Beam at me, Dr. Gilroy

Beltane and Recovery Moon

Slight change in my plans. Got to thinking over the weekend about radiation. I mean, who wouldn’t, right? Littleton Adventist versus Anova Cancer Care. Anova is Dr. Gilroy’s shop. I like Littleton because I liked the imaging folks there, both Kate and me had good experiences there. It’s also closer to home, though not by a huge amount.

But. Their radiation folks do a lot of breast cancer. I know that from the two dedicated parking slots for breast cancer patients. They probably do a lot of other kinds of cancer, too. All good. Yes. However. Anova does mostly prostate cancer. Got to thinking about those radiation beams, the possibility of the radiation impacting my bowels, my bladder, my kidneys. It’s a tight space and aiming the beam will have a lot to do both with the main goal, kill, kill, kill, as well as with the likelihood of side effects now and later.

Went on followmyhealth (a website Anova shares with New West Physicians, my primary care folk). E-mail. Hey, Dr. Gilroy. Decided I’d rather do my radiation in your shop.

Weird choices, where to do radiation. Where to get my Lupron shot. They are though both up front and center. Right now.

A Skeptical Realist

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

32 degrees this morning on Shadow Mountain, raining. Fog grays out Black Mountain. So far our usual summertime foe, wildfire, looks less formidable. At least for this year.

Office, Edward Hopper, American realist

And, yes, if you, reader of Ancientrails, are tired of the medical overcast here, so am I. However.

As Kate and I talked yesterday, I told her about my new friend David, who has a prostate cancer situation more dire than mine. His has metastasized. He said, “I’m good at compartmentalization.” I’m not. Don’t want to be.

I’m a realist. Neither optimist nor pessimist. I want to know what is. There’s good evidence in psychological studies of depression that realists end up depressed more than optimists. That optimists are happier than realists or pessimists. May be. Still can’t look away.

That’s what you’re reading here. My attempt to see. Inside and out. And, even though I learned from Cosmos and Psyche that skepticism is a tool, not a lifeway, surprise; it’s a tool I’ve used so long that I can’t put it back in the toolbox, hang it on its little outline on the pegboard of my mind. Skepticism and realism have never made me the life of the party. Debbie Downer might be more apt.

Yet some deep commitment to honesty, learned I’m not sure where, keeps me realist and skeptic. I don’t like being manipulated, by others, by institutions, by myself. So I long ago chose to deal with the psychological fall out of the examined life, a fair exchange in my world. Not always pleasant, but cleaner. Candid.

Uncertainties

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

Important note. Whether or not I get a cure from this combination of radiation and hormone therapy, together they will slow down the cancer. That means I’ll live longer than I would with no treatment. If a cure doesn’t happen, I may live into another period of advances in treatment.

Still absorbing. I’ve passed the shock of omg I’ve got cancer again! I’ve passed through struggles over imaging. Now, I have data. Two negative imaging studies and a PSA of high velocity, 3.01 in the last test. I prefer knowing what’s going on.

I’m in a different location now. A treatment plan in place. (see post below) Within that decision was a secondary but important choice. To go after the cancer aggressively. The addition of the lupron reflects that choice.

Sometime next week I’ll get calls from a nurse practitioner who administers and manages the lupron injections. She’ll give me more information about what to expect, what to do. In my instance I’ll get injections every three months for up to two years.

Also next week I’ll get a call from the radiation therapy folks at Littleton Adventist. We’ll set up a schedule for my 35 sessions. They call this fractionation. My prescription is 70 Gy’s (a measure of radiation) spread out over 35 10-minute doses, fractions.

When you get into cancer treatment, the brutality of it, a therapeutic necessity for much of what’s on offer, presents its own set of problems. What doesn’t kill you may cure you, but not without a price. How high a price is different for each individual and unknown at this point for me as a result.

I’m stage III

That does make the upcoming weeks and months more fraught. In addition to the question of how therapeutic the radiation and the Lupron are there is question of how severe their side effects will be. There’s a deep irony in this reality. What’s curing is hurting.

Am I concerned about all this? Yes. It gives the time ahead two different sorts of uncertainty. Wish it were as clean as my initial decision to get my prostate out of my body. That was straightforward. Surgery. Recovery. Done.

Not these treatments. Some side effects of the radiation may not manifest for years. Side effects of the Lupron will be more immediate.

Radiation and Lupron

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

So. Cancer treatment plan. After negative findings for bone lesions and metastases in the thorax-most excellent news-we’re left with the rising PSA as evidence of a cancer return. Since my PSA jumped from 1.3 to 3.01 in two months, this is a more aggressive bugger, but likely confined still to the prosate fossa (bed) where my prostate isn’t.

In my situation Gilroy has recommended 70 Gy’s of radiation over 35 sessions, 5 days a week for 7 weeks. This is a usual plan. He also recommended, due to the PSA jump, the addition of Lupron, a testosterone suppressing drug. Both can have significant side effects, but I’ll deal with those if and as they come.

I chose Littleton hospital as the site for my radiation because it’s a bit easier to access than Gilroy’s shop. Kate has had several imaging studies there and my bone scan and ct were there. I’ve been impressed with their professionalism and kindness.

Gonna get some books on cd. 35 round trips will get me through at least one or two.

