4-14-08 Update

Certainly as you look through the frequency of posts you’ll see a decrease since my surgery. The reality is this blog was born from the deep need to express my experience with cancer, and writing was the perfect outlet. I was able to spend many of my sleepless nights tapping away, and that felt fruitful, cathartic and certainly brought focus to what was an extremely turbulent mental state. As my results have been very positive, and as I have returned slowly to the waking world, the living-breathing-non-cancer-obsessed world of normalcy, my need to write has decreased. I see it as a good thing, certainly, that I feel cured enough not to be worrying.

So what now. What of the blog that helped me connect with some truly life-saving people? The blog that brought calm and focus during the darkest hours of my existence? The blog through which I let all of you know that my surgery was successful, news that when delivered to me on 12/24th rendered me unable to stand erect, and reduced me to a weeping, wet, gasping mass of joy?

What do you think?

The only other bit: I’ve accepted a short term contract with a company called Solar World. They are retrofitting a former IC fab in Hillsboro, and I have joined the HR team to build out the staffing bit and get folks hired. It looks like a fantastic reentry to the workforce: a company doing good in the world.

Thanks all.

Mark and Lyn

4-9-08 Quick update

Our local FOX station (ch 13) recently did a spot on naturopathy and cancer. I was interviewed for this, and the clip ran yesterday AM. A link to the video on their website is below. We’re very pleased that a local channel is providing an outlet within the conventional media for information on the benefits of naturopathy. Certainly my hope is that other prostate cancer guys will be motivated to seek out broader care than that provided by their conventional Dr.s. Particularly I hope there are guys out there will see this and say “48!! He’s only 48?? I thought only really old guys got prostate cancer. Man, I had better get educated and figure out early detection.”, or something to that effect. My story is not that uncommon, unless you listen to the medical community. They’ll tell you the average age at onset is 70+, without knowing the number of cases for men <50, or even being able to guess that it’s >7% of all prostate cancer cases and growing very steadily.  In reality, it is entirely likely that my cancer was detectable back in 2006.  I cannot allow myself to think about how my life would be different today had I known what I know now, and had my Doctor’s not been imbeciles.  Certainly the nerve-sparing part of the surgery would have been a much less tenuous, and the outcome very likely much, much better.  I still harbor a great resentment about this, but slowly I am letting it go.
Here’s the link.  Please help share the word – forward this to the men in your life who are >45 and help them save their own lives.

http://www.kptv.com/video/15846962/?taf=ptl1

3-31-08 Update (belated)

Hello to you all.  It feels a bit like this is drawing to a close.  I began this blog as a means of keeping my family, friends and colleagues updated on our progress as we moved through the initial stages of being cancer survivors.  Very quickly it became much more, a means of working through the challenges we were facing, and of helping others down the path of early detection, and a source of catharsis for me.  Now, with a solid treatment, post treatment pathology and testing behind me, and with my return to the walking world, this old friend, my blog, feels stale and a bit lacking in purpose.

Hence the lack of updates.   It’s not for lack of an eventful life that I have not kept up with updates.  It’s simply that events have shifted from impossibly dark to very much brighter, and with that shift my need for an emotional outlet has waned.  That makes sense, I hope.

Regardless, a couple of things:

First, I feel very good.  My post surgical recovery was very quick, and in many ways easier than expected given what was carved out of my body.   We have had an impossibly beautiful, achingly pretty spring here, and every day for me has been an exploration of what seems like a very new planet.  My overall energy, mood, alertness and drive are very high.  I rave about the cherry blossoms, and daffodils by the roadside seem a bit like cheery little miracles.  Lyn, thankfully, has been tolerant of my sometimes effusively good spirits.  Perhaps it the B12?  We are both now having weekly acupuncture, and are on supplements that address our particular issues.  For those of you wondering if a naturopath might be a valued addition to your health care: Lyn has had migraines, sometimes very serious episodes, for her entire adult life.  As you can guess these worsened as the stress of managing through the ‘cancer days’ intensified.  Our naturopath has slowly been working through causation with her, and as a result her migraines are much less frequent, less severe, and more manageable than at any point in her life.  For the first time we can drink red wines, which we both love, without the risk of a migraine.  It is an impossibly great outcome.

