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A Reflection on Day 11: Normal

 As I was preparing for my surgery, one of the things doctors said (both my own doctors and the material I read, both in print and on line) to be upbeat was, “You should be back to normal activities in [some period of time].” Oh, don’t lift too much, and don’t plan on driving too soon, but both of those were, as I heard it, relatively short term issues. “You should be back to normal activities by….” Each time Karen and I heard that, we couldn’t believe it. We would stop and say, “That’s too optimistic. My normal activities include moderate hiking on uneven trails, maybe stopping to harvest mushrooms; or fighting through brush to lay out a trail; or, depending on the season, heavy gardening or tree work. I don’t those things professionally or for more than a couple of hours a day; but it still seemed (it still seems) unlikely that I would be back to those activities in the times the doctors suggested. Oddly enough, for most of the written sources the standard for “normal behavior” was g
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A Reflection on Day 8: Fear

 So, here I am, surgery plus eight days. I thought I would have written more by now. Oh, well! Over all, I have has a good week. Oh, some days have felt better than others, but things have gone well. Some things that would have been awful, like nausea or constipation, have not been problems. Most important for us, I’ve been able to manage pain without using the opioid that was made available. Mind you, I took some in the hospital and I would have used it at home had I needed it. (Addiction rates are low for people who had physical causes for pain and only take the med while the pain continues.) But, I haven’t just been bearing up with ibuprofen and acetaminophen, I’ve been comfortable. Also, I’m not your typical patient. I am so much better informed to start with, and so much more capable than most patients of getting information I don’t have. There’s a lot to be said for 40 years working in or near healthcare, and for having a wife who’s a retired nurse (with both hospital and hospice
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Twas the night before….

 Now I’m less than 12 hours from surgery. I know that this is to benefit me. So why do I have a sense of dread about it? Of course, the first answer is that I know - we both know - that no surgery is perfectly safe. However small the chance, it’s there. This should be about as safe as any invasive surgery, but that’s not no risk.  The second thing is that the surgery is just the start. I will have to retrain my body to do things it learned long ago, and now will have to relearn.  Ultimately, though, it’s because tonight these thoughts are abstract. Tomorrow they will start an IV in my arm, and that will be quite concrete. I appreciate everyone praying for me and thinking of me. I don’t know when I’ll feel like writing again. I imagine by then I will have more to say.
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Closer and closer

 I'm now less than 18 hours from surgery. It's been a day - a good day, in that some important things got done; a difficult day, as both of us are anxious, anxious enough that the dog has noticed. One of the things I learned from my father was not to worry about things over which I don't have control. Note that I'm not perfect in that: sometimes there were things I should have been responsible for, and then failed. Indeed, it was one of those circumstances when Dad said that to me: I had lost control because I hadn't done something for school, and now it was too late. Still, that night I was able to sleep. This surgery isn't really the same thing, either. In one sense, I had control. I suppose I still do, in that I could cancel; but, really, I made the decision and set things in motion. Once I had done that, I had given up control, and the cost of retaking it would be great. I will sleep tonight, and probably tomorrow night, because, well, what else is there to
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So, I have prostate cancer....

 So, I have a prostate. I know most folks haven't thought about that, but would realize it as soon as they did. It's been a long time since any provider wanted to do a manual examination of the prostate (the "finger wave," as one friend used to put it). Instead, each year I've had a blood test for prostate specific antigen (PSA).  All the adults reading this will, or should, know that men are likely to have prostate cancer. I've heard it said most men will die with it, but not of it. Many friends and family know that my father has prostate cancer, and has had it for years with little consequence. So, I was expecting that, sooner or later, my PSA would be wrong. I just wasn't expecting it at 66. Last February my PSA was high. I thought little of it. Then in May it was high again. I still thought little of it, but my nurse practitioner had a different opinion. That's when I found myself with an appointment with another nurse practitioner attached to a
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How shall I begin?

 If you've found your way here, you're probably friend or family. I'm going to be sharing about my prostate cancer here. I will sometimes be reflective. I will certainly sometimes be indelicate. I will certainly over-share. I will sound pompous (if you know me at all you will not be surprised).  This may end up seeming a bad idea, and go away. We'll see. But I wanted to be able to share what's going on with me without mucking up all my other social media and the algorithms. Here's to a new year that gets better as it goes along.
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