Sister Iodine and the Nine Step Plan

The next test was the pelvic scan. At times I kinda glaze-over when the doctors are telling me about all this stuff, but I think this was to look for trouble in lymph node land. Whatever, they said I needed it so I went.

This time I was not in a very entertaining mood. The stress was really taking hold in my fragile little nervous system. Much of it had to do with work. I'm going to be out of commission for 6 weeks! Panic had set in with the powers that be, and I had to quickly write lots of procedures and train a bunch of people that really don't need the extra work load, on how to do my job (which I've done for 26 years!).

Anyway, this particular set of radiologists were all business. I was in no mood to joke around, and I could tell they weren't either. So lets just get it done.

"Mr. Ray - have you ever had an iodine injection?"
No

"Well, we need for you to sign this consent form".
Why?

"Because some people have a bad reaction to it, and it may make your heart stop - but don't worry...we will closely monitor you, and if there is a problem we can roll you right on up to the emergency room."

blink.
Where do I sign?

She told me that I would experience 2 things - first, I would feel a very warm sensation spread throughout my body (...ok), and then I would get a rather strong metallic taste in my mouth, but that would quickly dissipate. (...not so ok).

I laid down on the table and they inserted an IV into my arm (at this point my poor little arms were beginning to look like a junkie's arm) and they took a few scans of my pelvic region without the iodine. Then the tech released the iodine.

I've never injected recreational drugs into anywhere on my body, but I thought that this must be what it feels like. Immediately, a very pleasant warm rush spread throughout my entire body. It was very strange feeling. Seconds later, the metallic taste came into my mouth and all pleasant sensations were now quite gone. It was terrible - sorta like chewing on aluminum foil, but not quite. I have never had this sensation before. Fortunately, it disappeared after about 30 seconds.

They then scanned the region again. The purpose was to get a contrast of what they scanned before. It was over in about 5 minutes. I sat up. Took a deep breath, and went back to work. No drama this time, and no extra pictures were required.

The next day at work it all started to come down on me. I was a wreck. I could barely move a muscle. My body ached and my brain was feeling pretty fried. I just couldn't do much of anything. While I know I do not handle stress well, I wasn't sure if this was just another example of my body dealing with all of this, or if I was getting sick (lots of swine flu warnings at the hospital), or if I was having a bad reaction to the iodine.

I left work, went home and slept. I felt a little better that night, so I went to work the next day. Same thing happened. Something wasn't right.

I called radiology and asked if this was a normal reaction to having iodine injected into one's body and was told that is wasn't, most of it flushes out of the body pretty quickly (instructions were to drink tons of water afterwards - which I did) and if I felt like I was getting sick, I should call my primary care physician.

So I did, and was told I could come in later that afternoon. (I've mentioned this before, but with the economy and unemployment being what it is, I've discovered that fewer people seem to be going to doctors, so appointments are amazingly swift!).

A nurse came in to take my vitals and asked why I was there. I told her my symptoms and that I needed to find out if this was a real physical illness or if I was just having a meltdown. She told me that she was a cancer survivor, and informed me a little bit about her situation. She then said that it's a very normal emotional reaction to have breakdowns dealing with this stuff. Right at that moment I was overwhelmed with her insight and care, and started crying.

She knew. Now, I knew. This is going to be a really tough thing to go through.

I thanked her and she left. At that point I felt there was no longer a need for me to see the doctor, but I stayed. (Why not? I have way surpassed my insurance deductible - it's all free from here, baby!)

The doctor entered and I told him that I thought the nurse and I had figured out what was happening to me, but to please go ahead and check me out. I find it very disturbing that most doctor visits (esp. with primary care doctors) seem to mainly consist of the doctor typing and staring into a computer screen. Uh, hello? Could you please take your eyes off the computer and look my way and maybe even touch, tap, or feel something on my body?

I think I now understand my cat a whole lot better.

He does listen to my heart, taps a few things, but by now he is also getting the picture that my problem is more emotional than physical. I've been there and done that, but here was a new doctor. Glad to meet ya!

He really doesn't know much about my...colorful past with doctors and emotional problems - I was officially diagnosed with "agitated depression" nearly 15 years ago, so I couldn't get too mad at him when he decided to pull up on his computer a 9 question psychological test to give me.

I really thought I had been kidnapped by aliens at this point, but I remained calm and answered the questions as truthfully and as patiently as I could.

