

• “Does it hurt?”

No, the radiation doesn’t hurt at all. I don’t feel a thing during a treatment session. It’s just like having an x-ray done.

• “How did you get prostate cancer?”

As you get older, (And I have gotten older) the prostate changes. It many cases, as in mine, my prostate became enlarged. The medical term for an enlarged prostate is benign prostatic hyperplasia. (Did you get that? It took me a while to figure that one out) The larger the prostate becomes the more PSA (prostate specific antigen) it produces. PSA is an enzyme that is only produced by the prostate cells. These cells are either normal or cancerous. PSA is leaked into the bloodstream by the prostate cells which can be measured by a PSA blood test. The more enzymes that are produced, the more the enzyme is leaked into the bloodstream.

• “How did you find out you had prostate cancer?”

I have been getting a PSA blood test, in addition to a prostrate exam, done every year I have a physical examination. The doctor felt a hard spot on my prostate and my PSA blood test results were significantly higher than the last time. It had gone from about 7.1 to 12.1 and that was enough to alert my doctor.

• “How much PSA is normally leaked into the bloodstream?”

For men 60 years old or less, the normal level is about 2.5. The normal range is about 4.0 for older men since the prostate usually enlarges and makes more PSA with age.

• “What is the average PSA of men with prostate cancer?”

The average PSA for men with prostate cancer is about 7.2. Fifteen percent of men with prostate cancer have a PSA below 4.0.

Like I said earlier, I am in the final week of treatment and, for the most part, have been symptom free. I have minor bouts with diarrhea, soreness of the rectum, constant urination and sometimes I get a little fatigued in the late afternoon. Besides that, I feel good.

I leave you with the words of Elbert Hubbard, author of “The Forbes Book of Business Quotations,”

“A Friend is a person who knows all about you---and still likes you.”

A couple more to go and you will be “Up To Speed.”

Later, Love Ya!

From Katrina To Rita

I haven’t blogged for a while. At present it just seems that my fight with prostate cancer is so small as I look at what’s going on with Hurricane Rita. While Hurricane Rita has been downgraded from Category 5 to Category 3 this morning, it still has the potential to be a nasty storm for the Gulf Coast. Many of the cities in Texas and Louisiana in that area have been evacuated and look much like ghost towns. It looks like Rita won’t make a direct hit on Houston and Galveston as predicted earlier. But it’s such a large system, about 400 miles wide, that much of western Louisiana and eastern Texas will be affected by flooding.

Forecasters project that Rita will make landfall early Saturday morning somewhere near Beaumont, Port Arthur and Lake Charles. My concern about the levees breaking has come true. The levee along the industrial canal in New Orleans already has three breaks and all the rain is not yet on the ground. What I am fearful of now is that the flooding from these breaks will put New Orleans under water again. It’s going to get worst before it gets better.

I just finished reading this story from MSNBC News:

NEW ORLEANS - Hurricane Rita’s steady rains sent water during over a patched levee Friday, cascading into one of the city’s lowest-lying neighborhoods in a devastating repeat of New Orleans’ flooding nightmare.

“Our worst fears came true,” said Maj. Barry Guidry of the Georgia National Guard.
“We have three significant breaches in the levee and the water is rising rapidly,” he said. “At daybreak I found substantial breaks and they’ve grown larger.”

Dozens of blocks in the Ninth Ward were under water as a waterfall at least 30 feet wide poured over and through a dike that had been used to patch breaks in the Industrial Canal levee. On the street that runs parallel to the canal, the water ran waist-deep and was rising fast. Guidry said water was rising about three inches a minute.

Water also poured out from under the canal's western barrier, which faces the historic French Quarter roughly three miles away.

An official with the New Orleans Fire Department said flooding reached a mile inland west of the canal. It also reached as far north as Interstate 10, which divides the city.
The impoverished Ninth Ward was one of the areas of the city hit hardest by Katrina’s floodwaters and finally had been pumped dry before Hurricane Rita struck.
Throughout Friday morning, water began rising again onto buckled homes, piles of rubble and mud-caked cars that Katrina had covered with up to 20 feet of water.


