Bruce
S and Maria live in Queensland, Australia. He was 40 when he was diagnosed in
August 2009. His initial PSA was 3.6 ng/ml, his Gleason Score was 3+3=6 and he
was staged T1c. His choice of treatment was RALP (Robotic Assisted Laparoscopic
Surgery). Here is his story.
Am extremely fit and healthy and have always
looked after myself. Exercise regularly. Eat organic food. Go to acupuncturist
and chiropractor for general health. Was quite a shock when I heard the news about
this. Genetics suck! All of my uncles have had prostate dramas, but in their 70s.
I decided to start much earlier at age 40.
Every year I get a full physical
and bloods done by my GP/MD. This year, as I turned 40, he included PSA for the
first time. Came back at 3.6. Did it again 3 months later - came back at 4.1.
Off to the specialist I went. [By the way, my specialist has the largest hands
I have ever seen (like a hairless gorilla). Knowing full well that the finger
up the bum was coming, I remarked "Mate, how did you get into this profession
with hands like a gorilla?". Thankfully he had a good sense of humour and pissed
himself laughing.] No discount on the consultation though - still $150.
Off
I go to get a biopsy. Went to Greenslopes Hospital (this is a great hospital with
brilliant staff). Arrived at 12pm. Filled in a couple of forms and sat in waiting
room number one.
Ten minutes later I was escorted to waiting room number
two. You pick up the magazine to have a look through it but you're really looking
at everyone else saying to yourself "...I wonder what he's got?". When you notice
everyone looking back at you with the same quizzical expression on their faces
you get on with reading the mag.
30 minutes later I off to waiting room
three. This was bigger than waiting room one and had fewer people.
30
minutes later I was chaperoned by a nice nurse into (yes, you guessed it) waiting
room FOUR! This waiting room contain the bed I was going to get the procedure
done on. Took my gear off and put on those lovely paper undies - you know, the
ones that have no obvious back or front that look like nappies and do nothing
to secure the position of your manhood. Got into bed and watch a bit of telly
(Batman was on - the old 'Holy Crap' Batman series). I thought to myself, "I wish
I had some Bat prostate fixer spray." I'll bet Batman never had prostate trouble
at 40.
30 minutes later I was wheeled around to (yes, it's coming, no
joke) WAITING ROOM FIVE! This was a small room directly off theatre where the
only thing in direct view was a large clock. By the way, 45 minutes is 2,700 ticks
of the second hand.
I eventually got wheeled in to theatre where there
was a cast of thousands ready to look at my butt (so it seemed). Got the pre-op
from the anaesthetist who said 'this is like having three beers at once.' Then
he started to give me the full gear to send me under. I have had a number of ops
and probes and like to start to tell the anaesthetist a good joke while he is
injecting the anaesthetic knowing full well I won't be able to finish the joke
and he will have to ensure I live through it to tell him the rest.
Next
thing I know is I am in recovery. All painless really. A little bit of healing
discomfort for a week after, but that's about it. I usually am very nauseous after
anaesthetic, but I told the anaesthetist before I went in so he said he would
give me a "special cocktail". It worked. No nausea, but I did hiccup every 5 seconds
for 6 hours straight the next day. In an attempt to get rid of them, my wife kept
trying to scare me all day by jumping out of cupboards.
2 of 16 core samples
were positive. Got the call from the specialist while I was on the bus on the
way home from work. It's not every day someone tells you you've got cancer.
I was pretty shocked and my wife was away on a well deserved break so I decided
not to tell her until she returned later that week. During this period, I went
in to get bone scan and CT scan (they only had two waiting rooms so I had a word
to them about the lack of facilities). The Radiologist told me there and then
that the scan was clear (which was good of him - but he did tell me my right shoulder
was stuffed and I only had one Kidney [congenital defect]). Oh joy.
When
in the waiting room, they came back and said they wanted to do another CT scan.
I thought, "Well that's it, they've found something and I'm stuffed". Back to
the waiting room. Finally got called to collect the report and paid. The report
and images were sealed in an envelope with 'To be open ONLY by the referring specialist.'
I said, "yeah, right", opened and read it in front of the staff member.
Thankfully,
nothing found. Went out to the car and pumped both hands in the air and screamed
"YES!". I'd had a small win.
Next day, my wife came home and I was nervous
all day about telling her. I told her, "I have cancer" with a tear in my eye and
she was floored with disbelief. Am starting to tell other members of my family
- same reaction by all.
Saw the specialist again this week (the gorilla
hand man). Took my wife with me. Talked through the options and decided on surgery.
Trouble is that I can't get in for six months. He's one of the best though with
1,400 traditional removals and 70 robotic under his belt. In asking him and others
and given my PSA and GS etc. it does not appear to be an issue for me to wait
that long. I want the best I can get to try to limit the downside of the op. Costing
me $30,000 all up including hospital ($22k back on health fund).
When
I think back over the last 8 days, I pretty rapidly moved through the 5 stages
of grief.
DENIAL:
in shock. Can't believe this. I am strong and healthy.
ANGER: Pissed off. Not fair. I look after myself. Why me? Sneering at all
of the fat bastards on the street sucking down smokes and coffee for breakfast.
BARGAINING:
Just let it be in the prostate only. All I want is a long life.
DEPRESSION: I am probably going to die earlier than I thought I would.
How long will this thing be over my head?
ACCEPTANCE: I have this thing. From all that I have now read, it seems most
people deal with it and just get on with their lives.
And this is exactly
what I am going to do.
I am going to reduce my stress by changing the
type of work I do. Don't care about retirement now. Just want to make sure I make
it. Getting into Tai Chi and will stay strong and healthy to give my body the
best opportunity to recover and beat this insidious disease.
At least
I still have my sense of humour.
Will report back when I have something
to say - probably after my op.
Bruce's e-mail address is: mail@groupj.com.au
