Betrayal

My body has betrayed me. This guy

has let me down.

A couple years ago, at my annual physical exam, my primary care doctor asked if I would like him to include a PSA in my yearly blood panel. He said I was young for a PSA, but since prostate cancer has been getting diagnosed earlier in men, they now recommend it to men below 50. And, as you know, I am WAY below 50. So I agreed. It came back a little high. Not red flag high, but high. I spoke with a urologist who recommended a biopsy, but I declined. The biopsy seemed quite invasive and unnecessary. Two years later, my PSA had increased, so I consulted a different urologist who also recommended a biopsy. This time, I went ahead and bit the bullet. Literally, I was biting a bullet during the procedure. It isn't anyone's idea of a good time. Even with a doctor who makes cracks like "Hey, at least you're not at the dentist!" while he is in there extracting tissue, which feels like being snapped with a rubber band repeatedly. In your butt. The biopsy came back showing evidence of cancer in seven of ten tissue samples, and a few of them showed a moderate amount. This is called a Gleason 6 which is the lowest score you can get on a prostate biopsy. That's good. You don't want a high score on this particular test. What that means is, I had a slow-growing cancer, but a fair amount of it which could spread over time. Most men will have some degree of prostate cancer at some point if they live long enough. Most will die of something else. Still, prostate cancer is the second leading cause of cancer-related death in men. It can spread through the lymph nodes, into other organs and into the bones and spine. These are things you never want to deal with. My doctor recommended a robotic laparoscopic prostatectomy. He explained that he would remove the entire prostate and look for any other evidence of cancer while he is in there. Naturally, I was flummoxed. I couldn't believe this was actually being spoken. How could this even be true? There's no history of prostate cancer in my family. None that I know of anyway. In fact, I've always felt like my family has some sort of celestial shield around us protecting us from disease. None of us has suffered from any of the dreadful diseases so many suffer from, and we haven't all lived the healthiest lifestyles, let me tell ya. I really thought something was wrong with this diagnosis. Did my test get switched with some other poor patient's? Was the pathologist new? Maybe he was using outdated equipment? Is this a scam? Do they over-diagnose this to keep patients beholden to the system? Something was not right. But I let the doctor give me his advice. Tommy was with me so he took notes and asked lots of questions and even recorded the consultation. Initially, afterwards, Tommy and I agreed that surgery was probably the way to go. But I was still in denial. I went down the cyber rabbit hole and read all kinds of articles and transcripts about Gleason 6 and prostate cancer and differing opinions about what it means and how to address it. I watched two videos I found online of the actual robotic procedure to see exactly what they do in there. It freaked me out a bit that a robot is inside you cutting and cauterizing and moving things. What if the robot goes haywire? I saw I, Robot. What if the robot hasn't been oiled in a while? What if it breaks mid-surgery? What if I flinch? What if I wake up mid-surgery? This was some crazy shit around which my head had trouble wrapping. I reached out to some trusted friends who connected me to other men who have gone through this. We talked about the risks, the recovery process, the alternatives. I picked up a book at Powell's. In fact, everyone shopping at Powell's that day knows I picked up the book because I made the rookie mistake of stopping at the information desk to ask where I might find books about cancer, not realizing that the loud information agent would ask numerous follow-up questions. "WHAT KIND OF CANCER?" "ARE YOU LOOKING FOR TREATMENT BOOKS OR ESSAYS OR JOURNALS?" "DO YOU KNOW THE AUTHOR?" "DID YOU SAY PROSTATE CANCER?"

I eventually found what I needed. A book by Dr Sheldon Marks that is dated but still addresses a lot of the questions and concerns that cancer patients have. I went to a urologist in a different network, who also provides radiation therapy, to ask his advice. He agreed surgery was the best choice and that my doctor was among the best. Okay. It seemed like this is the way to go. I scheduled the surgery for April 4th. I opted not to post about it on social media. This wasn't out of shame or fear or anything like that. It really was just that I didn't have anything to say. I didn't want people to feel like I needed their sympathy or advice or whatever. I just felt like I wanted to keep it among a few people who I see or talk to the most. So why am I talking about it now? Because I want people (at least people with the time to read this diatribe) to understand what the timeline and the thought process was. It turns out I have a lot of friends who love me. And cancer is a scary thing which, evidently, can happen to any of us. Why me though? Why did I get cancer? Once I accepted that it was real, I got really upset by how unfair it is. This of course led to me saying "Well, what is fair? Is it fair that dear friends of mine have been fighting for cancer for years? Is it fair that dear friends have lost their battle?" The answer of course is "No. It's pretty messed up. There is no fairness."

Eight days before my surgery, I went in to see my doctor for a pre-op consult. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this would include a shot of anesthesia right into the tip of my little buddy and a scope inserted right through the urethra and into my bladder. HOOYAH! I screamed and jumped up from the table which is exactly what the doctor gets for not forewarning me that I would be doing this before I came in. He said he was glad to see no lumps or anything of concern in the bladder or the prostate. Great. But, after I left his office, I started thinking "Am I making a mistake? Am I jumping the gun on this? Shouldn't I maybe watch and wait?" I reached out to my primary care doctor who I adore, and I told him my concerns. He replied immediately with a very thoughtful response which basically amounted to "You are doing the right thing by having surgery." A friend also connected me to another person who had gone through the surgery, and they also sent me a very detailed summary of their experience and encouraged me to go with the surgery.  Okay, I guess I'm doing this. 

