I have to admit that I NEVER thought I would be a blogger. I do like to write but it's only with stubborn swedish reluctance that I have ventured into Facebook, or Blogspot for that matter. Not that I mind any of these 21st century social connections, I just like to talk face to face. I like to hear people's voices, see their facial contortions, and watch how their body language reveals the "rest of the story", as Paul Harvey would say. Please be patient with me as I share my journey via the internet. I will get better at it.
So yesterday was "second opinion" day. I traveled to Grand Junction to consult with another urologist about my case...treatment options, post-op complications, long term prognosis, etc. Essentially this doctor agreed with the first one, albiet with a much greater attention to detail. Gleason 8 pathology seems to concern everyone I discuss it with. Not the least of which is me. I see it in their faces. Everyone I have spoken to, doctors and suvivors, seem to adopt a different attitude when the behavior of "8's" is mentioned. Not like it's an "oh man, that's a death sentence" sort of tone, more like "did you see the fast ball that guy just threw ?". It gets everyone's attention. That attention is what haunts me in the middle of the night. I can't stop thinking about people like Dan Fogelberg, Frank Zappa, Bill Bixby, et al, who have money and resources to detect and fight this disease, neither of which I have, and they lost. Now all the explanations about their diagnosis, numbers, discovery, etc., are not known and may be completely different from mine, yet... what happened.
I do like this new doctor and I feel that I will switch my care over to him. His advice to have me receive an MRI and bone scan before surgery was a process I appreciated, for many reasons. Primarily, for me, I established a priority on survival first, quality of life second. The big unknown in prostatectomy is whether the disease has found it's way out of the gland. On the Gleason scale of one to ten (with ten being the most aggressive) mine, as I said before, is an eight. Not a death sentence by any means, but concerning nonetheless. It's all the unknown factors... how long it's been growing, and individual biology/physiology, that create the most anxiety, usually around two in the morning, for me. I do feel I have a positive attitude, I do not feel like this is not the "end" as they say. Unequivocally, this is because of my faith. My "communications" with God aren't loud and obtuse, more firm and insistent, gently directive and nurturing. The key for me is quiet, or my ability to escape the "noise" of life so I can "hear" his voice. I don't mean to imply quiet exclusively as an absense of auditory disruption, but more a space of rest that filters other thoughts from finding their way into the consciousness. Contemplation with Him. This is how I "feel" what God wants of me and how I experience His love. His adult version of cradling and nurturing this child. People accomplish this in different ways, but this is how I define peace.
So...now I have a new doctor, new approach, timeline, and surgery date....October 31, 2012. Thankyou for prayers, well wishes, advice (Patrick and Judith), and all the support from fellow cancer "combatants", and especially for Love. We are nothing without it.
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