I am working on one of the nastier side effects of the surgery.  It is personal, manly stuff, but if you do a little digging on the primary side-effects of surgical prostatectomy you’ll figure it out.  Progress is being made, I’m happy to report.  In another area I suffered greatly from the anesthesia in terms of loss of short term memory and recall.  I was struggling with the names of close friends and family, and on two occasions left gas running on our range without being lit (both times I left the burner on at the simmer level, forgot about it, and the flame was blown out, leaving the gas running.).  I came home to find Lyn on the porch, with all of the windows and doors in the house open, and a very strong smell of natural gas reaching all the way to the street.  Eeep.  My ND (Dr. of Naturopathy) explained the effects of prolonged anesthesia in both physical and emotional terms, and we began working on it.  B12 intramuscular shots were a key component, but other supplements were helped.  Very quickly things began returning to normal.  As a compliment to conventional health care, I’m a convert to naturopathy.

Two other events worth mentioning: One, a local news caster (Kim Maus from Ch. 13) developed a story on I.V. use in naturopathy, and I was interviewed for that bit.  It should air sometime in the next 2 weeks or so.  Very exciting stuff.  And my insurance carrier refused to cover some of the medications prescribed by my Dr. to address surgical side effects.  Nice.  I exhausted the appeals process, without success.  Here is a very clear case of the insurance company playing Doctor and basing their decisions on their own bottom line rather than patient health.  Yes, I hate them.

The only bit left is employment, which I’ll cover quickly.  The short story is that there is no employment in my life at present.  As you can read further back in the blog, my former employer decided that the best possible thing to do for me, given the cancer and all, would be to fire me a day or two before my medical leave began, depriving me of salary continuation and medical coverage.  In the end, after a significant emotional toll, my leave was left in place, and my job ended when the leave expired. I regret nothing.  That job was a dream for me. I was able to write my own job description and build out my experience in the short time I was there.  Now, it’s onward to a better choice of employers.  I will certainly have better questions to ask of my next potential boss as a result of this experience, that much I can be certain of.

There it is.  Life is good overall and I’m looking forward to becoming employed and moving on after the long and ugly dance with cancer, job termination, the death of Lyn’s Dad and 2X car accidents all in the span of 3 months.

Stay in touch and check in here from time to time.  I have to decide what I’ll do with this blog.  It may become the means by which I evangelize early detection and prostate awareness.  We’ll just have to see.

Thanks for all of your support, kindness and well wishes.  As I tell everyone who I can corner in conversation: it was the support we received from all of you that sustained us during the very worst days.   Without it I can’t imagine having maintained our spirits and resiliency.

Best regards,

markfjohnson@yahoo.com

1-24-08 Update

A month? Really? That’s how long since I’ve posted anything?

So I’ll make it quick, given that I’m not at all in the mood for writing. I have progressed very well through recovery. The basics of managing the side effects are better left to a personal conversation if you are interested given their very personal nature. It’s no fun, that much I can tell you, but I’m making a very strong recovery in most respects. It will be several weeks before I go in for the results of my first PSA test. I’m anxious about that, naturally. If there is any PSA being produced it means that the cancer is still in there, replicating away. The prognosis from surgery gives every indication that that won’t be the case. One more hurdle to bound over.

