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Surgery + 4 (and More)

September 11, 2011 by Bill Curry 3 Comments

Cumberland Gap, TN, KY & VA

Cumberland Gap, TN, VA & KY

It was four years ago today that I had surgery for prostate cancer, and in nine days I’ll begin “salvage” radiation for prostate cancer. Surgery, hormone therapy, now radiation. This strikes me as a lot of treatment in a relatively short period of time — and I spent more than half of the past four years on hormone therapy! All courtesy of the two tiny tumors they found in my lymph nodes after surgery.

The much-awaited phone call came Friday with the date and time to begin rad treatment at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. I’m thrilled to get this on the calendar at last, and I’ll be even happier to get the actual treatment underway (remind me of this when the side effects kick in).

Yes, it’s my fault we’ve put radiation off for so many months. Too many travels planned too many months ago, but all the doctors were comfortable with the delay. I’m cutting it close, though: We’ll get back to Seattle on a Monday afternoon, and I’ll report for radiation duty at 9:00 the next morning (Sep 20).

My cancer is microscopic for now and shows up on no scans. So I just have to hope that it resides precisely where the radiation will hit, but there’s no guarantee of that.

As we say all too often in the cancer journey: It is what it is.

Cancer, Prostate Cancer, Radiation
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Cancer Park

September 1, 2011 by Bill Curry 7 Comments

Sri Lanka Aug 2011

Sri Lanka, Aug 2011 (Photo by Rebecca Curry)

Truth be told, my prostate cancer journey has thus far been a relative walk in the park compared to the medically invasive and dramatic, life-altering experiences of others. In the time since my diagnosis, the most disruptive event has been surgery, my radical prostatectomy, and that was only two nights in the hospital, plus recovery.

Contrast that with my friend Toby, who was diagnosed in March with Mantle Cell lymphoma and whose life was abruptly up-ended. He’ll undergo his sixth (and final) R-CHOP 21 chemo treatment today — and that’s just a prelude to his stem cell transplant later this month.

So while they’ve been busy poisoning Toby this summer, I’ve been off traveling in Peru and Sri Lanka, living life much as it was before my diagnosis. (Heck, I was traveling when I received my diagnosis!) Oh, Peru and Sri Lanka brought some unintended weight loss and hot flashes from hormone-therapy, but, as I say, a relative walk in Cancer Park.

That’s about to change with my impending “salvage” radiation. My radiation oncologist is now working on the specific treatment plan — the nitty-gritty to maximize the radiation dosage to offending tissue and minimize collateral damage to the healthy. Sometime in the coming days, a phone call will come with my start date for treatment: then five days a week for seven weeks.

I’m ready — even more than ready. I have my Calypso transponders in place, and on Aug 24, I completed the remaining preliminaries: three tattoos to assist in the targeting of the radiation; a custom-made leg cradle to hold me in place; simulation scans for aiming the radiation, and the official signing of the consent form. All I need now is that telephone call.

Radiation will be my third cancer therapy in four years, not counting the experimental drug I took as part of a clinical trial, and not counting the hormone therapy and the chemo med I’m currently on (both are part of the radiation protocol). But there’ll be no more radiation after this — they just don’t do it twice. There are no do-overs, no mulligans.

It either eliminates the remaining prostate cancer in me, or it doesn’t.

Cancer, Prostate Cancer, Radiation
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This Week in Cancer

July 29, 2011 by Bill Curry 4 Comments

Shaman's Ceremony -- Cusco, Peru. During this offering by fire, I learned via phone that my June 17 oral biopsy was negative. Interesting coincidence.

Monday, July 25, 2011. Lots of cancer doings this week, starting today with a full day at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. I’m writing this in the infusion waiting room on the fifth floor, soon to be summoned to resume hormone therapy (officially: androgen deprivation therapy). It’s my second round of ADT; the first time, I had one injection of Lupron every three months for a total of nine injections. This time, I’ll be on it for six months (two shots). Oh, and I’ll also be on Casodex, a chemo pill.

