NOW What Do We Do?

So the test results are in. The PSA level dropped. This is a good thing. It’s now about 50% lower than it was in April and about 80% lower than the March reading. It’s well below the threshold at which radiation therapy is started. Like I say, this is a good thing.

This doesn’t mean it’s all over, it’s done, and I’m cured. Cancer doesn’t work like that. I’ll go back in September for another test…and then again in another three months. And if the numbers stay low perhaps the time between tests will eventually stretch to six months.

The next question of course is why did it drop? Perhaps that’s best answered by a previous question: Why did it go up? The fact is there’s really no way to know. A whole range of answers could be suggested:
There was an error in the March test.
There was an error in the April test.
I lost weight.
I ate well.
My body is healing.
I have a good attitude.
I have good karma.

Or, like so much about cancer, no one knows. It just is.

Cancer is a process, not a finite point. All the physical changes and the treatments are permanent and unshifting; the state of mind and the disease however, ebb and flow. It is and will continue to be a balancing act: living well and maximizing healthy time while dealing with the apprehensions and uncertainties of the future. I think these past 60 days were a test drive for the way my life will run. The test went well. Much was done and much was learned.

This blog, which I started for myself as a way of codifying and clarifying thoughts, will continue. It’s helped me step back, take a breath, think. I’m not sure of the direction it will take in the future.

I have a few binders and notebooks that I use for storing cancer related research, notes, insurance info, records, and receipts. For the time being these will go on to a lower shelf in my office, a shelf that doesn’t see much action. They’ll keep my old, unused external drive and my extra cans of Staples Dust Destroyer company.

As much as I’m getting a sense of wanting to move on and just be away from Cancer World I suspect that’s never really going to happen. But right now and for the next few months there are other things that need my attention: There’s Father’s Day at Citi Field, kayaking if the weather ever gets warm, a 21st birthday to celebrate at McSorley’s, Rebecca doing standup at Caroline’s in July, briskets to smoke, trails to hike.

Getting away from Cancer World may be illusory, but in the words of Adam Savage of Mythbusters, “I reject your reality… and substitute my own.”

If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?...Hillel

The Valley of Fire, Nevada

We returned from Las Vegas Friday, May 29th. It was in a sense two separate vacations: Las Vegas with all its attendant looniness: the strip, the casinos, the hotels, the tourists, the shows, the noise, and all the other stuff that makes Vegas, well, Vegas.

And the desert: With absolutely none of the above. It is a place I always wanted to see, and dammit, I saw it, hiked it, climbed it, and breathed it. I must go back.

After the decision to hold off on the radiation was reached I made up my mind to do what I wanted until the next scheduled blood test, which was this morning, June 16. It wasn’t hard to find things to do. What was hard to do was to concentrate on those things and get the cancer crap out of my mind. It’s a little like being on a high mountain road: you know that injury and death will be swift if you veer off the road so it’s best not to look over the edge…rather concentrate on the road immediately ahead of you. And that’s what I did. We saw 2 plays, ate fine food, spent time with family and good friends, took a vacation. The fun continued through my annual physical which revealed that my various cardiac problems are stable and all the tests were gloriously normal. I assume that my hinkey ticker took pity on me and decided to give me a break this year.

Dana Jennings, a writer and editor for the New York Times, publishes a semi-regular blog about his own prostate cancer experiences. He’s younger than me and has it way rougher. I am always dumbstruck by his wonderful writing and his ability to really nail aspects about this disease and all that goes with it. One of his entries concerned the non-stop blood tests and the people who perform them. He brilliantly divides the phlebotomist world into two camps: The pokers and the gliders. The gliders are the artists, the ones you barely feel. Their touch is swift, sure, gentle but not hesitant. I believe I had been batting around 1000 until this morning. I got me a poker. I felt that needle go in, sit in there for a while, and most assuredly come out. And when I removed the ball of gauze in the crook of my elbow several hours later, it was a nice, damp, red orb. I could have wrung it out and run a brace of liver function tests and had enough left over to check my cholesterol as well.

So now the wait. The key is to not get ahead of oneself in terms of imagining outcomes. I’ve envisioned all the scenarios: good results, bad results, more treatments, less treatments. None of the outcomes can be clearly envisioned or predicted. I’ve learned that cancer comes at you in ways you can’t imagine. Anticipation is a waste of time. I’ve also learned that you can’t forget about it and just go about your life as if nothing has happened. Because something has happened and you are not the same. Certainly in a physical sense as well as in your approach to and sense of your life.

For sixty days I have tried to put this all aside while I did what I wanted rather than what I had to. I found that during that time I could be having an extraordinary time, a time when I am in the moment, but cancer managed to crawl back into my view. Oddly enough it did not ruin things for me. I acknowledged it and got back into the moment. I guess I’m learning to deal with cancer on my terms. I’m learning to own it.