Sadly, Lyn’s father passed away on 1/9th after several months of illness. He was only 76. This has been pretty tough on top of the prostate cancer thing. We drove up to Anacortes on the 9th and spent several days with Lyn’s Mom and sister. I am very happy that I was able to make the drive, though going up we had to stop frequently to get me up and walking. It’s still painful to sit for long stretches, but we made it just fine. We drove back on the 13th, and got in a few days of house stuff before getting on the train on the 17th to go up again. The train trip was great, a really fun trip in the midst of all of this. On the train I could stretch out, stand up, walk around to my hearts content. We took a picnic lunch/dinner and really enjoyed just sitting, watching the country slide by, reading and contemplating life. We helped Lyn’s Mom get ready for a memorial gathering of friends on the 19th, which was very positive. Then spent a day just dinking around up in Bellingham before returning by train on Monday AM. The trip home was spectacular – clear sunny weather all the way down afforded views of the Cascades from Candada to Mt. Hood, most of the trip on the waterfront of the sound. Just wonderful. Since then I’m getting back to the gym for light walking etc., working on some projects and getting ready for the job/work hunt that is coming shortly.

Certainly Lyn and I are ready to put the last year behind us, despite the positives that have emerged. We have new friends, new perspective, new priorities, and new realizations about ourselves. Regardless, we’re ready for some fun, and positive momentum.

We hope you are doing well, and thank you again for your support.

Mark and Lyn.

12-28-07 Update

How do I jump in to a summary of all that has happened since 12/13^th? There is so much of ‘it’, a mass of moments, events and milestones that together would require many hours of furious typing to adequately capture the least of it all. Maybe just a day-by-day outline. I’ll try to keep it brief, but skip to the 24^th if you haven’t heard the good news!

12/14^th: This was the big day, surgery. The day starts for me at 11: 50 PM on 12/13th, when I have my last drink of clear fruit juice. With that act, alone in the darkened kitchen Lyn and I built from the studs out, the final leg of my preparation for surgery began. The clock is spinning furiously. I want to slow time to an absolute stop so that I can think through every moment, but can’t. “That’s my last drink”, “That was the last time sitting on the floor feeding the cats”, “That was the last time laying on the couch”. Every act seems solidly framed in by the certainty that I will be a different man after the surgery than I am before. This awareness of ‘last moments’ stretches back days. That’s the last time I see Dr. Swanson. That’s the last time I leave work. But as time for surgery comes hurtling closer I am down to marking the minutia. Lyn is up at 3:30 AM and I on my feet. I pace around for a bit, then I stand on the porch in the darkness as she meanders around the house getting ready. It’s an odd experience. Everything should be so familiar, yet the sounds, and smells and familiar sights have astonishing clarity and depth. Later we write the words “Good Luck Dr. Sokoloff!” and “Spare those nerves!!” across my chest with indelible ink. We learn later that the surgery team had a good laugh when they discovered the message. I feel terribly calm, very positive, very in control of all of this. I drive. The streets are empty at 4:45 AM as we leave our cozy little house. “That’s the last time I’ll drive my car for weeks” I think as we park. The admissions desk is not yet open, so we’re briefly confused about where to go. Van is already there, an unexpected blessing. Van has given up his day for this, to help us through what will be either the most difficult day of our lives, or one of the best. Lyn’s sister joins her later, and the three of them team up for the balance of the day. The admissions process is swift, and Lyn and I are on our way to the staging area before we really know it. Van fades away as I suddenly realize I’ve just entered surgical prep and immediately loose focus on the extraneous. I get into the surgical gown provided and we wait in a corral of 6 other beds. We can hear the fellow next to us talking to his nurse and gather he is here for a kidney transplant. Across from us, and old fellow lightly moans in the darkness, and then is chastised by his nurse for not calling his deep pain to her attention sooner. The prep nurse appears, introduces himself and it begins: The IVs goes in, vitals taken, the prep nurse explains it all as he goes and the procession of folks that will follow, the anesthesiologist and team arrive, and walk me through their process while giving me a sedative (sweet deliverance – I’m almost immediately calm), the OR nurse arrives and says things I can’t recall, and suddenly I’m on my way. Wheeling forward, relaxed and confident. In the OR, I see the table, and then I am its occupant. Voices, things moving, lights. The mask comes forward, kind and reassuring words are spoken. And I realize with some effort I’m struggling to open my eyes in the recovery room. More than seven hours had passed, all of it thankfully lost to me forever. Recovery is a slow and aimless meander through a cloying haze, very slowly toward the surface, and awareness. I simply cannot focus, rational thought is laughingly cumbersome, things are surreal, but very slowly I begin to reenter familiar space and awareness. Those are my hands, that’s my breath, those sounds are known to me. As soon as I can speak I ask the nurse if they had to perform open surgery. Some form of “no” came back from a mile away, and echoed around before I heard it clearly. That meant that the cancer had not progressed to other organs, which would have required more invasive surgery. I remember being elated. As of that moment I was a post-surgery prostate cancer guy passing the first huge milestone. The clock is reset, and everything starts getting measured differently. “That is my first good news since my surgery”. That is my first sighting of Lyn since surgery. That’s my first drink of water. My first hug. The rest of the day is a blob, variously grey and colored, focused and blurry. Lyn, Vikki and Van managed to have a pleasant day for the same reason that learning that I did not require an open surgery: the surgery went very well, and the cancer appears to be contained. She received updates hourly from the OR, and heard all along how well things had progressed. The three of them actually had fun, which was great to hear. In my room, I shift in and out of awareness but remember seeing a video they shot of Nutley on the tram. We have a private room, and Lyn is able to spend that night, and every night, with me. Another incredibly lucky outcome: private rooms are a rarity on this floor.

