Things have been proceeding in their on-again, off-again pace here in Cancerland, but it appears we finally have a bead on things — at least for the foreseeable future.
Yesterday I got the long-awaited results from my PET scan, and it turns out my pet malignancy has not spread to anywhere outside my prostate. This is, of course, awesome news. At least until something else rears its loathsome head, we not need to worry about killing anything outside the area of my inner crotch.
That still leaves the cancer hanging out comfortably in my prostate, of course, but now we can bring the full fury of biotechnology and Medicare Part B against that nasty little business. As I mentioned in an earlier update, we will be following a 2-prong strategy: a regimen of testosterone-starving hormone, which will starve the cancer cells and make them vulnerable, accompanied by a daily blast of radiation for five weeks to melt them into harmless slag. I began the hormone a week ago, and already have a yen to binge watch The Gilmore Girls.
A week ago, I went to the urologist, who implanted three rice-sized golden slivers into my nether regions to act as calibration targets for the radiation. (Honestly, that whole business is so ripe for ironic commentary that I’m going to leave it for you as a homework exercise.)
After getting the good news yesterday about the PET scan results, I went this morning to the radiation folks to have the advance prep done for the radiation therapy. This consisted of lying flat on my back on the machine while the nurse (Jillian) built the mold around my legs which they will use to insure I am always in the same position when the radiation is applied. This is very important to guard against my bladder or rectum becoming an inadvertent target of the blast beam. As a further precaution, I must always arrive at the treatments with an empty bowel and a “comfortably full” bladder. I haven’t figured out yet how a bladder can be comfortably full, but if I do, I’ll post it here.
The visit today was quite easy — no doomsday prognostication, and nothing pointy shoved up my behind. Aside from trying desperately not to wee myself or the machine from my comfortably full bladder, the only discomfort I had today was when Jillian had to pull off my pants and skivvies in order to fine-tune the creation of the mold for my legs. Fortunately she provided something postage-stamp sized for me to cover up with, which in my case proved ample.
The radiation begins March 3rd. Can’t wait.
Ronald Crittenden 