I have a sister living in Houston and Barb has a sister living there also. Barb’s sister’s family all evacuated to Fort Worth on Thursday. My sister decided that she was going to stick and it out. I hope she made a good decision. Even if she had decided to leave on Thursday she would have been stuck in traffic. Thousands of people are in their cars trying to escape the hurricane. Gas stations along the evacuation routes are out of gas causing cars to be abandoned in traffic. Some people are and have been waiting at gas stations for hours for gas. The biggest concern now is for the people out on the roads.

A bus carrying elderly evacuees from the Houston area caught on fire on Interstate 45. As many as 24 people died. The accident forced the interstate to be shut down, creating a 17-mile traffic back up.

My prayers and heartfelt sympathy goes out to all the people who are and who will be affected by Hurricane Rita. Especially to all of the people who evacuated to Houston from New Orleans because they are being evacuated again.

Throw Me A Bone, Work With Me Here

Like I said before, my first radiation session was on the Tuesday after Labor Day. The Saturday before, Milt and I were at the State Skeet Shoot in Green Bay and I had a chance to talk to a fellow skeet shooter who had just undergone surgery for prostate cancer. He gave me a lot of information, some of which I already knew, and some that was new to me. Jack told me that I had nothing to worry about and that the sessions after the first one would be routing procedures. That helped a lot. At the state shoot, I shot one gun, the 20 gauge well (99/100) but could have stayed home for the other three. But it was good to smell gun powder and see all the other shooters. I had been away from shoot all spring and summer.

Tuesday rolled around a lot quicker than I wanted it to. My appointment was at 2PM and I was a little apprehensive about going but knew it had to be done. Jeremy and I had talked earlier before Labor Day and he insisted on going with me. That was really nice of him. He’s a good kid. He called earlier to say he was running late. I told him to just meet me there but he was worried about my having to drive afterwards. I assured him that I’d be okay based on what the doctor told me earlier. When I got to the hospital, he was already waiting for me at the entrance. I think he was more nervous than I was. He was a mess, but that’s okay. We took the elevator the basement. He gave me a big hug and a kiss and told me that he loved me before I was escorted to the treatment room.

I was introduced to my team of technicians who would be actually doing the treatment. There were three of them: Stephanie, Angie and Jesse. I assumed the position. You know, pants and underwear down to you ankles, and of course the modesty towel. I said something to the effect that “I don’t know why we bother with the towel, you guys are going to see my stuff everyday for three and half weeks and by that time you will know it well.” But I used the modesty towel anyway. Up on the table I went and they checked the alignment marks. I got an ultrasound to find out where everything was and was readjusted on the table so the machine would know where to send its beam of radiation. I still had mega problems with rectal balloon. In Fact, I commented to my team that I had a new name for it. The new name was “a--- balloon.” But they didn’t think it was as funny and I did. I said something like, “Oh come on now, throw me a bone, work with me here.”

Okay, all the small talk was dispensed with and my alignment was checked and approved by the doctor. It was now time for the machine. The machine that gives me the radiation is called a Linear Accelerator. My technicians call it “Linac 4.” It looks like some sort of clone of a machine from the Star Wars movie. Particularly, the little white ones the bad guys were buzzing through the forest on. It’s really big and white. Clean looking. Intimidating.

So I’m up on the table and Linac position itself to my right. It gave me three doses of radiation on each my left and right sides and dose just above my naval. Each one of the seven doses last for about thirty seconds. The whole session lasted about eight minutes. It took more time to get ready than it did for the treatment. It was like having an x-ray done. I didn’t feel anything, except the rectal balloon. I thought to myself, “Self, you can do this.” And in all honesty, I will, no matter how much discomfort it may cause. Pain is temporary, the other option is permanent.

When I was done Jeremy was there waiting for me. He had worried himself ragged about what was going on with me back there. He wanted to know all that had happened and if I was feeling okay. He gave me another big hug and told me he loved me again. Remember, I told you he was a good kid.

The first radiation treatment was over. Eighteen more to go.

A Modesty Towel For You, Sir?

Having decided on a treatment plan, it was now time to put the plan into action. I know I’ve already told you that I started a treatment plan the Tuesday after Labor Day, but I “wants” to tell you how I got there. You know, bring you “Up To Speed.”