12/15-17^th: The pain is very manageable. Narcotics, and a minimally invasive laproscopic surgery in good hands, make that possible. Mid-morning on Saturday, after chatting intermittently with Lyn and Vikki, things start to happen fast: Nurses, Nurses Aids, the resident Dr. who is managing my case, and the physical therapist all arrive at about the same time. I actually think housekeeping showed up too. In the midst of getting measured, drained, advised, and updated Dr. Sokoloff arrives. Beaming, he tells me the surgery went very, very well. There did not appear to be any cancer beyond the prostate, I lost very little blood, the nerves were indeed spared, I’m recovering quicker than average. It’s hard to focus given all the activity. It occurs to me too late that I should have cleared the room so that I could focus on Dr. Sokoloff’s words, but at the least we hear the basics: good outcome, cancer contained by all appearances. That’s the second big post-surgical outcome. He chidingly checks to see if the message we wrote to him on my chest has faded, which it hasn’t, and mentions that it was a first. Vikki leaves at about noon, and my 2 sisters (Judi and Laure) arrive at about the same time. Great to see them, good to talk through this groggy narcotic haze. Physical therapy shows up at about 2:00 PM: time for my first walk as a new man. She eases me out of bed, and on to my feet. I am amazed at how stable I am and start the slow crawl around the ward. “That is my first walk after surgery” I think as they ease me back into bed. Get up and walk, as often as you can, is the direction we have from the resident. The sisters come back after I return from my stroll, more chatting, and they leave in the late afternoon. Another walk in the evening, less involving pain meds, fruit juice, sleep. And the cycle begins: rest, drink, eat a little bit, walk a bit further and longer, sleep. Every 30 minutes someone comes in: meds, vitals, drain, blood draw, etc. It’s a rhythm. So goes Sunday, not without increased pain. On Sunday afternoon and odd discussion: they are considering discharging me, but I want to stay given the increase in pain. All eventually agree that Monday is a better target. Sunday night is restful. Monday morning I feel strong, able. I am up for a walk at 5:30, and again at 8:00. We agree that discharge is in order and that process speeds along. At about noon I walk out of the hospital. As Lyn drives us home I call my sister, Jacque, to let her know I’m out. She has acted as the communications broker for our family during all of this. Shortly I’m on the couch, comfortable, and asleep in our happy little house.

