It's time for my annual diatribe on catching prostate cancer.  As usual,
y'all that have been through this with me can click on the next message.

DIAGNOSIS

I have to go back to 1999, because it was then that I did not get the PSA
test that might have saved my life.  My PSA during 1998 must have been
'okay' because the results were never brought to my attention.  During 1999,
I'm sure I would have been diagnosed had I gotten my PSA, but instead I had
a bout of diverticulitis and put off my PSA for a couple of months, then a
few months... next thing I know, I'm having my blood extracted October 17,
2000.  You know where you were when Kennedy was shot?  When the shuttle went
down?  When miniskirts went out of style?  Well, I was sitting in my office,
staring out the door, when the nurse on the other end said, "the doctor
wants to talk to you."  My PSA was 16 and I was sure my dad's disease was
going to kill me by the time I reached 50.

My GP refers me to Peter Shank.  I thought it was a joke, but that's just
what they call Reed L. Shank, III.  Dr. Shank is the best urology surgeon in
the City, or so Cincinnati Magazine says, so I was in good hands... 20% of
which was up my butt within a week.  He told me he felt something funny, but
it didn't sound like "ha ha" funny.  He also told me there was a 33% chance
I had cancer.  He wanted me to have a biopsy.  On November 1, 2000, my
cancer is confirmed.  I was introduced to words like "Gleason," "Stage," and
"Radical Prostatectomy."  Little did I know these would dominate my life for
awhile.

SURGERY

I "opted" for surgery.  I did not really have an option.  Dr. Shank said I
was 46 and that is awful young for this disease (note:  at least 30 on this
NG were younger upon their dx) and surgery is the only choice.

During the first week of December, I took my bride of 25 years on a cruise
for our anniversary.  During the cruise, I kept up a regimen that I had
recently started; walking 17-minute miles for two miles.  Arrived back in
town on our anniversary, December 13.  On December 15, 2005, I walked out of
my house for the last time as a whole man (unless you want to count those
teeth I lost in '71).

When I woke up, I did not open my eyes, but my doc was telling me in
recovery that my cancer was one of the most aggressive he's seen, but he
thinks he got it all.  My post-op biopsy said different.  While I had clean
margins, my seminal vesicles where involved.

A bit of information here;  I was still in the hospital to get my biopsy
results.  The epidural that I still praise long and loudly has one possible
side effect and that is putting to sleep the ileum.  The ileum is a valve
between the large and small intestines.  My ileum is a lazy piece of crap
and slept for seven days!  So, December 22, 2000, it woke up, I pooped, and
I was out of there December 23.

RECOVERY

Home by Christmas Eve.  I cannot tell you how important that Christmas Eve
was to me.

I slept well each night and took two naps daily.  By the third day, I was
pacing the house, even going to the basement looking for something to do
that didn't require an 8-pound (3.6-kilo) lift.  Within a week, I was down
to one nap a day.

On January 2, 2001 I lost the catheter.  CELEBRATION!!!  I was in diapers,
but that was a lot better than that tube and bag!  I slept dry at night and
generally went through one diaper a day.  After 5 weeks and 6 days, on
February 25th, I graduated to pads.

Not coincidentally, the next day, I went back to work.  Two weeks later, I
was working without restrictions.

Several months later, I realized I was throwing away dry pads, so I stopped
using them.

SEX

After a few months, my doc gave me Viagra.  It didn't work.  We then tried
caverject.  Hypodermic needling my penis was not what I would call fun, but
it did give me a useable erection.  Unfortunately, I now had a short penis.
Pump!  The pump worked really well, but the rings didn't and after a few
times trying, my wife lost interest.  Suddenly, May 12, 2002, I had an
erection all on my own.  That was a nice night.

RELAPSE

It is not really a relapse, but a failure.  The surgery didn't get
everything and by May 2002, my PSA was rising.  At first, "undetectable"
became 0.1.  Then 0.27.  When it hit 0.37, my doc says I gotta get
radiation.  I can still remember where I was.  His office, Room 6, sitting
there, staring at the bed with the stirrups at the end.

So, it's off to the oncologist.  The onc sets me up with 35 rounds of
external beam radiation treatment.  He x-rays me to find out where my
prostate bed is and surrounding organs are.  He marks my skin with ink
markings for something to aim at.  On Monday the next week, I am told to
drop my pants and get on a table.  For 20 minutes this machine is moves
around me and is pointed at the ink marks.  I get up, get dressed, and go
back to work.  This goes on five days a week for seven weeks.  On July 3,
2002, my radiation is complete and I hope I am cured.

During radiation I continued my walking.  I was now up to 3-5 miles, 3-5
days of the week.  I also drank gallons of water daily and went to bed one
hour earlier every night.  Because of this regimen, I believe, my side
effects were minor and none lasted more than a week after the radiation
stopped.

NOT AGAIN!

My PSA was going down, just like it's supposed to (0.34, 0.22, 0.15).  Then
it started back up (0.21, 0.32), so I went on Lupron during July 2003.  I
suffered hot flashes in the beginning, but no longer.  I can have sex, I
just don't care to.

LIFE CONTINUES

So, last week I had my blood drawn.  I waited until I got around to it.  I
had the results sent to my doctor.  I just wasn't all that excited about it.
My doc showed them to me.  My PSA is going up again.  But, it gets easier
after five years.  This time, I won't remember where I was at the time I
found out.  It will meld into all the other days of my life.

Why?  Because, I now know that life didn't end in 2000, nor 2002, nor 2003
or now.  Since my cancer Dx, my uncle and father-in-law have died.  Several
in my family were dx'ed with cancers; my son with testicular, his wife with
cervical dysphasia (which will likely be cancer some day) my brother-in-law
with lymphoma, my cousin with colon, my sister's father-in-law with lung
(funeral was today), and my sister-in-law's sister with breast (won't make
to Christmas).  My sister-in-law is in a nursing home with radiation damage
to her brain.  My mother-in-law has been in and out of the hospital with
lympho-something that causes her legs to swell grotesquely.  My mother has
had four operations on her broken femur then hip.  My daughter probably has
MS "or something worse."

But, on the positive side, in those same five years, I transferred to me
dream job and have high hopes of retiring from there.  My wife retired and
we live in a 2300 square foot condominium that is nested in the woods.  My
son and both daughters married, bought houses and produced for me three
grandchildren.  Both the Reds and Bengals are winning half their games.

Life is still good and I expect ten more years of it, minimum.