The questions were pretty standard ones:
In the last 2 weeks, have you had trouble concentrating at work-
a) not at all
b) some of the time
c) frequently
d) all of the time

It mostly went like like, pretty basic and obvious stuff, but the final question got me. Do you feel you've let your family and loved ones down?

That one hurt. I fell apart.

He handed me some tissues and informed me that he thought it might be a good idea to change up my anti-depressant meds to something with more anxiety reducing effects. I gently, but firmly told him that I trust my psychiatrist (who is outside of this health care organization), and that I thought messing with these drugs - this close to my surgery - may not be a good thing, but I would call her and ask.

The next day he e-mailed me and told me that I was right, we shouldn't change anything right now and to take Valium as needed. Good. And I do!

Through A Scanner Darkly

Once the biopsy confirmed the you-know-what, more tests were ordered. The first one was a bone scan. God - just the name gives me the willies. Apparently, if the prostate cancer is gonna spread, it will more than likely go to the bones or the lymph nodes. The thought of cancer being in one's bones is just down-right upsetting to me. Bones! I had a workmate die of prostate cancer cause it got into his...bones. Don't wanna go there at all. Please, Lord - don't let it be in my bones.

It was a 2 step procedure, and fortunately my workplace is just a 15 minute drive to the hospital. That's positive, right? (I keep hearing that keeping a positive attitude with health problems is a good thing - it is required!)

I went to the hospital for step # 1, in which I get an injection of some sort of radioactive whatever in my arm. I don't know if it really is radioactive, but I'm sure this is stuff you don't want to leave under the sink with an easy-open lid on if you got kids or pets. I was extra lucky because an intern was going to be the one administering the poison into my veins!

He was nervous, so I felt the need to help make this guy relax so I went into my washed-up-entertainer-from-the-Catskills mode. The jokes were on, and so was I!

I could hear him and his mentor doctor rummaging around in another room for the correct toxic juice and needles to slam into me. The doctor corrected him verbally a couple of times, so as I was waiting and hearing all of this shit I started entertaining whoever was in the room with me. Before long I actually had a small audience and the jokes were going over well!

The intern came in with the syringe and started to prep my arm for the injection. A couple of false starts - fine - we all gotta start somewhere. I kept running my mouth and at one point I asked the intern if he was OK with me doing my bit. He liked it. Then I thought I'd better ask his doctor-mentor if I should shut-up, and he was fine with the show, so I continued.

But then I felt cold liquid splash onto my arm before the needle went in. At that point I looked and noticed that the poor intern had all sorts of...stains on his lab coat. I settled down, so did he, and the magic medicine entered my vein.

I left and went back to work. In 3 hours I was to come back for the scan. No problem.

The intern was still there, so he had me go to the restroom and make sure my bladder was empty. Fine. He then had me lay down on a table and he and another tech started to set all of the computers, scanners, and whatever. Unfortunately the intern couldn't quite get the table working right. It was supposed to slowly move through the..circular thing as it scanned my bones.

Finally the intern fixed it, and off to scanning I went. It took about 20 minutes for my whole body to go through. Knowing the importance of positive thinking
I imagined a beautiful picture of my fresh and clean and wonderful skeletal system from head to toe. I relaxed my breathing and felt very new-age and beautiful. Not a hot-spot to be found in these bones!

When the scan was done, I stayed on the table as they had a doctor go over the images. Against my better judgement, I looked over at a computer monitor and there it was: My Skeleton! Holy shit! Looks just like a skeleton! Not wanting to look too closely, I turned my head back and waited.

The intern and tech came back in and said "The Doctor would like a couple of different angles of your head and neck."

Ok...no need to panic. Stay calm. Shit.

This time, the scan was just a couple of minutes long. I tried my best to not imagine those dreaded hot spots in my bones, but I don't think I was too successful. All bets are off at this point. Breathe, Gil, breathe.

They then disappeared for another 5 minutes. That's a long 5 minutes if you ask me.

"Mr. Ray - The doctor would like for you to go to X-Ray for a couple of pictures of your head and neck area."

OK. I'm done. It's in my head and neck area. No positive thoughts were within 20 miles from me. Don Rickles has left the building. I was an old, brittle, beaten cancer patient. How do I get the hell out of here?

Somehow I was able to stand still as the 20 year old tech X-Rayed me. I had nothing to say. I left the building and walked to my car. I'm fucked.