12/18^th-23^rd: Every day was better, I can say that. Each day I was able to move, able to eat, able to walk, able to sleep, able to take care of myself, a bit more. By Wed. I was starting to get off the couch by myself. Van came by on Wednesday and I stood while we caught up. Some pain, but less each day. We took our first walk outside on Thursday. Oddly, Lyn was hit by another car as she pulled the Subaru into the driveway on Friday PM. It matters that she was unhurt, and that’s all. What would have been stressful a year ago is a passing matter. The weekend we hunker, update our families, and watch movies. We move through it. My first drive, up to Mount Tabor for a walk around the upper reservoir on Sunday, then pie at a great coffee shop up there. “That was my first cup of coffee since surgery”. It’s all so nice – to be able to eat and walk and smell the trees. It seems like years since I tasted apple pie.

My follow up visit with Dr. Sokoloff and team is Monday the 24^th, and I will likely get the post-surgical pathology report. That’s the big milestone: it tells us if the cancer was indeed captured within the prostate or not. The answer to that question determines if a secondary treatment is needed. Sunday night brings familiar sleeplessness.

12/24^th: The pathology is as positive as it could be! There is virtually no evidence that the cancer spread beyond the prostate. I am shattered and joyous at once. By some means I manage to forestall breaking down completely until we are in the car. In all probability this surgery has put me in the “cured” column. That is simply too much for me to absorb at once: throughout the day I catch myself breaking down, just falling into my thoughts so completely that I don’t realize that I’m weeping for long moments, or suddenly realize that I have lost track of where I am, and what I’m doing. Do not operate heavy machinery under the influence of ecstatic joy. Rather, eat!! First stop is Vita café for a huge breakfast, eggs/potatoes/veggie sausage/gravy etc. So, so delicious. We’re grinning at each other throughout the whole meal. Everything is bright. We waddle out of that place and take a short walk up the street. I don’t feel the cold, but Lyn has us retreat to the car because I’m shaking. It’s just too astonishing. Three months of continual anxiety and today I am very likely cured. I sleep on the couch, I play with the cats, we just have a very normal and happy day. We go to Il Piatto for dinner – a splurge but so deserved. Every bite delicious. “Our first dinner out since surgery”. We feel normal. We feast, drink wine and laugh. It’s a great day.

12/25^th to the present: Christmas day we open presents, eat chocolate and smoked salt caramels and have coffee – decadent. We take a short video of ourselves in the front yard during the brief snow shower we had. I am up and around, able to sit long enough to tap out a few e-mails. Less pain, more normal, stronger, etc. every day. Lyn went back to work on Wed., and that pretty much brings me to today. It’s amazing, yes? I have a long way to go recovery wise but its gone great so far, much better than expected.

We can’t thank all of you enough. We received so much support, so many good wishes, and such great care from the medical and hospital teams. It all just went as well as it could have. Thank you, thank you, thank you all.

12-13-07 Update: Tomorrow = Surgery

The first week was all about learning to manage confusion and shock.  Then came weeks of learning to manage the horrible health care system and the meaning, ramifications and treatment of my cancer.  Then OHSU and my naturopath entered our lives, and we began to be guided by caring professionals.  We began the long course of learning in a full and informed way about treatment, compassion, patient advocacy, overall health and supportive pre-treatment therapies.  We seamlessly entered the ‘glide path’, and as we did so, we started learning quickly about how powerful the positive intentions of people can be.  Throughout we learned continuously the value of resolve, crisis, support, humility, strength, humor, love, despair and joy.  And Ambien.  All of these lessons, everything we’ve learned, culminates today.  By this time tomorrow I will be 2 hours in to a 4.5 hour surgery.

We are asking that anyone reading this take a few moments between 8:00 AM and 1:00 PM tomorrow (12/14/07) PDT to hold me in their thoughts, and wish Lyn and I well.

With that, I think we’re ready.  We’ve had months to prepare, and done as much as possible to aim us toward a very positive outcome.  Naturally we couldn’t have done it without the help and support of others, all of whom have our deepest gratitude.