On July 18, I met with my Radiation Oncologists and two interns. We discussed all the pros and cons of radiation treatment. This is also where I asked about being involved in a clinical trial or protocol. One of the interns, a female, conducted a survey that asked me a lot of personal questions relative to all my body functions. At first, I was uncomfortable with the very personal nature of the questions, but quickly learned that while she was a woman, the questions were necessary if they were going to help me through this. She recognized how uncomfortable I was and put me at ease by telling me that the information was needed in order find out where I am now and to chart my condition during treatment and after-treatment. (She now knows more about me than Barb does)

If its one thing that I have learned about prostate cancer, besides all the different options, it is that modesty has no place here. And all of you know that I am a very modest man. Being modest made it very difficult to answer some of the questions. Sometimes I would sit and look dumfounded and she would say, “Should I repeat the question?” And I would say, “No, I heard the question. I’m just trying to decide how to answer it.” At one point, toward the end of the questions, I said something like, “Now that you know all this personal stuff about me, we will have to run off and get married.” She thought that was funny. After she finished laughing, I said “I’m not kidding.” But by the end of the questions, I was comfortable with her. No! I didn’t run off and marry her.

Now if you think that my interaction with her was a wake up call for me and my modesty, think again. My modesty is about to go right out the window. (And the window wasn’t even open)

On August 29, I showed up at the clinic for a scheduled CT scan. This is a procedure where they took a series of picture of inside of my body at different angles. The pictures are made by a computer linked to an x-ray machine. (Remember I told you I had a catheter story to tell you? Well now is the time for that story) I walked into the examination room and didn’t have a clue about what was going to happen. The nurse told me that she needed to take a picture of me for my medical file. She then said, “You will need to take your pants and underwear down and get up on the table” She gave me a “modesty towel” to cover my “stuff” with. I said, “Down or off?” She replied, “Whichever you are comfortable with.” (I wanted to say, “Neither.”) So here I am standing in the middle of the room with my pants and underwear down around my ankles trying to cover up with a modesty towel. I was thinking that she had already seen most of my stuff anyway, why do I need a modesty towel? (I thought maybe she should have taken a picture of me naked since everyone would be seeing me with my clothes off anyway) She told me to lie on the table and the nurse who would be inserting the catheter would be in shortly. I was lying on the table when the other nurse came in. I instinctively put out my right arm, thinking she was going to draw blood. She said, “I’m not going to draw blood today.” Holding a catheter in her hand, she said “I’m going to insert this catheter in your p---.” I said, “You are going to insert what, where?” She restated what she had said before. “I’m going to insert this catheter in your p---.” Suddenly I realized what she was talking about. And it wasn’t what I had in mind. Oh, sure I had heard about catheters. Milt told me about them. He tells me about everything. Even stuff I don’t want to know. But he tells me anyway. I had never actually seen or been that close to one. I just remember Milt telling me how uncomfortable and painful it was. Now, I was really on edge. Just the thought of that long, big tube going into that small place all the way to my bladder made me shiver. But you know what? It really didn’t hurt at all.

The nurse injected a dye into my bladder through the catheter so that my bladder would show up more clearly on the pictures. Besides the catheter, I was fitted with and inherited my very own personal rectal balloon to be used during each of my treatment session. (I felt so special) Let’s see a show of hands from all of you who have their very own personalized rectal balloon. (Just what I thought, none of you have one. See I told you I was special) The rectal balloon keeps that part of you out of the way so it doesn’t get too much radiation. For if it did, diarrhea would be the outcome. Reference marks were made by injecting dye (Black, I think) through a needle into my skin so that the radiation machine could be aligned during treatment. I asked the nurse why she didn’t use white ink, it would show up better. With wonderment, she stared at me for a little bit and laughed.

After the pictures were taken, everything came out much easier than they went in. I asked where the bathroom was. I was in the bathroom for what seemed like hours. I thought they were going to send the orderly looking for me. I just needed to go sit to see if I had any business to conduct. I didn’t, but it sure felt like I did. I also checked to see if all my parts were still intact and where they are suppose to be.

