UPDATE - Issue 26 - Summer 2006
It could happen to you
Mr Eugene McInerney's story
The results were back, the PSA was 9, but I wasn't worried, denial had set in. Then it was 12, then 18; my GP told me to agree to further investigation or he would get very cross.
The urologist said the Digital Rectal Examination would just be uncomfortable, so relax, and offer it up. Relax he said. Impossible said I, as I nodded for him to proceed. One can get used to the petty indignities associated with DRE but the sensation is always unique! 'Off for a biopsy' he said, 'see you for the main event'.
A shy young nurse, about my daughter's age came in to place the suppository, we discussed the weather, where she came from, where I was born, etc. However, it still had to be done. The operating theatre was crowded and I asked the anaesthetist why. 'Oh' he said, 'the other operating room was temporarily out of commission so they were killing some time by coming in for a look'. My insides on a TV screen didn't strike me as being a crowd puller.
Back to my urologist, to be told I had prostate cancer, but not to worry as his oldest patient was in his nineties. He neglected to mention whether he was dead or alive at the time. Hormone therapy and radiotherapy was my preferred choice and he agreed with that. Off I went armed with a letter which made comfortable reading as it did not mention disease, cancer or death once.
At the hospital I was introduced to the clinical nurse who would oversee my treatment, a woman with a calm, serene disposition - perfect for the job she held. The 42 treatments went off without a hitch, and testosterone's influence gradually faded out of my life. What an education that became. The mind clouding allure of the female form was gone. I was no longer victim to irrational desires - everybody equal in every way, social utopia! One could now understand the contentment of the neutered cat or dog.
Three weeks after finishing treatment I suffered urinary retention, due to radiation cystitis, and headed for the A and E department at the speed of light. Shock and awe, it couldn't be happening to me, but it was. My mind was in meltdown, my body disintegrating, all I wanted was for them to put a catheter in and save me! Back home, I took on the form of a beached whale, afraid to move in case I suffered the fate of a bee that had used its sting, but a few calming phone calls from nurse serene had me up and about and back to work in no time.
Delays from the hospital in removing the catheter prompted me to remove it myself. With great care and trepidation I released the pressure from the bulb, and withdrew it very, very, very, slowly, one last pull and I was free! It was wonderful to see and hear my 'nurse serene' glide over the issue as to where the catheter had gone when queried by the doctors.
Every side effect possible came to me in ones and twos, except one and all are now gone, except one. In my dreamtime, I often mused about living longer than that famous French woman Jeanne Louise Calment, who lived to 122 but a Gleason 7 reading crashes me back to a different life span band very quickly. In the meantime I will gently ease myself on to a dairy free diet and indulge in the many herbal compounds available over the counter, for their placebo effects at least!
The remaining side effect kicked in just as the 'sap' was rising, about a year after the treatment finished. This has opened up a completely new world of endeavour for me with herbal substitutes for Viagra leading the charge. I am now like the vintage car owner working towards its full restoration and looking forward to bringing it out for occasional drives if optimum circumstances return!