Who else can laugh about prostate cancer?

Dear Chocolate Cream Centers readers,

I got this email from my younger brother Jim the other day and those excruciating images have been yanking at the corners of my mouth ever since. But our prayers have again been answered and it looks like he’ll (eventually) be fine. My Dad died of prostate cancer about 22 years ago, so my brothers are especially watchful. Jim is the third of five brothers to get the diagnosis. He may be laughin’ now, but I don’t think he was lovin’ life a week ago!

He’s a cutie, aint he? Deena’s nothin’ to sneeze at neither!

 

Dear Family and Friends,

A brief commentary on my recent experience.  (you might want to turn your head or cover your eyes during some parts of this description)

“Your x-ray looks perfect!”  were the words Dr. David Esrig, my urologist, proclaimed as he walked into the exam room.  “Let’s take that catheter out.”

A wave of relief swept over me as my darkest dread was that I would have to endure another week of being tethered to an ever-filling plastic bag hanging down the inside of my left leg.

Prior to his arrival in the exam room, I was provided plenty of time to reflect on the experiences of the previous week.  Surgery had been performed exactly a week earlier:  Surgery Monday morning, recovery-room that afternoon,and then hospitalization that night and most of the next day.  I was asked to stop eating anything solid on the Sunday afternoon prior to surgery and it wasn’t until Tuesday morning that any food was allowed.

 I wasn’t especially hungry, but the whole idea of being deprived of nourishment bothered me.  My only ‘food’ to that point was from the bag dripping into my IV.   Finally, late Tuesday morning, the nurse asked if I wanted to try some eggs and a bowl of cream-of-wheat.  That sounded great–a good shot of protein and some nice carbs to fuel my recovery.  When I took the cover off my first meal, my heart sank a little.  The eggs were the right color, but any additional resemblance to what I knew of this classic breakfast item ended there.   Still, my desire to eat drove me on.  The first taste taught me an important lesson that I wouldn’t forget:   when ordering food, also order salt or seasoning to accompany your selection.  I ate them anyway.  The paste-of-wallpaper was the same–all goo, no gusto.  My next two meals, however, were actually quite good because I checked the little box on the menu next to salt and then scrawled, “times 2” next to it.  The culinary team at River Bend Hospital rose to the occasion at midday by treating me with a delicious presentation of pureed sweet and sour sauce smothering a chicken breast piece (even had felt-penned grill marks on it) over a bed of rice.  The accompanying mashed potatoes and gravy, once salted, were also enjoyable.

I was released from the hospital on Tuesday evening and my dear wife drove me home.  Before discharge, I was given careful instruction on catheter care and given the order to pass gas at my soonest convenience.  Those of you who know me best know that this repugnant behavior is totally against my character and better judgement.  However, fighting against my refined upbringing, I put forth my best efforts to accomplish my caregiver’s instructions .  You will be happy to know that I have celebrated many ‘victories’ since receiving my orders.  (I don’t even feel socially compelled to excuse myself because each outburst is truly an audible acknowledgement of my healing–really, people should cheer, celebrating my success…)

Once home, I found that I really did have to take it easy.  Sitting up or standing for long periods of time was difficult.  I was light headed and dizzy much of the time.  My appetite for food was lacking too.  Nothing sounded good and eating was bit of a chore.  Reading and writing made me dizzy.  In fact, the only thing that really came easily was lying on the couch and watching Netflix.  One nice perk to this lazy time was that Deena had hurt her back and was forced to take it easy as well.  So, the two of us got to spend some nice time together watching home-improvement shows and back-episodes of “The Office.”  She has been so supportive and tender during this time and in the end, our relationship has gained added depth and understanding.  We’re here for each other.  (Excuse me while I wipe the tears from my keyboard…)

There was only one real point of contention during our prolonged time together:   where should I stow the connected catheter bag?  I felt that letting it sit in the middle of the family room floor was appropriate–let everyone witness how active my kidneys really were.  Admirers could observe the color, quality and even quantity of my output.  Heck, Deena could even use the thing as a pillow while lying on the floor watching “Home Makeover.” To my displeasure, my darling homemaker kept tucking the thing under the couch.  I protested firmly but ultimately compromised by strapping a smaller, less impressive bag to my leg.  I tried to keep it visible as much as possible because keeping it concealed, I complained, made my leg too hot.

I will spare the reader the burden of hearing all the details, but know that each day was a little better than the one before.  My appetite slowly returned and I was able to be about a little bit more.  I found, however that sleeping was difficult and that the insertion point of the catheter was extremely tender.  My back was sore from tensing up worrying that something was going to rub against or, heaven forbid, pull on it.  I was in this state of concern when we traveled back to the doctor’s office for my one week follow-up appointment.  Before seeing the doctor, I was directed to a room where an x-ray of my bladder and the surgery site was performed to determine the progress of my healing and to determine the fate of the catheter.  It was also during this exercise that I discovered an important truth about modesty and decency.   The x-ray tech, a spry young lad about 4 years out of high school, announced, “I need to get to your catheter.”

“Oh, please be careful…” were the words written across my anguished face.

He sort of stared at me awkwardly for a few moments.  It became clear that he wanted me to drop my drawers–right there with him watching the whole thing.  I can already hear you women laughing at my concern, but I contend that in this moment of truth–dropping your drawers in front of another human being who has never before seen you, let alone seen all of you–is more difficult for men than women.  For a woman, dropping your drawers reveals very little.   Most of your anatomy is tucked inside, but for a guy, it’s all right there.  One glance and the story is over…

The tech did his work and I was sent to await the doctor’s decision on my fate.

So, when the doctor came in and announced the imminent removal of the catheter, I was ecstatic.  My week of misery was over.  I could now walk upright with no back pain, my left leg would no longer overheat and life was going to be great.

My mental jubilation was suddenly interrupted by my physician:  “We need to go outside to do this…” he announced ominously.  I sensed a diabolic sneer on his face as he led me out to the parking lot where a jacked-up 4×4 sat idling in the parking lot.  Hanging from the tow hitch was heavily used strap that had obviously been used to yank disabled bulldozers out of mud pits.  I noticed the license plate was from Texas and read, “LVN PAIN.”   The doctor directed me to a spot behind the truck and proceeded to tie the tow-strap to my catheter.  With little notice, the physician raised his hand to signal that everything was ready and before I could beg for mercy, dropped his arm and sent the pickup screeching his tires through the parking lot.  I instantly felt the tug on the catheter but it refused to budge.  The  truck driver, with increasing determination, shifted gears to increase torque and finally, with tow strap starting to fray, the catheter gave way. *

Ummm….. ouch…

So here I sit, facing the new life of a man without a prostate or a catheter but with a likely UTI.  I’ll be finding out today.  Incontinence is my current reality as my body adjusts to the new me.  It will improve and eventually go away as I do my exercises.  I have never worked-out so hard as I have the last two days.  I tried to find a chart that tells how many calories per minute you burn doing Kegel exercises but no literature is available.  Maybe that can be a little research project for me.

Sincerely, I truly appreciate all the good thoughts and prayers in my behalf.  It has meant so much to me.  I am so grateful to have been able to have the surgery at this early stage in the cancer progression.  I was told that there were previously undetected cancer cells in the gland that earlier biopsies had missed.  The doctor assured me, and I agree, we did the right thing at the right time.  None of the cancer cells had escaped the envelope of the prostate.  So yet again, proof that I’m living a truly blessed life.