When it comes to pulling my clothes down in front of people I don’t know, I now say to myself that I don’t have anything that they haven’t seen before. But then again they haven’t seen mine. But now as I look back, after having a chance and reflect, I find myself laughing. Some great person once said, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” Life is great.

I have a lot of fun with my experiences. Writing about my experiences helps me deal with the situation I have been dealt. Cancer is a very serious business. Cancer is sad. Cancer is painful. Cancer kills. Cancer is scary. Writing about my encounters, with a sometime humorous bite, is not meant to imply that cancer is funny. It is not. When I walk into that clinic every day I see young people, old people, women, men, and children finishing up or waiting for their appointment. Some of them don’t have hair. Some of them in wheelchairs. Some of them on crutches. Some days I am scared as hell. I have to look at the humorous side of my experiences otherwise I wouldn't be able to stay positive and upbeat. It’s just my way of surviving. Nothing more, nothing less.

Peace, Love and Happiness!

The Decision

This is all foreign to me. It’s confusing. It’s scary. And it’s stressful. Understanding it all helps me to make some sense out of it. And writing about prostate cancer helps me understand it. (Most of you already know that I am a concrete sequential learner)

What treatment I decided, you ask. (The answer should be obvious since you already know I don’t like pain, but I will tell you anyway) Well, after weighing all the pros and cons of each of treatment plan, and with much consternation and prayer, I elected to do the radiation treatment. Radiation treatment uses high-energy to damage cancer cells so that they cannot multiply. But in doing so, some good cells are also damaged. But the good cells that are damaged can repair themselves while the damaged cancer cells cannot repair themselves. And therein is the theory behind radiation treatment. (One of treatment team members told me that)

Remember earlier I told you that there are two types of radiation treatment. One is external and one is internal. In external radiation, also called beam radiation therapy, radiation is given from a very big machine much like an x-ray machine. With internal radiation therapy, radioactive pellets, called “seeds” are injected into the prostate gland with a long sharp needle. (It hurts me just talking about it) Both radiation types work about the same in curing prostate cancer. Like told you before, I am a wimp and will avoid pain when possible. So I chose the external beam radiation therapy. But seriously it wasn’t all about avoiding the pain. It was the best choice for me considering my circumstances.

I started radio therapy last week, the Tuesday after Labor Day. I get machine therapy five days a week. I don’t need anesthesia and there is no pain. The side effects are milder than the side effects that can come with the seed implant. My daily treatment sessions last less than thirty minutes. I get to come home afterwards, with minimum side effects so far, and continue with my daily routines.

Normally an external radiation treatment plan last for about seven weeks or 35-36 daily treatments; however, I elected to become involved in a “clinical trial” or “protocol” as called by the UW Clinics. The protocol I am involved with, like other trials, is used to research new ways of treating people with prostate cancer. Instead of the normal seven week treatment plan, my protocol last for only 3 ½ weeks. I receive slightly more radiation on a daily basis than a person would on a normal plan. But in the end I receive about the same amount of radiation as they would.

As I said before, my Web Log gives me an opportunity to understand all of this stuff. I keep a personal daily journal about all of my experiences in the clinic and about my circumstances. Keeping the journal helps me to better complete several required surveys and it helps me to verbalize what I am dealing with. It’s a way for me to internalize it all. And maybe in some small way my writings will help someone else who may find themselves in a similar situation. It is my contribution to the betterment of my protocol.

Louisiana Family Okay

My family members in Louisiana are all well and survived the hurricane. Most of my relatives live in the northern part of the state and really was not in harms way. Earlier I told you that I was in Louisiana in August.

That trip put me in New Orleans the week before the hurricane hit. It is hard to imagine all that has happened in just two short weeks. But it did. I look at some of the places on television that I had just seen or had been and they weren’t there anymore. I have relatives and college friends living in New Orleans. I didn’t see any of my dad’s relatives while I there. And there are a lot of them; uncles, aunts, and cousins. I don’t know how they are doing. I assume they are okay because we haven’t gotten any phone calls, but then the phones weren’t working. None of the bulletin boards I have visited over the internet have any of their names posted as missing.