Remember the waiting game that doctors put patients through? Well, 4 days later I finally get an e-mail from my doctor: "Your bone scan is fine Mr. Ray. You just have some degenerative arthritis in your neck."

That night I raised a glass (or 4) to arthritis. Probably the only person in the world to do that.

Viva Arthritis.

I think my stress level probably compressed my poor little cancer ridden prostate into a diamond that week. I'm going to be rich!

The Weight Of The Wait

I was an OK student in school. Mostly B's and C's and a few A's. It felt good when I got the occasional A. It was usually in courses that I actually liked, like political science and art. I was terrible in math, biology and Spanish. I may have gotten a couple of D's in those, but overall I was an average student, I guess.

I had to wait about 5 days for my biopsy report. I've heard that with cancer, you really must get a handle on the waiting part. Tests, appointments, scans, drawn blood, more lab work..you get the picture. As the days went by, I got more anxious of course, but I soon realized that if my particular health group has good news to give, they don't mind sending it in an e-mail. If it's bad news, the doctor will call you at home. Seems right to me, but as each day passed without an e-mail, I was really starting to tweak out a bit. Valium helped to a degree, but by the fifth day not much could settle me down.

As I mentioned earlier, my first name is George, and that is how my doctors know me. But the message on my answering machine is for Gil. I found out later that this was the cause for some of the delay - the doctor thought he was getting a wrong number! After this happened yet again, I wised-up, (remember, I was only an average student), and changed my message to "George, also known as Gil") A real AKA for little ol' me! Word.

The call finally came early one evening, and I could tell it wasn't gonna be good news - I even sort of expected it, but I was not prepared to deal with my final test score, and I scored big, baby! 100%. Of the 12 samples they took, all 12 had cancer in them. I made an A+.

Damn!

I scribbled a few notes on a piece of paper as the Doc was telling me this, and of the different options available in dealing with it. They aren't very good notes, and my mind was vaguely somewhere else at that point. It was like I was watching a movie and suddenly a continuous low bass note was playing in the background. Message heard, loud and clear, Doc...but let's continue this conversation any other time except for right now.

So there I was, at home alone with Dexter. Stacey was just about leaving her work and was car-pooling, so I thought there was no need to call her - she'd be home soon enough. I sat on the couch and cried. I suppose just about everyone who hears this sort of news does the same thing, so I just let it come out. Suddenly I noticed Dexter was at my side, not attacking my head or being bad in any way. He was just sitting with me. He knew, too. Good cat!

OK...this is getting too sad, and I've flayed enough of my inner soul than I'm comfortable with. I'll wrap this section up just by saying that I'm the luckiest man on this planet to have the most amazing support from a perfect wife, family, friends and cat (somewhat...we'll see...). When I get weepy, feeling upset that I'm putting these people through this, these people love me enough to smack me upside the head and tell me - "this is what we're here for!". I think I'm finally getting it.

Damn!...The surgery date (July 7) is time-warping it's way towards me and there's so much...funny shit I've got to write about...I hope I can cover it all, and I'll certainly try before the surgery. For instance:

1. Hilarious hi-jinks of an intern injecting me with some kind of radioactive shit!
2. Bone scan...ambiguity!
3. Late pelvic scan results = an insane questionnaire from my primary care physician!
4. Becoming a member of "The Cancer Cult"!
5. My CD - I Am Atomic Man! was disturbingly prophetic. A robot will help cure me!
6. Potential "Accidental Clown-Leg"!
7. And most unsettling of all: MY SURGEON LOOKS LIKE GUI FROM GAME THEORY!!!!

Great.

Emotional Wreckskew

The day of the biopsy was probably the first inkling of how I discovered how I would be dealing with all of this. I have a very...delicate yet volatile emotional constitution to begin with and I was wondering how all of the stress and depression would manifest itself. That day I had two responses.

I'm a big believer in bringing levity to grave situations. It's how I deal with stuff. If I can lighten the air just a bit, it really helps me to relax. I discovered this 20 years ago when I suffered a lacerated cornea due to a random street mugging.

Once the ambulance delivered me to SF General, I noticed that the excitement level by the doctors that were attending to me was pretty darn high. Specialists were brought in and it just seemed that the whole hospital was looking at my eyeball with grim determination. It was unsettling!

