The doctor called last week. I have prostate cancer. Hmmmm. The upside is at 61 I don't have to wonder if and when it will happen. It has. One less worry.
Every year the doc orders one to pee in the bottle and serve up some blood. Tests you know....couple days later the nurse's call comes...all is ok. This time the nurse doesn't call. It's from Art. Funny, I thought his first name was Doctor.
I always wondered about how I would feel when the fantasy call became reality.
Pretty calm, I guess. Everybody that doesn't have a nasty disease always offers up that, well, "they have lotsa ways to fix than, pretty routine you know." I said it myself. But it also seems pragmatism comes easy when you're 61 and your kids are approaching middle age and your grandkids are teenagers. One is struck by the thought that maybe one got more than he deserved in that regard.
I've been watching my friends, associates and aquaintenances over the years get one disease or another. Some have passed on...too many have passed on. One measures his odds watching this happen, is comforted by "the other guy's" misfortune; works the odds in one's favor. Surprise!
Friday's Cat scan of the pelvic area only shows a hairball that will be coughed up tonight with a little luck and some with the assistance of some brandy and wine swirled together in a proper glass. (For those of you in Loma Linda...Cat scan?...hairball?..get it?) Had an MRI of my brain once. I have been fond of saying they "found nothing". Same thing with the Cat scan. That means the cancer has stayed local in the prostate gland. That is actually a good thing.
Imagine, the treatment for that only brings impotence and incontinence is preferable to the alternative. Perhaps a fair exchange for bladder, spine and pelvis tumors. In retrospect, not a bad exchange, afterall.
Well, I go to the doc this Thursday to discuss options. Trying not to query the internet too much because of sensory overload. Senses are overloaded quite enough already.
Another upside: SWMBO has been more tolerent of my aberant (sp?) behaviour the last couple weeks. She REALLY does love me. (Those of you with truly low self esteem know what I'm talking about.)
I've also discovered just about everybody male either has prostate cancer, had prostate cancer, or knows somebody that does or has. What in the world is this all about?
Well, sorry to blather about this. Well, no I'm not. It actualy feels pretty good to do this. Do they call this self actualization? Actually maybe it's too much wine. Gonna get me another one now. As Arnie is fond of saying, "I'll be back".