My college classmates living in New Orleans lost everything they had. And we are talking everything; houses and property. One of my sister’s friends and her husband decided not to rebuild in New Orleans but to relocate back to our home town of Tallulah.

The Tallulah Community Center is used as a shelter when people are evacuated from the southern cities. They live at the center until the danger is over. They sleep on cots in the gym and cooked meals are brought in to them daily.

My people living in Northeast Louisiana are more affected by crowdedness created by relocations. It has put a real strain on services like gasoline, grocery stores, clothing stores and automobiles. They are dealing with as best they can with the faith that all will be well in the end. Baton Rouge was the hardest hit by relocation efforts. All of the city’s school buses were used to move people from the Super Dome and all of the schools were closed. Baton Rouge is really, really crowded. Barb has a brother living in Baton Rouge. He and his family did not evacuate.

Here is an excerpt written by Jennifer Moses of the Washington Post that describes the situation in Baton Rouge:
“Unlike New Orleans, which may never recover, Baton Rouge, on the western edge of the storm, was largely spared and may even profit, at least in the short term. With a near doubling in population since last week -- making Baton Rouge Louisiana's most populous city -- housing prices are rising, and you can't get a rental, let alone a hotel room. In neighborhoods like mine, the lights (and, more important, the air conditioning) are going back on, and life has more or less resumed its everyday pace. There are the usual "yard men" cleaning up and mowing, young women jogging and people walking their dogs. Less apparent to the naked eye are the heroics: the folks down the street who have taken in some friends of friends; the secretary who is accommodating a family of out-of-town volunteer doctors; the retired nurse who is pulling back-to-back shifts in the maternity section of the nearest shelter. In fact, if you stay in the white sections of the city, all you'll really notice, in terms of Katrina, are the many downed tree branches and the buzz of chainsaws. You won't see a heavy police presence; you won't see teams of people from the Federal Emergency Management Agency; and you sure as hell won't see the Louisiana National Guard.
The problem is, you won't see these teams in the crisis centers either, or at least not in sufficient numbers. Baton Rouge, a city of some 350,000, is now accommodating another 350,000 or so, mainly in arenas that have been converted into shelters. Louisiana State University's field house is now the site of ungodly suffering, a modern Bosch's hell, and more refugees are pouring in by the hour. Next to it, Pete Maravich Assembly Center, where on ordinary weekends the LSU Tigers reign triumphant, is the center of triage units: screaming babies, women giving birth, old people having heart attacks, dialysis, and desperation. Beyond the crisis centers, refugees huddle in gas stations, parking lots and any place with shade.”

I have a sister living in Houston but haven’t talked to her about how her city is doing. My guess is that her already crowed city is even more crowded and taxed for services.

“Love ya!”
Later

I Am Doing Fine

I have gotten a lot of phone calls from many of you this past week. Some of you wanted to know how I was doing and others wanted to know why I didn’t tell anyone.

I want to thank all of you who are genuinely concerned about me. Like I said before I started this Web Log to let everyone know how I am doing, both in health and in retirement.

In spite of the prostate cancer, I continue to feel good and I am having a lots of fun writing, taking a writing class at MATC (look out if you thought I had words before. Now I am going to be dangerous), photography workshops in Chicago and desktop publishing at UW. I am still working on a book about my family’s history. I don’t know how I ever got any of this fun stuff done when I worked full time.

I am not in any pain or suffering or anything like that as a result of the cancer. For now, it’s just the inconvenience of having to go for treatment every day. But then again, going to treatment every day is far better than being dead. I have a really professional, great, cool and caring Treatment Team at the Cancer Clinic. It makes going there more tolerable.

I know the word was out that I had some sort of terminal illness. I heard that in late July. Some people had me pushing up daisies already. I chose not to deal with the rumor at that time because I had other issues that were more immediate. Like mamma’s death, putting Beau to sleep, and most of all getting the strength and finding the time to tell all my siblings and family members. It just never seemed like the right time. It’s hard to tell someone about something that you really don’t understand. So I had to find out more about prostate cancer before I could talk about it. It’s more than just telling people, “Hey I got prostate cancer.” It became more about “What is it”, “Why do I have it”, “Where does it come from”, “What does it look like”, “What am I going to do about it”, and “How will it affect my quality of life.” I had to get those questions answered first. While I have most of the questions answered, I still have to deal with the uncertainty of the outcome for which there are no answers until treatment is done.

