Frozen . . .

The other story that needs to be told before we can move forward (or at least bounce back and forth) started last November 2.  I had just gotten off the phone with my friend Ben Andrews, who called to tell me that his prostate cancer surgery had been scheduled.  Went back to my computer and checked e-mail – and in my inbox was one from my family doctor’s online system with the heading “Test Result” – so I logged in to get my bloodwork results from a couple of days before and found myself staring at “PSA – 5.1”

FIVE POINT ONE?  I have had bloodwork every six months for more than 20 years because of my high cholesterol.  About the time I turned 50, my doctor added a PSA check once a year – and my numbers were always fine so I was shocked, because anything above 4.0 is cause for alarm.

And so the journey began.  I had bloodwork done again two weeks later, just to prove to me that the first reading wasn’t a mistake (and, of course, it wasn’t).  Then I was sent to a urologist at the University of Cincinnati just before Thanksgiving, because in our area that is where the cutting edge prostate treatments are performed these days.  The urologist sent me for an MRI the week before Christmas, which discovered a mass on my prostate “suspicious for malignancy.”  (Side note – the MRI was very cool – I had never had one, and mine was the first on UC’s brand new MRI machine – the control room was full of doctors who wanted to see how it worked)  In mid-January, I had a biopsy that confirmed the MRI’s suspicions.

Up to this point, Ben and my brother Blake were the only people who knew what was going on – Ben because I wanted to pick his brain about his surgery, and Blake because I figure anything medical that happens to me might eventually happen to him.  But I started slowly bringing the rest of my family into the loop.

In mid-February, I went to a “Multidisciplinary Clinic” at the University of Cincinnati – the head of prostate surgery, the head of radiation, and a world-renowned expert on MRIs went over my test results in the morning and then individually met with me in the afternoon to present their recommendations.  As it worked out, mine was caught so early that I was a candidate for a relatively new procedure called focal cryoablation – essentially it’s the male version of a lumpectomy where the surgeon goes in with needles and freezes away the cancerous portion of my prostate, with a minimal recovery time.  This sort of thing has been done for years on larger organs, but the prostate is only about the size of a walnut and the expertise of the MRI expert makes this possible – she could combine my MRI with a live ultrasound image so precisely that the surgeon would know exactly where to put the needles.  They told me that my other options (surgery or radiation) were essentially overkill at that point.

So on April 2, I reported to the hospital at 5:30 a.m. – this picture was taken just before I was wheeled to the operating room around 7:30.  When I came to, I was assured that they had removed all of the malignant tissue (and a little more just to be sure).  And I was home by noon.

My nursemaid was on constant watch – Zoe wouldn’t even move at mealtime until I forced her, and then she came right back to her duties.

The next day, I ached everywhere – I’m told this is common after general anesthesia.  But other than that and having to drag a catheter around with me, I was pretty much fine.  Also was having trouble remembering some details, but I decided that I could follow a recipe.

Went back to the surgeon on the third day and the catheter was removed – and I went straight back to work.  Probably not the smartest move I have ever made – I was worn out at the end of the day, and was tired off and on for the following ten days or so.

But this is the only scheduled thing that I missed – Emily and I were supposed to walk a half marathon five days after my procedure.  When the surgeon told me that the catheter would come out on the third day, I said “Then I might be able to walk the half marathon with Emily!”  He just laughed at me.  Needless to say, I was not up to it – but I drove Emily there and was there to greet her when she finished.

My PSA was checked again six weeks after the procedure, and it had dropped from 5.1 to 0.4.  The surgeon was thrilled (so was I) – he said that was a number they might have hoped for if he had frozen away my entire prostate.  Another PSA at the three month point had the same number.  I will go back in October for another MRI and biopsy – assuming they come back clean (all have so far after this procedure), I will go back once a year for an MRI for several years.

I have shared this story for one reason – if you or your significant other are male, get that PSA checked.  That is the only way my cancer was detected – I had no other symptoms.  And if reading my story helps to save even one of you or one of your loved ones, I will be very pleased.