I dread the side effects of ADT — hot flashes, fatigue, mood swings, and general chemo-brain. They worsen with time, the longer I go with no testosterone. But prostate cancer feeds on testosterone, and so ADT is a good systemic treatment. While it works. Eventually, some cancer cells become androgen independent and grow quite nicely without it.

My Lupron injection is to be accompanied by an infusion of Zometa, a bone-strengthener to deal with my osteoporosis (another side effect of ADT). Cancer is so special: We get side effects that, for non-cancerians, are their own dreaded diseases.

It’s been so long that I’d almost forgotten that good news is possible in the cancer experience: My PSA today is sideways. There’s this little mind game men play with their PSA tests: What will it be? How much higher will it go this time? A little? A lot? What’s the number I’d dread to hear? So this PSA test, I played the PSA head game yet again: Q: What’s the best number I can hope for? A: No change.

And that’s what I got! Three months ago, PSA was 0.11; same today. Not sure what to make of it, what it all means, but I sure prefer “stable” over “raging.”

Wednesday, July 27. Today was my maiden voyage to an oncologic naturopath, a huge step for me. I grew up knowing medical care as something that came from a pharmacy, a syringe or a scalpel. But I went to a Survivorship symposium at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in June, and they had a break-out session on ‘complementary’ (nee alternative) medicine. I was impressed with the two oncologic naturopaths who presented, and now one of them, Dr. Laura James, is on my side.

This step seemed fully consistent with my diet/nutrition efforts and no different than my looming “salvage” radiation (don’t you just love these terms they come up with?): It’s one more weapon to wield, one additional thing I can do and have some control over. I now have four, naturally occurring compounds in my repertoire of daily therapies, thanks to Dr. James. We’re off to a great start.

Thursday, July 28. Final cancer appt of the week (if you’re trying to keep track, the line score is: 1 infusion; 1 injection; 1 blood draw; 2 doc consults; and, today, 1 implant procedure). I now have three tiny Calypso beacon ‘seeds’ in my pelvis. These gizmos are part of my prep for radiation in the fall. Essentially what they’ll do is keep the radiation zapper on target. If my innards move, or I move, the Calypsos tell the zapper to move accordingly. That keeps the rad beam on target and thus reduces collateral damage to healthy tissue.

Since I leave Sunday for three weeks in Sri Lanka, I’m thinking it’s going to be v-e-r-y interesting dealing with TSA when I march through the airport security scanner with these little Calypsos in me.

Cancer, Prostate Cancer, Radiation
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The HAY Question

June 1, 2011 by Bill Curry 7 Comments

It happened again.

A very close friend asked, “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“No,” he said. “How are you.” Oh, my cancer.

And a cousin wrote, “I signed up for your blog, and it’s very informative, but sometimes I can’t get a real sense of how you are doing.” They’re certainly not the first to ask, and I doubt they’ll be the last. So here goes.

I’ve been open (blatantly so) that I’m Stage 4, and that there is no Stage 5. But within my staging, there’s a cancer continuum that arcs from where I am all the way out and beyond the horizon to hospice. I’m classified Stage 4 because of lymph node involvement, a tiny tumor in each of two lymph nodes (out of 13) sampled at surgery. Regional metastasis, I believe it’s called. It’s that serious, and it’s that simple.

Physically, I’m fine. I’m active, and I feel great — no aches, no pains, no masses burgeoning within me to make life uncomfortable. When my calendar’s not full, it’s busy. On any given day, I feel like a healthy 67-year-old who goes to the gym for a vigorous workout. I take no meds related to cancer, and I live a ‘normal’ life, traveling hither and yon, unimpeded by my cancer. I’m soon off to Peru and then Sri Lanka.

Life goes on even as more hormone therapy and radiation await. They’re in queue not because I’m in dire straits but because I’m being aggressive — early and often — in kicking cancer’s ass. Prostate cancer has an affinity for bone when it metastasizes, and my April 27 bone scan came back clean. But, like about 99.9 per cent of cancer fighters, I get fatigued — not so bad now as when I was on hormone therapy. Back then, somewhere around 4 each afternoon, I’d fall off a cliff. Fatigue just comes with the territory, whether the territory is cancer or cancer treatment.