I got most of the talking done with my siblings, but there are more, especially Barb’s family that I need to talk to. I continue to work on that daily. Anyways, that is why nobody knew.

Again, thanks for your genuine concern about me and I will keep all of you "Up To Speed" with information that you can find here in my Blog.

Later!

So What's The Plan Man?

So that was how most of my summer went. Like I said earlier, I had a decision to make as to which treatment option to choose. The options were: do nothing and wait it out, radical surgery, seed implant, freezing the prostate, hormone therapy or radiation therapy. I also looked at chemotherapy and biological therapy. Since I was told that my cancer was in its early stage and considering my age, the seed implant or radiation therapy seemed to be the two best options for me.

If I was to do nothing and wait out the cancer I would live 10-15 years because prostate cancer moves slowly. In watchful waiting you get no treatment but see your doctor often. If the tumor starts to grow hormone therapy can be started. That would have been considered if I was older.

My urologist talked to me about surgically removing the prostate. But more than the prostate would be removed. The prostate, the seminal vesicles, and a portion of the urethra are removed. The urethra is then attached to the bladder and you have to urinate through a catheter until you heal. (And do I have a catheter story to tell you) I wasn’t keen on any of the invasive options, radical surgery or seed implant. Call me a wimp but I just can’t stand the pain. (Probably because of my experience with the biopsy or my general hatred of pain). During the biopsy, the urologist used a thin needle to remove tiny tissue samples from several areas of the prostate. That was not comfortable at all and it affected my urine and bowls for two weeks. I had that done after learning about my PSA (prostate specific antigen) numbers. There are also some risks associated with surgery that concerned me. Loss of bladder control, infection, bleeding, difficulty urinating and bowel perforation. But in spite of all the risks, surgery is the most effective option if the cancer is confined to the prostate.

The seed implant is where actual radiation seeds, a lot of them, are planted directly into the prostate. Now remember my experience I just told you I had with the biopsy. I thought about the implants for a hot minute. The thought of having more needles stuck there makes me grimace and send shivers up my spine.

Then there is freezing the prostate. Now I don’t know about you but the thought of having your stuff frozen also didn’t bring any pleasant thoughts to my mind either. So, that option was quickly dismissed. (I probably should be open minded)

Hormone therapy is an attempt to lower the level of the male hormones, called androgens, which are produced in the testicles. Androgens, such as testosterone, help the prostate cancer grow. You get monthly shots. I learned that hormone treatment is used mostly when the cancer has spread outside the prostate gland.

On July 18, I met with a radiation oncologist and two interns at the Cancer Center of UW Hospital and Clinics to discuss radiotherapy or radiation. The UW Cancer Center is the only comprehensive cancer center in Wisconsin meeting the high standard for designation as “comprehensive” by the National Cancer Institute. They focus on the best care for patients with cancer; on research, education and prevention. (See, I told you I did my homework and research on the second trip to Tallulah) I wanted to learn all I could about prostate cancer and my treatment choices. The Radiation Oncology Department is frequently rated among the nation’s best.

Here is the scoop on radiation therapy. Radiation therapy is done using a machine that sends beams of radiation or x-rays from outside the body to the cancer. The risks that I considered were: mild to moderate diarrhea, frequent urination, fatigue and/or gas. (I experience most of that right now) Also with radiation some normal prostate cells may be damaged or the cancer could come back years later.

The big factors for me are that after each treatment I would most likely be able to follow my normal routine and at ten years after treatment, the cure rates are about the same for radiation therapy and radical surgery. There are no surgical risks with radiation therapy. There’s no risk of bleeding. You don’t have to stay in the hospital. You recover faster.

My intent in sharing the treatment plans with you is not to show you how smart I am (although I am) but rather to reveal the process I went through to arrive at a decision and only that.

Now that you are “up to speed” on all of the treatment options, (there will be a test later) and you still don’t know what option I chose. We have a little ways to go before I get to that point.