On April 3rd, I stopped eating solid food and drank an entire bottle of Miralax. You can guess how that evening went. April 4th, I reported to the good sisters at Providence St Vincent's hospital for surgery at 6:30 am.  They took good care of me and prepped me for surgery. At 8:15, the anesthesiologist came in and talked to me a little about the sedative cocktail. I remember he explained it, he started administering it, he said it was time to head up to surgery, and I remember nothing after that moment until I woke up at 2 something back in the little waiting area being tended to by a very cute young nurse named Joel. I mean, I think he was very cute. I was seeing through tiny eye slits and under heavy medication. Eventually, I was rolled up to my private room, room 758, with a lovely view. Tommy was with me the entire time, which was a very good thing as I had two vicious attacks of pain that evening and the next morning where I thought I might actually be having a heart attack. My stomach cramped, my chest tightened, pain shot from my stomach up through my right shoulder, and I could only take short shallow breaths. It was incredibly scary. Due to those attacks, my doctor ordered that I stay one more night and have an EKG, a chest X-ray and a CAT scan. The CAT scan is really freaky like a Kubrick film. "HOLD YOUR BREATH." "BREATHE." Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh. And then again. Trippy.

Fortunately, all those tests came back just fine. No heart issues, no blood clots in the lungs. But I stayed in the hospital well into the next day. I was finally discharged at 6:30 pm on April 6th. It felt so good to get out of there, into the Portland rain and the cool spring air and walk. They did offer me a wheelchair out to the car which I absolutely refused.

Recovery is going very well. Tommy is an excellent nurse. He insists on doing everything for me. Quite honestly, I don't know how I would do all this without him. Furthermore, scads of friends have reached out and sent words of encouragement, flowers, candy, food, funny cards, etc. I can finally eat solid food after FIVE DAYS OF CLEAR LIQUIDS. That first taste of oatmeal and apple sauce was heaven. I can't wait for enchiladas.

Throughout this process, I have really questioned "why" a lot. I want a solid answer. Why did I get prostate cancer? Was I too reckless with my prostate in my teens? And twenties? And thirties? Is God punishing me for being a judgy b? But I need to let the need for an answer go. Why am I not a movie star? Why am I not on Broadway? Why have I never won the Oregon St Patrick's Day Raffle even though I buy MULTIPLE tickets EVERY FREAKING YEAR? These are questions that are never going to return definite answers. I can speculate all day long. I wasn't born into the movie business. I didn't spend ten years in New York doing workshops and regionals and tours. The Oregon St Patrick's Day Raffle is a hoax, and NO ONE EVER WINS IT! But there really are no definite answers to these questions. Just like there will never be an answer to why did I get cancer. I did. And I am truly grateful that I was born into privilege, that I am a healthy able person, that I am supported and loved, that I live in a community of people that would carry me on their backs if I was weak. I mean, the stronger ones would. The little ones would cheer them on. I live in an epicenter of great cancer care. I have friends who have fought a much harder fight than I have had to fight, and there are plenty of people in the world suffering much greater difficulties than this. With no sarcasm intended, I am truly blessed.

I had a check-in with my doctor yesterday to hear the results of the biopsy. It was not the news I wanted. The samples from my lymph nodes came back totally negative. YES! However, they did find a slightly higher grade of cancer peripherally outside the prostate. This means I need to continually monitor this. I will have a PSA in six weeks and again every quarter for two years to see what the number does. If it stays low, I am probably in the clear, though I will always continue to check it. If it goes up, that means the cancer is growing and should be treated with radiation. This is not the news I was looking for. BUT the prostate itself is out. That was the mountain. The lymph nodes show no cancer. So we watch it. Hopefully, it will never do anything. If it does, than we put the gloves back on. HA! I just realized the gloves could mean latex gloves. I've seen plenty of those in the last six weeks! WHEW! I meant fighting gloves. But either way.

My point, and I do have one, is I want everyone to know that cancer does not discriminate. Be diligent. Get checked. Yes, it is scary and annoying. But value your life and your health, and be proactive. You are your best advocate. Take care of and cherish your body. 

I also want to thank you because A. If you've read this, you are an incredibly patient and compassionate individual. And B. You are probably also one of the cherished friends who has made this journey a lot easier. I truly count myself so fortunate to have the love and light and support and encouragement and laughter (although I can't really laugh right now, so don't make me) I have in my life. Thank you so so much for being the light. I am not the demonstrative one when it comes to reaching out and keeping people abreast of my stuff, but it does mean a lot when others reach out to me. It lifts me up. And I feel like I am fighting a fight with hundreds of strong, funny, loving, fabulous people around me. And that is a really good feeling.