Bottom line: To be with me day in, day out, you’d never react, OMG, Bill’s ill! I make plans, sometimes quite far out, and I buy green bananas, sometimes quite green.

Mentally, I think my head’s screwed on straight. I accept the fact I have cancer — I’d rather not have it, but I accept that it’s my new normal, and I don’t waste time/energy/life being angry about it or wishing it weren’t so. It is so. I had two best buddies, Al and Bill, both killed in their 20s, and I’ve often thought they’d love to be my age and have a good case of prostate cancer. That gives me perspective on life and puts my cancer in its place.

I try to focus on enjoying life, enjoying my family and friends and doing all I can to counter the cancer within me. Oh, and getting as much good out of my cancer experience as I can (and there is good to be had, make no mistake).

I confess to three really bad head days — all of which occurred while I was on hormone therapy: From out of the blue came black. I just fell into a black hole, and that’s the only way I can describe it. A black hole. How, why — who knows? Each time, I spent about a day in the black hole. Twice I climbed out by watching the movie “Rocky” (see the Yo, Adrian post below), and once, I just had to have a little talk with Bill.

Bottom line: It is what it is, and I’m dealing with it as best I can, given who I am. There’s no training or preparation for cancer. One day, someone just hands it to you, and you begin the process of figuring out how you’re going to handle it — the where and how it fits into your life and into your mind. Stoically, I’ve never even been tempted to ask, Why me?

Although I have mused, Why not me?

Cancer, Prostate Cancer
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My Cancer Hobby

May 18, 2011 by Bill Curry 9 Comments

Days after my prostate cancer diagnosis on March 26, 2007, my wife presented me with a copy of Newsweek dated April 9, the one with the cover story, “My Life with Cancer,” by Jonathan Alter. I didn’t read it then, and I haven’t read it now. I remember the exact words that ricocheted through my mind the moment she handed me the magazine: “Cancer is not my new hobby.”

This was, of course, back in the days when I lived under the presumption that  a prostatectomy would “cure” my cancer, and I had an 80 per cent chance of it. So, no, cancer was not going to be my new hobby: I’d have surgery, be done with it, and get on with my real life enjoyments — travel, photography and cooking.

But my first cancer did not go away, as was my plan, and this blog exists not because I had cancer back then; it exists because I have cancer right now.

And cancer has become my new hobby.

How did this happen, I ask? My treatments certainly have not taken up that much of a retiree’s time. So…?

It started with annual prostate cancer symposiums and then general cancer gatherings, where researchers, survivors and families would share the latest. (A woman in a wheelchair at one of these conferences talked about being sent to hospice to die — three times! She just refuses to.) Next I added informal monthly presentations on cancer and nutrition, and my kitchen hobby morphed into a cancer-fighting cooking interest.

And all along the way, there became this increasing need to get current on the latest developments in treatments of my advanced (or Stage IV) prostate cancer. (I had skipped that chapter in the book I read in March 2007.) Ever so gradually, gathering by gathering, article by article, test result by test result, cancer was expanding its place in my life, just as it was expanding its presence in my body.

Then this blog. I started it to keep family and friends in the loop on something that’s become more than a fleeting wisp of a health matter. It’s fun, I enjoy it, and it helps me work through how I feel about cancer things.

But — and how did I not foresee this? — the blog, and similar postings on my high school class website, have prompted extraordinary conversations with others about their cancers. Long-time veterans with courageous war stories. Serial survivors on their second and third diagnoses. Super people who challenge me and, in the process, help me distill my thoughts and decisions. Some long email exchanges, and often. You’ve seen some of their names here; you’ll see others in the future. It’s no longer about me; it’s a bit about us, the cancer community, and each other, and those who care about us.