Life Goes On In Spite Of.....

Okay!

Where do I start this Web Log or journal? Bright idea! From the beginning. No, not the beginning of me, but the beginning of this spring. I won't be able to catch you "up to speed" this sitting. I'll just work on it. I will keep in mind that most of my readers will be family and friends, so I will keep it lite and interesting.

This past summer has been one of many changes for me. I announced my retirement from education in late March and dealt with that better than most. I told myself (and others told me as well) that that part of my life was ending and new one is beginning; that I was retiring from the job as a principal, but not from the job of life. I am surrounded by a lot of very smart people.

Anyway, that was in June. In early July Barb and I were off to Atlanta, Texas. (Yes, there is an Atlanta, Texas) We attended a reunion of the Thomas, Allen and Green families, my father's family. Before Atlanta we stopped in Vicksburg to see mama who had been hospitalized because she had develop complications associated with her diabetes. We left her in good spirits and headed to Atlanta. On Sunday, July 3rd her condition deteriorated and we returned to Vicksburg. Very quietly, just after mid-night, she slipped off to Heaven surrounded by her children. The medical staff commented that they had never witnessed a more peaceful passing. It's something that will always be with me. (More about mama in the summer newsletter)

I took another trip to Louisiana in early August. It was hotter than....everyday. By the time I ventured out to breakfast, bout 10AM, it was in the low 90's. I hadn't been South in August in a long time. Now I know why. That trip was for a little RnR and I promised my nephew Kenny that I would bring the boat so we could go fishing. And we did and we caught fish. Besides, fishing and RnR, I did a lot of research of my father's ancestors. I spent four days in the archives at New Orleans and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. New Orleans won't be the same anymore either, but that's another writing.

For some of you this is an affirmation and for others of you this is news. In mid-June I completed my routine physical examination which included among other things a prostrate test. You know when you get over 50 your body parts act like they don't know you anymore. Anyway the test showed that my PSA level has increased significantly since the last time. PSA is an enzyme produced only by the prostrate. It's the amount of PSA that is leaked into the blood that is measured. As one gets older the prostrate enlarges and produces more of the enzyme. The normal range for men my age is between 2.5-4.0. My first test was 12.1. The second test in mid-July showed showed it at 9.9. Dr. Nemovitz had felt a hard spot on my prostrate during the physical exam. My urologist confirmed that my prostrate was in the early stage of cancer. Meaning that the cancer was confined to the prostrate. Needless to say, I was very concerned but not alarmed. That's probably because my urologist was cool about the whole thing. Nonetheless, I was concerned about my quality of life and just plain life.

Life took on a new meaning. I developed an urgency about matters, especially family. You don't know if all will be well in the end or if the end is near. But life must go on in spite of all else. No matter the end results, I promised myself that I would not lie around and wallow in slop.

The first test put a lot on my mind during mamma's funeral but I chose to not talk about it until the results of the second test were known. The family didn't need anything else on its plate except mama. By the time I made the second trip to Tallulah I knew a decision had to be made with respect to a treatment plan. My options were to do nothing, radical surgery to remove the prostrate, radiation seed implant into the prostrate, freezing the prostrate, and radiation treatment. The second trip to Tallulah was more than RnR and family research. I was a time to think and to decide. All of the treatment options, I was told, had a 98% cure rate.

As I said before, when you get older your parts forget who the boss is and act like they don't know the rest of the body anymore. And that goes for dogs too. Beau Jangles of Buckeye, my Black Lab and hunting companion of twelve and a half years didn't fair well when I was gone the second time. He was blind, couldn't walk down the stairs to the basement and couldn't hear. He was suffering and I was suffering watching him suffer. On Wednesday, August 24 I had the vet put him to sleep. I thought it was going to be easy, but it was one of the most traumatic things I have ever done. Thursday I was close to hitting bottom. I had an appointment to see a web designer on the west side about Yogi's Gang our family web Site. She had a Yellow Lab named Katie. I think Katie knew something was up with me. She couldn't talk so I will never know what she knew. Anyway I spent most of the appointment hugging and kissing Katie. That was just the therapy the doctor ordered. Katie was happy and I was happy. Very happy.