Next Stop - Radiology!

Well now....I've been feeling absolutely great for the most part these last several weeks, but now it's time to go back to the hospital and start feeling crappy again... Nice!

Next week Phase 546 begins of my cancer treatment: Radiation Therapy! Can you tell how excited I am? Not. Whatever - time to blast those rogue (Palin-like) cancer cells that are still partying around my nether regions. I am so not looking forward to it. Maybe even more than the surgery. That was something finite - an event that would happen and then be over, with allowances for recovery, of course, but in the weeks leading up to it I just sort of accepted it, cussed at it, but didn't really dread it.

Not so with this, though. It just seems so... unrelenting. A radioactive blast everyday, Monday through Friday for about 6 weeks. The possibility of the return of very unattractive side effects. Cumulative wiped out-ness. And a whole bunch of unknown thrown in for good measure. More work hours to be reduced and more paperwork for benefits. More, more, more.

The hormone treatment hasn't been bad, though. The hot flashes are seldom and mild, but my emotional state has fallen to a pretty permanent state of crankiness. I'm a son of a bitch right now, but I guess that's to be expected. Grrrr.

But with all that being said, I will get this done. Not much choice in the matter if I don't want this particular disease to do me in. I will do it with Stacey's help. I will do it with support from my sibs. I will do it with love in my heart from all of my friends, close and distant. But most of all, I will do it because I Am Atomic Man.

So there.

Excuse Me????

Well...this is a bit bizarre...Some doctor did some study of guys that had the same procedure as me, and discovered that robotic/laproscopic surgery to remove the prostate is more likely to result in erectile dysfunction and incontinence. Nice. I was told by the head of the urology department and my surgeon the opposite. I believe them. Not this guy. And I'm fine with my decision. Makes sense to me that high magnification and robotically controlled instruments would be much more effective in sparing those gosh darned nerves, then having your belly sliced open and putting your faith in the shaky hands of a hungover surgeon....just kidding.

Really...I'm good. But this is still bizarre.

naysayers of robotically assisted prostate surgery

(Hot) Flash Report!

Ok - it's been over a week since my Lupron injection and about the only thing to report is general tiredness (at times pretty extreme) and headaches (not too bad). It has made me miss some work hours and the thought of adding radiation treatments to the mix is a bit depressing.

No signs of hot flashes yet, bigger boobs, or my inner girl busting out. I'm on the lookout, though!

I'm just tired.

Lack of male hormones can contribute to loss of muscle mass, so I'm taking calcium supplements and going through some reps with 10 lb. weights. If I get bigger boobs, they will at least be...firm!

Jesus! I think I don't like Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti"!

A: Don't Pay Her.

Q: How do you make a hormone?

Creepy. My hormone therapy starts this week and I'm feeling creeped out about it. It gets creepier, too. There's just something so unnatural about what my body is getting ready to go through. There could bizarre side effects (most common) and crazy out of this world bizarre side effects (not so common). As mentioned last time, most likely I'll lose even more sex drive and have hot flashes. The hormone therapy expert called me and explained the whole deal to me. She also warned me to not read the uncommon side effects in the literature she sent me. I peeked and wish I hadn't. Trust the experts!

Now, yet another Gil Ray Special Curveball has been thrown at me. While the hormone therapy drug (Lupron) is being used to suppress testosterone level, oddly, upon the initial injection, my body will want to flood itself with testosterone! Not good. So tomorrow I start taking another drug to reduce that event. Fortunately just a total of 6 tablets.

I just get the feeling I'm not going to feel like myself (for better or for worse) for about 6 months. Maybe it will not be so bad - I'm willing to accept tolerable! We'll see.

Weird. Strange. Uncanny.

And definitely creepy.

But I got to keep looking at big picture. If all goes well, I'll be able to look back at these coming 6 months and wonder what all the fuss was about. Ahhh...good times!

Glow Worm

Ok - back to the grind! I almost forgot that I have cancer....

Today, my wife and I had our initial consultation with the Radiation Oncologist in Oakland. My surgery was over 2 months ago, and now it's time to deal with Phase 2 of the cure.

Unfortunately, my PSA's "undetectable" number of .1 will have nothing to do as far as the radiation treatment is concerned. The fact that my Gleason Grade got upgraded to a "7" after my surgery lab-work is the number that is driving the rest of my treatment. Not unexpected, but still a bummer.

I continue to be impressed with each new doctor I see - the oncologist methodically and deliberately recapped my whole prostate history. It's a great sign that my health care providers are all on the same page and I really feel they are doing their best in achieving good results for me. My super smart brother reinforces this, but there was a bit of a curve ball thrown in the mix today, that was briefly mentioned at some consultation, with some doctor, many months ago: hormone therapy!

