A Decade Living with Prostate Cancer

One decade. 522 weeks. 3,654 days. 87,696 hours.

That’s how long I’ve been living with prostate cancer since being diagnosed on 11 November 2010. Of course, the operative phrase is “living with.”

The diagnosis was terrifying. The treatment decision was excruciating and exhausting. The surgery recovery was longer than expected with some complications along the way. The long-term side effects have been what were advertised at the beginning.

On the positive side, there were 54 months of undetectable PSA results to indicate the surgery had done the trick. Or so we thought.

When my first detectable PSA test came in five years ago, I was even more terrified and panicked than when I was initially diagnosed. It meant that my first line of defense had failed. Now I had fewer options to control or rid me of the cancer available to me.

My doctors convinced me that there was no need for immediate panic and that we could and should monitor my PSA before considering any action. My PSA fluctuated up and down, but had a slow but steady upward trend.

As my PSA continued to climb—passing several markers that are normally used to consider starting salvage radiation therapy—I continued to do nothing. I’ve been pretty steadfast in my reluctance to start zapping without knowing where the cancer is, and even some of the best new imaging techniques won’t pick up the cancer at my PSA levels.

With a PSA doubling time of four years, I’m comfortable with that decision. Heck. I’m still here five years after that initial detectable PSA reading, and ten years after my initial diagnosis.

We may find out a little more about my future direction next month when I go for my next PSA test just before Christmas. As I’ve learned (albeit slowly) over the last decade, don’t get too worked up about the results until you have them in hand. It just doesn’t do any good to speculate about the unknown. January will tell me whether I can continue the status quo or it’s finally time to take action.


If you asked me ten years ago when I started this blog (to keep family and friends informed in my pre-Facebook days) that I would still be doing this ten years later, I would have said you’re nuts. But here I am.

I’ve tried to inform and educate others about prostate cancer along the way, and to give insights to the newly diagnosed as to what you may encounter two, three, five, or ten years down the road. All the guys I spoke with pre-surgery had, themselves, only been less than a year out from their own surgery date. They had no long-term post-surgery insights to offer to me.

I’ve tried to inject a little dose of reality to those who, just like me, gleefully declared themselves to be “cancer-free” after a few undetectable PSA tests. “Not so fast.” My story is a reminder that there can be unexpected plot twists, even in the later chapters.

Along the way, I’ve met some wonderfully supportive men who have been through their own journey—some just virtually and some in person. Sadly, three of them have lost their battle with prostate cancer and they’re sorely missed.

It’s been a decade of living with prostate cancer. Living with. Let’s hope that I’m still around to write the blog post, “Two Decades Living with Prostate Cancer.”

Month 79 – Perspectives Gained through a Prostate Cancer Support Group

About a month ago, I joined the Prostate Cancer Support Group on Facebook just to check it out and see what sorts of things were being discussed there. It’s been interesting and educational.

Many of the posts are from those first diagnosed, struggling with the news, seeking some guidance on how to process it and where to begin. Others seek answers to treatment questions. Some just vent. A few offer up a few funny jokes or stories to lighten the mood of the group (and make us test our stress incontinence with hearty chuckles). And then there are, sadly, the one or two at the end of their journey who tell of their decision to stop treatment and just let nature run its course.

More than anything, being in the group reminds you in a very raw, unfiltered way of the physical and emotional toll that this insidious disease wreaks on the patient, his partner, and his family.

Of course, each case is unique to the individual patient, but it’s been interesting to note the differences in information being told by the physicians to the patients. For example—and because it’s of personal interest to me—you can see debates on what the definition of an “undetectable” post-surgery PSA reading is. Because the patients are being given these different numbers by their physicians, it just reinforces my frustration with the lack of consensus in the urology community.

Everyone in the group is very supportive of each other, and that’s good. There’s definitely value in sharing thoughts and experiences and just being able to scream out loud to others who can relate. However, some of the well-intentioned support can go to too far, with some of the comments bordering on misinformation or even medical advice. For the newly diagnosed and not yet educated (about prostate cancer), that can be a concern as they try to wrap their heads around all of this information before making treatment decisions.

I joined the group to see if there were any discussions about post-surgery salvage therapies should my PSA continue to rise, but it seems most of the discussions are with the newly diagnosed or those who are already in the advanced stages of the disease. For now, I’ll keep monitoring the conversations, gleaning what I can (and taking much of it with a grain of salt). If my August PSA shows another increase, I’ll start overtly asking questions and see what sort of responses I get.

Reading the posts of those in the advanced stages of prostate cancer has given me a new respect for what those patients are going through. It’s also made me question how I would want to approach the advancing cancer should it happen to me.

When I read the narratives about the side effects of hormone therapy I, frankly, get scared. So many of the men in the forum (or their wives) speak of how the therapy has had a significant impact on their ability to function. The fatigue, the moodiness, the hot flashes, and more. As I recall, one person spoke of how her husband was sleeping upwards of 20 hours per day.

It’s under those circumstances that I begin to ask myself—and I ask this without judgment of anyone else’s decision—Is it really worth going through all this if you’re going to sleep 18-20 hours a day? Is that really living? Why prolong life if you’re unable to function in your daily tasks? Is the “cure” worse than the actual disease?