And now, on May 25, I’m to give a presentation at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance on Blogging about Cancer. So I’ve been somewhat in overdrive to get ready to stand and deliver next week. I even found research saying that people who have meaningful conversations and who blog about their cancers “better cope” with their health conditions.

It’s been so mind-expanding — and the notion that I might be able to give back just a little, just a teeny bit, to others dealing with their cancers — well,  we’ll see how it goes.

I am, after all, early on in my cancer hobby.

Cancer, Prostate Cancer
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It’s a go.

May 5, 2011 by Bill Curry 10 Comments

Three doctors, three opinions — and unanimity: I’m going to proceed with radiation, combined with more hormone therapy, in yet another effort to manage my first cancer. I’m not kidding myself that this will “cure” me,  that this will be the silver bullet, that all will be jim-dandy after a go of radiation.

The likelihood is that we’ll only be putting out microscopic brushfires, and that, down the road, some further treatment will be needed. Fair enough. And the docs all agree — and I understand — that there’s no way of knowing for sure that my recalcitrant prostate cancer is in my pelvis and/or abdomen. But there’s a likelihood that at least some of it’s there, and that’s enough for me: To re-quote Lora, let’s kick its ass. (Just writing that makes me feel like I got a kick in.)

I’ve some travels and important life experiences on the calendar, like my 50th high school class reunion, but the docs say, OK. So under current planning, I’ll re-start hormone therapy in late July, be on it for the requisite minimum of two months, and begin radiation the end of  September or soon after. It feels good just to get this stuff on the calendar, like I’ve already pushed back once more.

Most important is doing everything I can. I’ve been aggressive in pushing back at cancer at each stage — an experimental drug before surgery; surgery; hormone therapy after surgery; and diet, exercise and nutrition from the get-go. Ever since my diagnosis, I’ve wielded every weapon extended to me.

And I’m not quitting now.

Prostate Cancer, Radiation

Eighth Day of the Week

April 27, 2011 by Bill Curry 4 Comments

Scan my bones, Jones! (Official T-shirt of the Prostate Cancer Foundation)

Today was Scanday, the day between Wednesday and Thursday, of two CT scans and one bone scan at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. The scans are in preparation for my almost-certain radiation treatment…depending still on a third medical opinion a week off. An uneventful, information-free Scanday.

Except for the young man, the very young man, sitting opposite me in the waiting room. In his 20s, there with his mom, drinking the same contrast solution I was, and wearing a patient i.d. wristlet like mine. One of the mind games I play in the waiting room of the cancer ward is to try to guess what kind of cancer someone has — an impossible game of no consequence whatsoever, but one that does put my senses on alert for clues and ambient conversations.

Across the aisle, May 5, 2008: Man #1: “Are you a bone-marrow transplant, too?”

Man #2, tapping his right abdomen: “Pancreatic.”

Fast forward to the young man today. I couldn’t glean enough to learn what his cancer is or what stage it’s in. I merely drank in his wristband, his mom, his presence in the cancer ward — and his raw youth: so much life ahead. Maybe. And I recalled what my dad would say when he’d hear of someone else’s straits:

“I got no problems today.”

Cancer, Commentary, Prostate Cancer

Movin’ Right Along

March 3, 2011 by Bill Curry 1 Comment

U.S 93 Hoover Dam Bypass

The Hoover Dam Bypass opened in October 2010.

Despite cancer, our lives move on. We’re driving across America, including a test drive of the new Hoover Dam Bypass, which relocates U.S. 93 traffic 1,500 feet away from the old Rte. 93 atop the dam itself. The Bypass is a stunning, spanning arch of concrete 900 feet above the Colorado River. Hoover Dam, well worth a stop and a $30 tour, was built during the Great Depression, but it wasn’t a Democratic New Deal public works project — its origins were Republican, back in the days when Republicans believed in government investment in the future. Hoover Dam provided water and power to transform vast areas of the desert Southwest, a region now populated by folks who like to oppose government and government spending. Funny to hear Tea Partiers rally themselves against government and then go home to air-conditioning and running water, thanks be to Hoover Dam.

Commentary, Prostate Cancer
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