Here's the deal - later this week I will get an injection of a drug that will suppress my testosterone levels. How dare they! Don't they know that at work I am known (at least by one crazed woman from El Salvador) as El Toro!

Actually, The Bull is humbled and now knows that testosterone can promote prostate cells to grow which in The Bull's case is something to be avoided while they blast away at my prostate...area...with beams of radiation.

The common side effects of this drug are two things: Reduction of sexual libido (at this point I almost burst out laughing), and possible hot flashes similar to what women go through during menopause (at that point, Stacey almost burst out laughing). Fine. Whatever.

2 months after this injection, I will start the radiation therapy. The scary thing is that we know way too many people going through stuff like this, so I was not surprised to learn that my radiation will be roughly one 15 minute session a day (Monday - Friday) for about 6 weeks. 34 sessions. Fuck. But El Toro can handle this. I also learned that my 30 year quest for getting a tattoo will soon be over! While not a very exciting or colorful tat, I will have 4 dots tattooed on various parts of my abdomen to help guide the targeting of the radiation. Cool. Ironic, but cool.


The main side effects of the radiation could be even more bladder/catheter fun, possible rectal bleeding and diarrhea. Since I seem to possess the world's tightest bladder sphincter, retention could very well be in the cards, but again, I am El Toro.

During all of this there could be one or two more injections of the hormone suppressant, with a final dose at the end of the radiation. If all goes as planned, I'll be done in 6 months.

Now I have 3 doctors telling me that even with the creepily consistent...curve balls that seem to keep coming my way, my prognosis is till very good. It's just getting there that sucks, but like I said, at this point, El Toro can deal.

Point One

Yesterday I had started composing my next post regarding the next stage of my cancer treatment. I've gone back to it today, and I'm finding I just don't really feel like putting a whole lot of effort into it. But this time, it's not frustration holding me back, or broken spirits preventing me from tackling this again. Far from it.

Finally, I got a number that I can live with. It's a very tiny number, too.

.1

That's not a typo, friends. That number means that my PSA level is dang near undetectable.

At this moment, I do not know how this will effect the radiation treatments that were scheduled to start around now. It's possible that I may need less. I will know more once I meet with the oncologist. But I do know that my surgeon is very excited about this number.

So - I'm gonna ride this for a while. I just don't feel like writing about some potential bladder problems I'm experiencing at the moment. I'm going to look at the big picture for a while, and learn to love the very small number that I have earned.

.1

I'm not out of the woods yet, but the woods just got thinned out.

Born Under A Really Bad Sign

Probably my first favorite drummer on the whole planet was Ginger Baker of Cream. His fiery red hair, demonic looks, but most importantly, his playing sent me reeling into the world of serious rock drumming. Of course the guy from The Safaris that played Wipe Out, and Dave Clark's fab sounding snare drum caught my ear first, it wasn't until later in the 60's and the advent of psychedelic music that I learned to get deeper inside the music and knew for sure that I wanted to really be a rock drummer.

Ginger was a force. I was infatuated with his double-kick drum set (so much so, I persuaded my mom to order me a second bass drum from Charlotte's Howren Music!), but most importantly, his playing was (actually, still is) so strong, perfectly combining rock chops with jazz, R&B and elements of World Music - specifically African drumming. He really understood and brought forth the herky-jerky world of syncopation. While a reviewer from Rolling Stone (I think!), derided this performance, I think his fab display of syncopation on Creams's version of Born Under A Bad Sign is a thing of beauty. Such a strange beat! I have trouble even trying to understand what the hell he's doing, but it tickles my ears.

In the new issue of Rolling Stone (probably the first one I've bought in about 20 years!), there is a fascinating, yet ultimately disturbing look into Ginger's current
life. What demons! According to the article, he has been chased out of just about every place and country in the world he has lived in. He now lives a bitter and solitary life with a young South African woman (whom he seems to treat like shit), some dogs and his beloved polo horses...OK, bonus points for being an animal lover..

He appears to be addicted to a morphine inhaler, pain pills, anti-depressants and still puts away 3 packs of smokes a day. The townspeople all hate him - he carries a stun gun for protection - and he seems to believe that assassins are after him. Unfortunately, he has had dogs poisoned and horses maimed. He just does not sound like a very pleasant gent!

The weirdest thing that struck me is that even since The Graham Bond Organisation (around 1965), he and Jack Bruce still cannot get on in life and be in the same room together! Bruce approached the other members of Cream regarding another reunion tour that would have brought them millions of dollars, and Baker responded by shouting "There is no way!" and bitterly recounted how that last reunion ended terribly with he and Jack going at it regarding stage volume. They have been doing this for over 40 years! They have hated each other for about 43 years!

Whatever, it's a shame. But it's also sad. I hope Ginger Baker can find peace. It sucks when one of your heroes is a prick.