Bad idea.

“Okay, so what’s up with the little ball of sunshine?” you ask. I thought it might be a quick and wacky way of indicating what kind of day it’s been for me emotionally. A sunny day = a good day; an overcast day = a crappy day. You get the idea…

Up early on a Saturday?? Moi??? Yes. A decent night’s sleep had me rolling out of bed around 6:30 AM. Determined not to even think about cancer today (okay, not think about it much!), I decided that I would do what I do best: Hop in my car and drive.

A friend at work rock climbs in the Red River Gorge of the Daniel Boone National Forest in Kentucky, and he suggested that I check it out. It’s about a three hour drive from here, so I found myself driving down the highway about 8 AM on an unusually warm (72 degrees) and sunny mid-November day.

The act of driving the twisting roads of the scenic byway and the search for photogenic sights kept my mind off of other matters. It was a pleasant way to spend the day.

On the way back through Cincinnati, I stopped at Jungle Jim’s market and picked up a bottle of wine and a hunk of Papillon Roquefort–not to drown my sorrows but to celebrate the day.

Cliches are cliches because there’s an element of truth to them. In an odd way, being diagnosed with cancer has made me feel more energized. Perhaps I’m beginning to follow Tim McGraw’s advice, “Live Like You Were Dying,” or even my own mom’s admonition that, “Life is not a dress rehearsal.” (Don’t take that as my believing the Grim Reaper is right around the corner–prostate cancer is highly treatable and curable, and that’s what I’m focusing on.)

I’m sure that I’ll have my down days–next week will be filled with a few of them as I wait for the bone scan results. So look for a few clouds on the horizon as I take the next step in my journey…

So I woke up Friday morning much better rested than the previous night. That doesn’t mean that I had a full night’s sleep; just a more restful one.

One of the things that kept me tossing and turning was the upcoming bone scan test. If that shows the cancer has spread, that’s a whole new ball game that we’re dealing with. That had me on edge very early in the morning.

I went to work and quickly sought out a couple of friends whom I didn’t have the opportunity to tell on Thursday. Nothing like starting the day with:

“Good morning, how are you?”

“Okay. I have prostate cancer.”

Unfortunately, there really is no delicate way to tell someone that you have cancer. You just have to come out and say it.

I found it interesting that I really felt compelled Thursday afternoon and Friday to spread the word. Perhaps it was simply because of my own discomfort with uttering the words, “I have cancer.” As with anything, however, repetition did make it easier.

By mid-morning, I had made the last of my intended announcements and then turned my attention on the bone scan, learning the timing of its results, and scheduling a meeting with the doctor to review the results.

Oh. And I did some work, too.

By late morning, I was in a pretty good mood and more focused on what I needed to do for my job. (I still wasn’t completely focused on my job–just more focused.) I was able to convince myself not to dwell on the results of a test that hadn’t even been run yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

At the end of the day, I was in a really upbeat mood and decided to head to Cincinnati for dinner and a little shopping. I was in bed with lights out by 10:30 PM.

“Go ahead, Doc, make my day.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

So that’s how I learned that I have prostate cancer.

My urologist went through a pretty detailed description of what I needed to know.    He took twenty samples during the biopsy the week before, and was surprised by how many returned with cancerous cells.  Most of the cancer was found on the right side of the prostate where the mass was, but some was found in the left side.

With a Gleason score of 6 and a PSA of 5, he classified the cancer as slow growing and thought that it was confined to the prostate for now.  I questioned the Gleason score of 6, considering that 10 is the max on the scale, indicating the most aggressive cancers.  He said that the scale isn’t linear, and anything below a 7 is still less aggressive.

He was pretty confident that the cancer was contained within my prostate and had not spread, yet when I told him about some discomfort in my hip (one of the reasons for having the physical in the first place), he ordered a bone scan to ensure that the cancer hasn’t spread outside of the prostate.

His recommendation for someone of my age (52) in my situation is to have a robotic radical prostatectomy.  He offered up several physicians in the Cincinnati area who do “hundreds” of these procedures each year for my consideration.  I have time to make the decision.  We also talked about the possible side effects of such a surgery.

I had an inkling that this would be the outcome.  I’m not sure why.  I just did.  So I’ve had a month to wrap my head around the possibility.  Still, it’s not the same as when the doctor says, “You have cancer.”  My sister wasn’t expecting that answer and was quite shaken by the news.

As we left, the doctor handed me a book, “100 Questions and Answers about Prostate Cancer”–a $16.95 value (unless it shows up on my Anthem claim statement).  He did comment on how thorough my online research had been.  “Knowledge is power,” he said.  And scary, too.

After leaving the doctor’s office, we came back to my house to discuss the meeting and review my sister’s notes (she was the extra set of ears and recorder–something I appreciated).  After half an hour or so, they decided it was time for them to head back to Chicago, and I was okay with that.

It was around 10:00 AM when they left, and I waffled on whether or not I should go back to work.  Within 15 minutes, I was in my car heading to the office.  I needed to let some close friends and coworkers know the outcome–they had been waiting anxiously for the results.  Besides, moping around the house wasn’t going to do me any good, either.

I had let a handful of people know what I was going through but asked them to keep it quiet for the time being.  I let those folks know the results first, and each was stunned.  I told my boss that I’d been debating whether to make a public announcement to our team about it.  I live and work in Small Town USA where the gossip mill is alive and well, and I wanted to control how the message was delivered, especially to those I work with on a daily basis.

My boss was understanding and allowed me a few minutes at the end of our staff meeting.  I opened by saying that a few of them had approached me about being distracted or on edge the last few weeks, and that I had a reason for that.  I would also probably be distracted and on edge for the next few weeks as well.  All were shocked speechless at the news (or, perhaps, at the fact that I was sharing it in such an open way).

By the end of the day, I was physically and emotionally spent.  I had barely slept the night before (thanks to a neighbor’s barking dog–or perhaps a coyote), and was in my bed, lights out by 10 PM.

I went for a routine physical on October 7th and my doctor performed the dreaded digital rectal exam (DRE) as part of the process.  When she felt a firm mass on my prostate, she made sure that the blood drawn the previous day would also have a PSA test run on it.  The results on the PSA were elevated (5) and my doctor hooked me up with the local urologist for further screening.

On October 21st, the urologist needed to perform his own DRE and confirmed what my personal physician had detected: a mass on the right side of my prostate.  A trans-rectal ultrasound biopsy was ordered and took place on November 3rd.

Twenty tissue samples and a week later, the pathology report was in.  The appointment for the results was at 8:45 AM on Thursday, November 11, 2010.

My sister and her husband would drive from their home in Chicago Wednesday night to spend the evening with me and offer moral support the next morning as the results were being delivered.