It got to a point where I just couldn't handle all those furrowed brows. So I said "Stop for a second!". They stopped. I said - "Am I going to die from this?"
They answered "No". I then asked "Is my other eye OK?" They said "Yes". Then I asked them to please lighten up just a tad - they were freaking me out. I know they were just doing their jobs, but the moment I saw a few of those brows loosen up just a hair, I felt more comfortable.

Well, during the prostate biopsy, I have mentioned that I was joking around with the hot babe nurse. She was a good audience, and to some degree, so was the doctor. While I can't think of many things that are as serious as a biopsy looking for cancer in one's body parts, it can just get to be too much!

Once the work was done, the nurse took me back into the waiting room where Stacey was. As I walked towards my wife, the nurse said "He did great! I've been doing this for 5 years and I have never had a better patient for this procedure than Mr. Ray!"

And then something very strange happened - tears filled my eyes. For reasons I'm not completely sure of yet, I thought that was the absolute sweetest and most touching thing in the world for that nurse to say. Maybe it's as simple as me wanting my caretakers to really...care about me. I just don't know.

The second set of tears came about 10 minutes later as we were in the car driving home. I looked at Stacey and told her that this felt like the journey has now officially begun. I didn't need the biopsy results. I knew I had cancer and I was overcome with sorrow that I would be putting my loved ones through all of this. And this is something a little bit of levity cannot lighten up.

Until I found a safe-word!

It didn't take long for me to come up with some sort of ridiculous way to express how fucked up all of this is. When it gets rough for me, most of the time some pressure can be relieved by me shouting out a very specific set of curse words! No need to share them here, but they are indeed some very bad words...

And they make us smile.

Ahh....Maui....

God, I wish the biopsy was as dramatic as Alien's mouth ripping through my rectal wall, tearing out chunks of my poor prostate as Howlin' Wolf belted out Back Door Man into my ears...but it wasn't like that at all. Really.



After my second PSA test result came back high, my doctor told me I would now be seeing an Urologist. As it turned out, he is actually the head of the department of this medical group's Northern California district. Hmmm..my eyebrow raised a bit wondering if there was any particular reason why I would be referred to the department head but ultimately decided it certainly couldn't hurt!

A few days later I got a phone call from the Urologist telling me that the numbers (here we go again..) tell him that I need to get a biopsy. At that point I think my brain took me on a nice little visual vacation to Maui, and I remained calm, even when he told me the procedure would be relatively quick, a bit..uncomfortable (I've discovered that doctors use that description often), and that it involves needles in the rectum.

Come again, doc?

Fortunately, I already had a pretty good idea as to what I would be going through because a co-worker went through all of this about 4 years ago. But it does involve two things that can make men mighty uncomfortable: penetration up the butt, and the added excitement of introducing needles into the mix!

I know a lot of men that just absolutely cannot even talk about a simple prostate exam. The thought of a doctor's finger going in there can make a lot of guys very uptight, and in some cases, even...angry. Maybe it's because I've had a lot of exams of this nature, but it just doesn't bother me one bit. I've had women doctors do this, and of course men doctors. I guess the embarrassment factor ramps up a teeny bit with a woman doctor, but it's really no big deal.

Maybe it's as simple as the fact that I'm an artist, a rock musician, and I absolutely adored David Bowie and Alice Cooper! I'm culturally hip (in a 70's way!), and penetration down there should be not only tolerated, but..celebrated! Yes! Super sensitive progressive bi-sexual acceptance! I'm down with that!

;-)

That sounds full of shit, and by no means am I relating medical procedures in the butt to an act of sexuality (though I've seen pictures...), but honestly, the men I've seen turn the whitest with just a mention of a prostate exam are generally not involved in the arts in any way. Such philistines!

And then there's the thought of needles. Needles can make any type of person wig out, but I'm fine with those, too. (while I like a few of the Velvet Underground's songs, I don't think there's a cultural discovery to make here...)

Of course I did no further research on the procedure, I just went and did it. Stacey came along for support, and while I don't remember me being too freaked out about it, I just wanted her to be there once the deed was done.

The nurse lead me into the room and I immediately started to joke a bit with her. "Gosh! I'm so excited! I can't wait!" She said "Really?" I said "Just kidding." At that point the all important levity factor was in place, and as long as I can just bring a smile out of a lab worker, nurse (hot or not) or a doctor, I find that this puts me at ease and hopefully the folks doing the work at ease.

This is exactly what happened, as I laid on my side, butt exposed. Of course, as I have discovered over the years, there is a 90% chance that the doctor's aide or nurse will be female, young, pretty and hot. Never fails.