I guess that’s just the pragmatic engineer of German ancestry coming out in me. If and when I get to that stage, I may change my tune. “Hell yes, it’s worth it!” But then I stumbled across this poignant article in the New York Times, At His Own Wake, Celebrating Life and the Gift of Deaththat talks about medical assistance in dying, and it reinforced the desire that most of us have to be in control of our own fate for as long as we possibly can.

I hope that I won’t have to make any of these decisions for a very, very long time. In the mean time, I’ll continue to offer support where I can in the group, and learn more about salvage therapy from the experience of others.

Six Years

Six years ago today, I was told I had prostate cancer. Guess what? It’s six years later and I’m still alive and kickin’. Woo-hoo!

PSA Trend 20160803Of course, the cancer storm clouds may be brewing as I head into my next PSA test in a few weeks. Who knows what crazy result it will yield. Remember, in the last 15 months, we’ve gone from undetectable to 0.05 to 0.04 to 0.08 to 0.05. Any bets on the results this time around??

My schedule in early December is quite hectic, so I’ll likely go for the blood draw during the week of 28 November. As usual, I’ll wait three days to get the results online, and then my appointment with the urologist is on 29 December.

Stay tuned. In the meantime, here’s wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving with family and friends!

Month 61 – Letter to the Newly Diagnosed

A few weeks ago, one of my blog’s readers, a three-time cancer survivor, emailed me with a suggestion for a post topic: An open letter to the newly diagnosed, offering insights and support based on my own experience. I found the idea intriguing, so here goes…


Dear Newly Diagnosed Cancer Patient,

“You have cancer.” Three little words that will change the lives of you and your family forever. It’s terrifying. It’s bewildering. It’s overwhelming. It sucks.

Oregon Sunset 2Cry a little. Cry a lot. But strive to get through the initial shock and emotional reaction as quickly as you can. You’ve got work to do.

Don’t bother trying to answer the question, “Why?” You’ll spend too much energy to never get the answer. You’ll need to focus that energy on what’s ahead.

Don’t be ashamed that you have cancer. Have open and honest conversations about it with those around you; don’t bottle it up. Find a tidbit of humor in the situation and inject it into the conversation. When you do, people will feel more comfortable around you. Recognize, however, that some people will find being around cancer too difficult and will withdraw. Let them go, for their sake and yours. Most will return once they’ve had time to process what’s happening.

Relationships will be put to the test and may change. Remember that this isn’t all about you. It’s about those closest to you, too, and sometimes it can be more than they can bear. You’ll have to be the strong one for them. Don’t be surprised when some of your most casual acquaintances become your biggest supporters. Embrace them.

Become your own advocate. Research, research, and research some more. You may have the best medical team in the world, but question them. While they’re highly trained medical professionals, they’re still human. They may have their own self-interests in mind. If you ask a radiation oncologist what the best treatment option will be, he or she will likely say radiation. If you ask a surgeon, the answer will likely be surgery. You have to be comfortable with what’s right for you, knowing all the potential risks, side effects, and complications.

Seek out other patients who have had your cancer, whether a friend, a family member, or in a support group (or even through a blog). They can be the greatest resource available to you. They can tell you their first-hand experience and how the cancer and the treatment impacts their daily life. Recognize that each case is unique, so take their input with a grain of salt and realize you may not have the same result.

You can research and consult with your medical team until the cows come home, but at some point you’re going to have to make a decision. You. It’s your body and your life. You have to be comfortable that your research was thorough, and that you’ll make the best decision possible with the information at hand at that point in time. Then place your trust in your medical team to do the best they can.

You will be stressed. You’ll have “cancer” on the mind 24/7. Figure out ways to distract yourself from the cancer thoughts even for a few hours. Go to a movie, take a drive through the country, take a hike—whatever works for you. The stress can wear you down physically. Get plenty of rest after those sleepless nights; watch your nutrition. You’ve got to be as healthy as you can going into the challenges ahead.

All of this is far easier said than done. I know. Friends and family will offer assistance; take them up on their offers. They’re not there to pity you; they’re there to offer genuine help and support. Don’t let pride get in the way.

While we all hope for the best possible outcome, the harsh reality is that not everyone survives cancer. Make sure your affairs are in order, especially advanced medical directives, and that your family understands  and will honor your desires.

Being told you have cancer is not the end; it’s the beginning of a process.

In my case, I was diagnosed with Stage IIb prostate cancer, and the diagnosis was the beginning of my process to determine what treatment option was best for me. But even if you’re diagnosed with late Stage IV cancer and are considered to be terminal, it’s still the beginning of the process to figure out the best options for your remaining time.

Lastly, even if your cancer allows for successful treatment, cancer will always be in your thoughts long after the treatment ends. I’m five years out from my diagnosis and treatment, and a little “recurrence cloud” follows me around every day, as I wonder whether or not the cancer will return. Once you introduce cancer into your vocabulary, it’s there for good, whether the actual disease is there or not.

I wish you and your family all the best as you begin your own journey.

Dan

Month 53 – Cancer Sucks

It’s not been a good month for my friends.

One learned that her husband was diagnosed with colon cancer and the other learned his mother was diagnosed with lymphoma.  Cancer sucks.

Another friend who’s been through her own cancer battle shared this article on her Facebook page, and it’s worth the read, even if you’re not newly diagnosed.

The Things I Wish I Were Told When I Was Diagnosed With Cancer

I wish my friends and their families well as they go through this new journey.

As far as my own journey is concerned, I’m living my new normal just fine every day.  Quality of life is good.

And that’s about it for this post.