Mark and Lyn

12-10-07 Update

So, it seems, we were not through learning how to be humble, strong and resilient. The latest lessons involved my job, and with it my medical insurance. I was told the Monday before the Thanksgiving day 4-day weekend that my job was to be eliminated as part of a larger layoff, and my employment would end on 12/4^th, just 10 days before my surgery. I believed that the Oregon Family Leave Act forbade terminating an employee who was in the midst of an authorized medical leave, or who had filed for such a leave in the future. I learned through the hardest means possible that employers can fire people on a leave if they choose to.

The story here ends with my medical leave being covered, as was the intention all along.  I will remain an employee of the company until I am released to return to work, and then will receive a severance package, and be on to the next stage of my career.  When, at some point in the future, there is sufficient distance between my employer, myself, and this situation, I will share the story. In the interim I am putting that behind me, and focusing on my health. Surgery happens this week: Friday the 14^th, exactly 3 months from my diagnosis.

We’re finalizing all the details to prepare for surgery on Friday, the 14^th, just a few days from now. We had our pre-surgical consults with our surgeon (Dr. Sokoloff) and anesthesiology on the 3^rd.  I had a final acupuncture session and some light hypno-therapy on the 11th.  That is the last stop before surgery. I am admitted at 5:30 AM on the 14^th for an 7:30 AM surgery, and should be out by about 1:00 PM, and recovering in my room by about 3:00 PM. If all goes well I may be discharged on Saturday, or perhaps Sunday. But no later than that unless something odd happens.

That’s it for now. The last weeks have been the worst I’ve experienced. Despite this, we both remain in good spirits and optimistic. It’s very odd, counting weeks, then days, before surgery. I know it will come down to hours, and then minutes as I wait for pre-opp. And then I will be out. I wake up with a whole new reality to adapt to.

Thank you all for your support and help. I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to Lyn and I. We know you are there when we need you and that matters so much.

11-18-07 Update

It is amazing what you can adapt to. I have settled in to a state I am referring to as the ‘glide path’. Everything is pretty well laid out for surgery, which is now occurring on 12-14th. We see it coming, nearly everything is in place, it’s just a matter of staying on course, staying calm, focused and intentional, and touching down eventually as planned. I continue to see the naturopath, I continue the supplement regimen, I am hitting the gym 3-4 times each week and increasing my calorie burn with every visit, I have dropped a few more pounds… It feels very much like we’re locked in.

Despite the somewhat secure feeling that came when we finally decided on a treatment, each day has it’s ups, and downs. Work is a distraction, but cancer never leaves my mind, not for a moment. That is the biggest challenge: Adjusting to the constant preoccupation with a disease that is darkly replicating itself of it’s own accord deep in my body. The loss of control is a serious mental adjustment, but I am learning as I go about coping, and am improving. Sleep is coming easier, I have more energy, Lyn and I are having some genuine fun in the midst of this and still find it in ourselves to laugh frequently, sometimes about the stupid cancer. Perhaps this is how it goes. You find you have reserves of strength, resolve, and mental toughness, you never imagined, that you can cope with more than you imagined you were able to, and that one can grow in the midst of this. You become more perceptive, and more appreciative, certainly, more attuned to the subtleties you were able to ignore just a month or so ago. Life, it seems, offers it’s most profound lessons on perspective only when you are most able to receive them.

We had a reasonably great weekend overall. Gym on Friday PM. Saturday started with some work stuff, then we were off to the Audubon Wild Arts Festival, an annual tradition. They have retooled this event and it was so much better. New location, fewer “Crafty” artists selling gee-gaws. The artists selling at the show were routinely excellent, with some true standouts. Wendy Thompson was one of these – we bought a mass of her prints on greeting cards. Paula Fong was another – beautiful botanical images that we identify closely with. We met one of Lyn’s co-workers at the event, and had lunch at Beau Thai, which was just delicious. This is a restaurant Lyn and I discovered soon after moving to Portland. Going there was such a treat in those early years, and we developed a severe addiction to their homemade tempeh. Every time we go back we’re reminded of how we started in Portland, thus it is always a place of fond memories. After all of that we did some shopping for the house, and settled in for popcorn (with olive oil, sea salt, fresh pepper, brewers yeast) and a movie.

