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!