Beltane and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Just got off the line with Kristie Kokenny, my P.A. oncologist. I started seeing her a month after Kate died. A bit over three  years now.

She’s ordering another PSMA scan. This is the one that uses the tracer that binds to a protein found to stick up out of 95% of prostate cancer cells. I was wrong about the cutoff for this PET scan. It’s between .2 and .5 PSA. Since my new PSA is .48, I’m a candidate.

It’s been a bit over a year since my last PET scan of this sort. If the scan is negative, a distinct possibly, we’ll continue monitoring my PSA and testosterone. No drugs.

In fact, and here’s an oddity, it’s possible my PSA could go down. The reason? The radiation I had on my spine last year. Irradiated cancer cells do not die immediately. Their DNA suffers damage from the radiation and they die over a period of two years. It’s possible some of my PSA comes from damaged cells not yet dead. Depending on the proportion of those to active cancer cells, it’s possible for a decrease. Not counting on it, but, hey…

Now that I understand what’s going on my anxiety titer (Kate’s phrase) has vanished altogether. It wasn’t high to begin with, though it was there.

I’m now in my tenth year of cancer and Kristie still says no matter we see on the imaging we can manage it. And I believe her. Trust your doctors and zip up. Kate to me on her death bed.

Though it’s never gone from my mind, how could it be, I’ve adapted and remained mostly calm by having treatments that work. I can’t say, as I hear some cancer patients say, that it has dramatically affected my understanding of life. Rather, it’s added a piece of luggage to the journey. Sometimes heavy, mostly light.