No one knows what the future holds. Except for that one certainty. All this is an attempt to push the date of that certainty further away than doing nothing. I’m hopeful, cautiously optimistic.

Tough Place

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

I’m in a tough place. Tired out. Psychically weary. Physically weary. Workouts stalled due to schedules. Writing non-existent except for this blog. Habit. Of very long standing. No hiking. Watching a lot of TV, dulling the mind, the heart. On purpose.

Of course, as we enter the ninth month after Kate’s bleed, with all that has entailed, and considering flu and pneumonia for February and March, it’s not a surprise. Add the I’m Back! from prostate cancer, the imaging difficulties, the appointment today, and I’m pushed over the line sweet Jesus.

Symptoms: staring blankly, weariness, heaviness in the soul, irritability, lack of motivation. I don’t know what to do with my life, I said to Kate yesterday. Not sure what I meant, though it felt true at the time. In 2015, during the diagnostic runup to the prostate surgery, I talked about losing all sense of the future. My mind just wouldn’t go there. Not the, oh, I’m in the moment sort of thing, but a symptom of possible lost hope. This is probably the same. Cancer eats away not only at the body but at time, too. At our sense of ourselves as ongoing.

I have novels to edit. Ancientrails, the printed edition, to organize and edit. Paintings to paint. Grandkids to see. Domestic chores to get done. Colorado to see with Kate. Yes. All true. But right now I don’t have a sense of urgency with them, they don’t call to me. Sit down. Pen in hand. Start whacking out paragraphs. Or, stand up. The moon and the sun, the lesser light and the greater light. What colors should I use? What shape? Where should they go on the painting?

Will pass. May last through my treatment, however long that takes.

J-Tube at Work

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

Kate’s still sleeping, taking in nutrients. The j-tube has some similarities to the tpn. It has a pump and a set of tubing to connect the pump to the j-tube port. No more bags though. No more syringes. No more batteries. No more heparin or saline flushes. No more pic line. The nutrient solution is called Jevity. I couldn’t figure it out, but Kate said, “Longevity.” Oh. I see.

The really big difference though is that the j-tube puts the nutrients into the digestive tract. This is safer, no more direct line to Kate’s heart for possible wee beasties, and also more sustainable over the long haul. With Sjogren’s dry mouth the j-tube might be permanent. Thanks, Dr. Ed.

April, 2018. Happy Camper

In other local technology news the Rav4 has reached an inflection point in our lives. The AC either has a leak under the dashboard or a faulty evaporator. $900 to remove the dashboard and diagnosis it. If, as they suspect, it’s the evaporator, another $1,900 for the part. With labor somewhere in the three thousand dollar range. It’s a 2011, eight years old next month. As a rough trade-in it’s worth about $5,800. Too much to spend.

So. A new, or newer, car. We’ll keep the Rav4 since it’s in good mechanical shape. With the exception of the AC obvi. Worth more to us than it is as a trade-in. I didn’t get the y-chromosome negotiating gene. I hate it. Buying a new/er car is, grrrr.

Meeting with a friend’s husband this morning in Evergreen at the Muddy Buck. He has prostate cancer, too. A mini-support group, I guess. Then, at 1 pm I’ll get diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment plan. All prostate cancer, all day.

Gone the TPN

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

2014

The tpn is over. Kate’s pic line got pulled out yesterday afternoon before she left Adventist. Don’t know what we’ll do with the saline flushes, heparin blocks, batteries, gloves, kits for attaching the bag to the pump, the remaining bags.

The j-tube nutrients, called Jevity (I know, like continuation and continuators), arrived in a small box last night. Enough for a month. The tpn required three boxes each week, with three styrofoam boxes plus cooling gel packs. The j-tube is on Kate’s abdomen so she can handle the flushes and the feedings. I’m out of a job. And, I’m glad.

When I got to Adventist yesterday, Kate was not yet ready to go home. I spent 5 hours there. I’ve reached a saturation point with driving to hospitals, hanging out. I’m tired of it. The constant back and forth, the long drives. We’re in the 9th month now since Kate’s bleed. It’s been a lot and I’m showing the strain.

Not pretty, but true nonetheless. This will pass and I’ll get back in the groove. Yesterday though…

Done and dusted

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

Finally. Ancientrails. All 2,000,000 words, through May 26th of this year, printed. It’s a lot of paper and ink. Now I have to sort it into years, get it three-hole punched, and buy those three ring binders.

Kate comes home today. I’m leaving to pick her up right now.

Cracks Filled With Gold

Beltane and the Recovery Moon

Comment and response:

Tom and Mark at the Boulder Tajikistani Tea House

Tom Crane said:

It seems we are all becoming wabi sabi humans. Or Velveteen rabbits. The same perhaps. Deepening the love for ourselves and others, wearing the roadmaps of our lives for others to see while we sort through the inner souvenirs, not so visible.

Love and blessings, Charles.

Charles says: June 4, 2019 at 10:37 am (Edit)

I agree. Third phase life, done well, could also be called the Velveteen Rabbit phase. When we become real to ourselves. The cracks in our lives mended with gold, their existence treasured. Even the impermanence of life becomes beautiful, a frame for the whole. Our imperfections, flaws, mistakes as crucial and necessary as our achievements. We see that now.