Sunday has been average, but there is so much more to “average” now. Lyn made amaranth for breakfast, with hemp milk, cinnamon, apples and maple syrup. So delicious. We got out for some additional food shopping, then to the gym. Our friend, Van, arrived at about 7:30 PM for a nice dinner out at Sorabol (You may have to search this blog to find the Sorabol entry). So delicious, so very good to see Jun and spend some time with her. Jun owns this restaurant, and the three of us bonded when we shared with her our adventures in Korea. She is from Seoul, and given our time there we have much to yap about. Dinner and a hug!

So, this is how it will be until December 13th, when I am admitted to the hospital. Each day full, each day offering a reminder of the sweet things. Great flavors, the smell of rain, humor, friendship, fall color, the holiday lights downtown.

At the wild arts festival I saw a poem that captured perfectly this sense of deepened perception of the usual, how new some things seem when viewed through the lens of this alien-seeming life we are living:

“Make me sweet again, fragrant and fresh and wild, and thankful for any small event.”

Rumi

I don’t want to be here, with all of this happening, but I am. With that realization, though, by the fixed and concrete nature of it, life’s broader and more subtle context is more appreciable.

11-9-07 Update

Met w/ Dr. Bonazzola, my new PCP, on Thursday. That went very well in my view. He was recommended by several folks in the prostate cancer center, and I found him to be honest and clear about what he is able to help me with. For the 1st time another Dr. allowed that the treatment we received early on was substandard. That was very refreshing, as Dr.s seem to have an unwritten code that disallows criticism of their peers. Why this is so I cannot fathom. Nothing notable came from the visit, other than he and I getting along well. He is completing my FMLA docs, which I file next week. Was right with me on ED meds post surgery: I’ve read multiple cases where the F@$#%ing insurance companies denied coverage for ED meds because they were considered recreational, not therapeutic. These pills apparently cost about $10 each, and you have to try all of the brands to see which works for you. Pretty quickly you can be in the $1K range on costs, out of pocket, because an insurance company decided that erections for prostate cancer guys is a luxury they can’t tolerate. Whomever makes these decisions should have their erectile nerves severed. I feel certain that would prompt a bit of empathy. End of rant.

I had my weekly acupuncture, and Vit. C IV, both of which are feeling pretty routine. The 12th of December is rolling up on me pretty fast. I try to ignore it, but it just sits there staring at me like a lion who hasn’t eaten in a year. You know you can’t outrun it, and that sooner or later it is going to eat you. The loss of control over this part of my life is a tough, tough adjustment to make. On the upside we are continually hearing from Dr.s that we are better prepared for this and taking much more control of our course of treatment, and post-surgical life, than cancer patients they see. That helps.

11-02-07 Update

This has been a pretty good week. I continue to feel anxious and at times sad given the looming surgery date, but feel we are on a glide-path now. The runway is in sight and what Lyn and I are focusing on is the process of landing with optimal results.

I see my new PCP next week. I see him as central to managing through this in the context of my overall health.  Certainly in the midst of this my focus has been 100% cancer.  But, my other physical systems continue to percolate along.  My PCP will be the guy I turn for guidance when other issues arise, and help me frame my health issues in the overall context of treating the cancer. You form a team around you, and each member of the team is a choice. Team Prostate today looks like this (click to see the larger image):

My hope, naturally, is that we have to ad no more teams, though we will ad members.  I need to choose an anesthesiologist, for example, to add to my surgical team.  Membership rules remain the same: Members of Team Prostate have to be committed to me being cured via the most optimal route, and/or helping other men get on the path of early detection.

Acupuncture is going well. I had my first Vit. C IV on Friday and had some adjustments to my supplements. Feeling well overall, just a bit shaken by the looming date of surgery. I’ll get over that. No choice, right?