It has been two years since I learned that I had prostate cancer, and a bit more than a year since I had any treatment for what I eventually learned was an aggressive Stage 3 cancer.
Being from the sticks of New Hampshire, I’m reminded of a woods that has burned. There is still plenty of scorched earth and charred deadfalls, but, more important, the green scrub and optimistic wildflowers of normality are creeping back.
I’m in pretty good shape these days. I live from PSA test to PSA test – every three months – and so far, so good. I still get more tired than I would like because my body chemistry is still in ferment from hormone therapy. And, to get an erection, I have to inject my penis with Cavereject, which stimulates blood flow. (It’s not as bad as it sounds. Honest.)
But those are just physical details. I’m more interested in what I’ve learned from my cancer, how it has actually – and unexpectedly — changed me. Cancer is a hard teacher, but a teacher even so. More than ever, I know that I am blessed in sons and my marriage. That on a cold winter’s night a pint of porter in the company of a good neighbor is a bounty in this uncertain world.
Yes, cancer is about an unwanted mutiny in the body. But, too, it’s about love and transience. Post-cancer, I love who and what I love more deeply than ever. And I keenly feel in my bones the sheer evanescence of our existence.
I’ve also undergone changes that are more obvious. The anger that raged within me after my diagnosis has mellowed to a simmer — I don’t bellow at speeding cars anymore. I do admit, though, that my tolerance for jerks and trivia has vanished as time’s arrow pricks at my back.
I’ve become more myself these past two years, having shed the need to impress anyone. Cancer cells also knock the ego down a peg or two.
I’m even more obsessive about my, well, obsessions. I binge-read, gorging on books and tearing through genres like some kind of literary wolf: fantasy (Tolkien, Rowling, George R.R. Martin), crime (Leonard, Burke, Stephen Hunter) and poetry (Li Po, Tu Fu, Basho).
And when I realized recently that the last baseball season that truly floored me was in 1975, when the Boston Red Sox and the Cincinnati Reds played their epic World Series, I galloped to the stacks to gobble up books about the primal days of the major leagues and the Negro leagues (Yep, Ted Williams still hit .406 in 1941).
That reading, in turn, led me to Ebbets Field Flannels, and the wool replica of Satchel Paige’s 1942 Kansas City Monarchs home jersey that hangs in my closet. Like ol’ Satchel, I don’t look back, because I don’t want to see what might be gaining on me.
Most important, I think, I continue to consciously slow down as our maniacal culture speeds up. I’m constantly on the lookout for those miracles in a minor key that present themselves to us each day.
I crave a certain fierceness of perception, am more open to the fullness of life seized in one small moment or gesture:
Bats carving inky compulsories in the purple-black dusk.
Fern, the sweet apricot cockapoo up the street, who likes to plant her petite butt on my foot. The topographical hieroglyphics of moss and lichen thriving on rock and stone. The eternal summer conjured by Dick Dale’s feral surf guitar.
The dank musk of rain on the wind.
The down-home holiness of bluegrass gospel sung by Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers.
A wicked curveball just nicking the outside corner of the plate.
The puppy breath of our two new golden retrievers, smelling like wet and bitter grass.
The daredevil gray squirrels that tap-dance along the back fence.
April snow, which my country-boy father calls the poor man’s fertilizer.So … what are your miracles in a minor key?
For nearly 30 years, Dana Jennings, an editor for The New York Times, has written articles that recount the lives and events of people – occasionally during their time of crisis. His aim has been to inform the public about the world that surrounds them. However, when Dana was diagnosed with prostate cancer last year, he decided to reverse roles by becoming the subject and writer.
In April 2008, Dana was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the age of 50. Understandably troubled by the news, he thought the cancer could quickly be remedied by a surgical removal of his prostate.
However, after having an open radical prostatectomy three months after his diagnosis, Dana’s Gleason score rose from seven to nine. A Gleason score will range from two to ten for prostate cancer patients – with 10 having the worst prognosis.