Digital exam - been there, done that. Bring it on, Doc. About 1 minute.

Ultrasound tube goes in - this is a camera not nearly as big as a sigmoidoscopy tube -we'll say 2 fingers wide. This is so the doctor can get an image of the prostate which is surprisingly not very far in. I believe this stayed in during the whole time. No big deal at all.

After he's checked out the image (which I could've seen had I wished, but since I am in fact me, I opted out of looking at the screen. I do this at any procedure that shows an image of my insides. I just don't want to see. If there's something abnormal, I'll freak out. If it's fine, I can then imagine what it would look like if it wasn't fine.

Next came the 4 (!) injections of a Novocaine - type medicine that is to help numb the areas that the biopsy will take place. (note: for those of you that do not know where the prostate gland is situated, it's on the outside of the rectal wall, surrounded by a lot of very important stuff that's extremely difficult to get to). He mentioned that it's just like getting Novocaine at the dentist. (uh...not really, doc!) He said I will mainly feel pressure, possibly feel that I need to pee (but not to worry - there's plenty of pads under me), and a little sting. And guess what? That is exactly what it was like. I told him at that point he was good. He responded by agreeing, and that he's done hundreds of these. Suddenly I was at ease with this doctor and we actually carried on a conversation during the scariest part, the biopsy itself.

I purposely avoided seeing what the biopsy instrument looked like, and frankly, I still don't know, so nothing to report here. During the procedure, I didn't notice any sensation of anything else being in me aside from the ultrasound tube. Using the image on the monitor, he took 12 samples, by needles, from 12 specific locations on the gland. This is called mapping. Each...sample felt like a bit of pressure, a small sting, and a click that sounded a bit like of a small staple gun. It went rather quickly, but after the 3rd one I said "Only 9 more to go, Doc?" He responded with "Are you counting?" "You bet, Doc" At that point he started to talk about the sound quality of vinyl vs Cds, and before I knew it he said "Ok, last one." He's good, alright. Really good.

I then was told to sit up slowly, some men feel faint after the procedure (wimps). I sat up feeling fine and took a deep breath of air and exhaled slowly. He asked if I was ok, and I told him that I was just relaxing for the first time in about 2 weeks!

Total time on the table: 10 minutes. I've had way worse times just getting my teeth cleaned!

One of the weirder preparations for this procedure was to "arrive with a full bladder". WTF? Turns out that right after the biopsy, he had me pee into a cup to make sure I wasn't bleeding, though I should expect "some discoloration" over the next few days.

Another thing to expect following a prostate biopsy is probably the most mind-blowing thing so far...Now, this does make me squeamish and I find no need for details, but 12 puncture wounds in a prostate gland result in blood getting in the prostate gland.

I'll let your own imagination fill in the blanks as to how one goes about getting that blood out of the prostate gland.

Ah....I bet Maui is beautiful this time of year...

Hysterical, Historical, Hysteria!

There are 2 things that I would like to discuss at this point. First, I have a colorful history of a psychotic fear of cancer. During the 80's and through much of the 90's, I must have spent thousands of dollars going to see multitudes of doctors over any type of abnormality I could find in or on my body. Why is there a lump on the right side and not one on the left? (I was a real stickler for physiological symmetry..) What is that sharp stinging pain in my side that never gets worse, but never goes away? Why am I peeing so much? Why have the glands in my neck felt swollen for a year and a half? Why am I running to the book store and pouring over medical books, desperately trying to diagnose what is wrong with me? (I REALLY think that is a terrible idea for people like me. If you can see a picture of it, you can now see a picture of it inside your own body...not good!)

This lead to some pretty unhappy moments that ran it's course through two marriages. It also, (fortunately), lead me to some very extensive psychotherapy with a great psychologist, and it also helped me find the best doctor on this planet for handling me. Both are women, (both retired now), but these people really stuck with me and were not afraid to bitch-slap me in my weakest and whiniest moments. Tough love was the prescription, and they were not afraid to dole it out.

I found out a lot about myself, and I don't think cancer itself is what I feared. I believe most of my agony was rooted in fear of separation, and stuff like that. This is stating it all very simply, but it's really about as far I want to go with it here.

But, man - all those doctors were bound to have given me some great quotes over the years!

"Mr. Ray - those are nice, rubbery testicles!"

"George.." (most of my doctors called me by my first name, I never thought that I would need to get on a nickname basis with them!)..."if you were having the symptoms of pancreatic cancer, there wouldn't be much we could do for you, anyway."

And my favorite: "George...I'm not God or anything, but I don't think you have cancer."

The second thing I'm a bit obsessed with is medical irony. Hate it. It can manifest itself in my thoughts on a daily basis. Weird...he was a vegetarian, who would have thought colon cancer would have done him in? He seems so energetic and funny, who would have thought he suffered from depression? He had such beautiful blue eyes, too bad he's missing most of the iris in his left one due to a street mugging!

And while I'm sure smoking and drinking may indeed contribute to prostate cancer (I assume - I also have a phobia about learning about things that are going wrong in my body!), I find it ironic that prostate cancer is the one I got.

But the ultimate irony (as pointed out by one of my sibs) is this: I have dreaded cancer all of my adult life and I have finally gotten it.

But it's one that ain't gonna kill me.

PSA Squared

PSA - prostate-specific antigen
PSA - public service announcement

Here's how this whole predicament started for me. Unfortunately, all of this is about stuff that many people (including myself) find embarrassing and uncomfortable to talk about because it's about down there, but hell - I'm 52 years old and I should just get over it. Jesus! We're all adults here...

Anyway, once it was confirmed that I had prostate cancer, and after I told my wife and siblings, I told a few of my friends and workmates personally. I was surprised as to how hard that was to do. It's a heavy thing to lay on someone, but the concern and love I got back was very comforting. There are 2 Hispanic girls at work that speak very little English, but they are both hard workers (and extremely cute and tiny!), but we have never really hung out together - just worked. When I told them what was going on, they both started crying and hugged me tightly. Of course that got me crying, and one of them looked up into my face and said in broken English: "I love you, Gilberto". Stunned, I asked her if she still loved me, even when I get mad and kick warehouse carts across the aisle? She said: "I love you all of the time, Gilberto." That could be the most memorable and touching words I could have ever imagined. I love them, too. Stuff like that is already making this whole deal a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

But I digress from the Public Service Announcement part of this post...

On a couple of occasions, guy friends, around my age and after wishing me well, immediately wanted to know: "Jesus Christ! What are the symptoms? What should I be looking for?"

Well, in my case, look for....less.

About a year ago, I started to notice that....Hmmm...let's say...uh...that the factory was up and running...but for some reason...shipping..seems to be getting... less and less.....product...out of the shipping doors...

God, that is so lame...it's just medical stuff - lemme try again: Ummm - less..you know..stuff came out of my..you know what...when I...did that.

Screw it. Less semen.

There - I said it. Tougher than I thought. But I think you get the idea. It was a gradual drop-off, and I just figured that age was taking it's toll on me. After all, my jowls, my ears, my saggy monkey butt have all succumbed to gravity's pull. I'm just not the teenage stud that I used to be. (I should also note that over the past few months I have lost about 10 lbs. - my weight fluctuates all the time, and I thought that the ultra-stress of the last year probably contributed to it and it probably did. I have no idea if this is the result of prostate cancer).

After about 5 months of this, I told myself that I was about due for a physical anyway, I'll just let the doctor know what's going on. Next thing I knew, it was a year later and the problem was getting worse. No other symptoms at all. Just by chance, I got a letter from my medical group informing me that it was time for an annual blood test and physical, so I went and had my blood work done and made an appointment for a physical with my doctor.

I had the lab work done about a week before my physical was scheduled. In this area my medical group is very efficient - within 24 hours they e-mailed me the test results, but I was perplexed by the fact that there were not many..categories on the report. The usual suspects were there - cholesterol (controlled and fine), blood sugar levels (actually better since I cut back on my cola addiction) and a couple of things that I didn't know what they were. But there were 2 important omissions. I'm always worried about my liver due to my past history of extreme Tylenol intake, evil cholesterol drugs and the fact that I love my beer. Nada. There was also no obvious PSA numbers. Christ, what kind of lab is this? This is lame!

The next day, on a Saturday, I got call from my doctor. Weird! I couldn't get to the phone in time to pick-up, but he left a doozy of a message: "your PSA levels are in the gray area. They should be between 0 - 4, but yours is 6.2. False positives are pretty common, but I'd like you to get re-tested in about 4 weeks. We can talk about this at your physical later this week."

And that was that. Here we go.