Dana’s elevated Gleason results gave doctors reason to be alarmed. Following his prostatectomysurgery, pathology tests showed that the cancer had spread beyond the prostate – invading surrounding tissue. He was then told by doctors that even if the cancer went into remission after hormonal therapy there was still a 50 percent chance of the cancer returning.
At first,
there’s just that sense of disbelief that you have prostate cancer.
When you hear about people who have a serious disease,
you always figure it’s going to be the other guy.
To treat his aggressive cancer, Dana underwent 33 sessions of radiation in addition to injections of Lupron (to control testosterone levels). The hospital appointments for radiation treatment left him extremely tired as he endured visits five days a week. While difficult, Dana consciously tried to maintain a positive attitude during this period by maintaining a sense of humor while continuing to work at the Times.
I’ve always tried to keep a sense of humor about things.
If you can’t temper life with humor,
you’re going to be very depressed
when it comes to these type situations.
Dana went through a phase of writer’s block while attempting to return to a relatively normal way of life while dealing with his diagnosis treatment. The situation intensified as he regularly “obsessed” over his own mortality at work. To break out of the impasse, he remembered words of wisdom from an old college professor.
My professor used to say
If something is keeping you from finishing a piece of writing,
then you need to write
about what it is that is keeping you from doing that writing.
For me, that something was prostate cancer.
Basically that’s how I started writing a blog about my condition.
Dana’s first blog entry for The New York Times was made November 11, 2008. It has become a place where general readers, cancer patients and those touched by someone with prostate cancer can interact with one another. According to Dana, he is gratified that sharing his own crisis has allowed other men and himself the opportunity to open lines of communication for a disease about which most would rather keep quiet.
There’s a personal satisfaction
in being able to start discussion about prostate cancer
that gives patients and their spouses
a place where they can voice thoughts and gain from other’s experiences.
Prostate cancer isn’t just about surgery, treatment and survival,
It’s also about relationships, sex, self-esteem, embarrassment, hope and fear.
In addition to writing a blog for emotional clarity, Dana has relied on his family and his faith during the past year in living with prostate cancer. The support and prayers he’s received from his wife, two children, and members of his congregation have given him an added strength he credits for getting him this far.
Dana’s wife of 28 years, Deborah, has been with him every step of the way for support. Playfully referred to in the home as “chief medical officer”, Deborah accompanies her husband to every medical appointment with pen and pad in hand, diligently taking notes and asking questions.
Deb’s support and attention to detail
allows me to focus on what my doctor is saying
because I know she’s taking in the full context of the conversation.
In his blog, Dana openly shares physical side-effects he’s encountered as result of radical prostatectomy surgery. Among these topics he discusses include the private matters of incontinence and erectile dysfunction.
I get so frustrated with guys sometimes.
“It almost feels like we men would rather stay quiet
and wither away rather then talk about male health issues.
While these topics are uncomfortable,
they are a reality for many men
who’ve had surgery.
For men like Dana who have undergone a radical prostatectomy, incontinence is a primary urinary side effect, with surgical techniques playing an important role in determining outcomes. Pre-surgical urinary function can also significantly increase incontinence susceptibility. If there is a pre-existing experience of some hesitation and/or lack of bladder control, it will be harder for the patient to regain full control and function.
On average, approximately 25 percent of men will report frequent leakage or no control and a need to use absorbent pads up to six months after treatment. Following a two years period, fewer than 10 percent of men report using pads at all. The definition of incontinence is very subjective, however, and the degree of incontinence a patient will experience cannot be determined before he undergoes treatment.
If I didn’t write about incontinence and other personal issues
related to prostate cancer
then I wouldn’t be truthful with the readers.
I just wanted to be myself
and tell the whole story
when it comes to prostate cancer.
To read Dana Jennings’ blog, go to http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/tag/jennings/.
*****
The New York Times
April 6, 2010
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