The likelihood I had prostate cancer was identified by my GP after a PSA reading of 16.9 and an internal digital examination on 30 June 2006. This was confirmed as a significant cancer on 31 July after a biopsy. He thought that it had been there for at least two years. I had not been to a GP for a check-up (and test for prostate cancer) for many years.
I took a long time to come to terms with this diagnosis and the often slow and challenging treatments. Timelines for gettting these treatments set by the medical specialists were rarely achieved.
I began a four-year writing course in 2005. I tried to write about what I was going through in the first year or two post-diagnosis. They are not great but I think they say something about my state of mind.
A Son’s Inheritance
(Dedicated to Bill snr and his grandson)
You wanted to leave me the old grandfather clock but you shouldn’t have left me cancer.
You said it had belonged to a great aunt;
kept to bequeath to your only son.
It’s not valuable and stopped ticking ages ago,
despite attempts to make it go;
a good thing you left money as well.
The cancer came early,
in what should’ve been your best years.
In the name of treatment,
they took your manhood and your spirit,
though your heart let you down in the end.
They tell me both diseases are hereditary
and I’ve probably passed them on to my son.
I don’t think I’ll leave him the clock.
The deadly cells were identified
in what should have been the best years of my life.
You wanted to leave me the old grandfather clock
but you shouldn’t have left me cancer.
Discovering my prostate
The GP suddenly slid his chair to his computer on the farthest side of the long desk, like a compere on a TV game show. He clicked away, smiled, ‘Here we are,’ and started going through the blood test results.
I was playing for big stakes, my health, but from past experience I expected to be given the all clear. A voice in my head spoke for him, ‘Nothing wrong here.’ I was so convinced nothing was wrong that it had taken me a few weeks to get back to seeing him. I’d even considered not going.
He mumbled out the results as he quickly scrolled down the page. 'Bad cholesterol okay, good cholesterol too low, too many white blood cells. Not to worry, white blood cells can be high for any number of reasons, flu, fever. They recommend another test.'
He clicked through to the next test.
'I did have a bad cold at the time,' I said, hoping to slow him down. I was confused. Why was he rushing through these results. The blood test had been his idea.
‘That would explain it,’ he said. ‘And PSA 16.9.’
Pause.
‘Is that bad?’ I asked.
He nodded.
And so began a process of discovery about men’s health, my health. The prostate is one of the few body organs exclusive to men and it produces a protein that can be picked up in blood tests called Prostate Specific Antigen or PSA. A high PSA count such as mine and the indications are that something is wrong. And the worst possibility is cancer. I had been down that road before.Dad had prostate cancer nearly thirty years ago. It didn’t kill him in a hurry but it had made his last few years of life miserable. I remembered the painful and embarrassing tests he had to undergo, followed by surgery that seemed barbaric in its severity.
The last thing I expected was that I would have prostate cancer as well. I felt I was afflicted far too young compared to dad, but then worked out at fifty-seven I was only six years younger than he had been.
Another big lesson was finding what a difference of opinion there is about how best to treat this cancer. Surprisingly little is known about what causes it although it is a significant disease. It’s the male equivalent of breast cancer with approximately the same number of people diagnosed and dying from it each year. However, it has only recently been recognised as a serious problem with some serious research starting to happen. People with a family history are more likely to get it and certain national groups with distinctive diets are less likely to get it. However, this has had little impact on the mainstream treatment options that are offered, which mainly involve cutting, burning or emasculating. They are punchy and invasive. But first come the tests.
The tests I had to go through after the initial interview with the GP seemed endless: results from one led to my needing another. While the doctors were testing to decide which of their big guns to use on me, they had no interim treatment on offer. They placed little value on alternative natural treatments. They reassured me prostate cancer is slow growing, but meanwhile my PSA count increased 26.
In desperation I took time off from work and researched alternative treatments. I changed my diet and started on whatever vitamins, herbs and minerals other people had said they found helpful.
Finally the scans and other medical tests were complete and a treatment plan was developed.
Doctors classify prostate cancers into those that are manageable or curable. These are further sub-classified to decide what treatment will be offered. It was decided mine might be curable using High Dose Rate (HDR) Brachytherapy, a very intense radiation directly into the tumour, and very high tech. But wait: there’s more.
Only one of the high tech machines needed for the treatment is available in Adelaide, courtesy of a local philanthropist who donated it to the Royal Adelaide Hospital. A year ago I would have had to go to Melbourne for the same treatment. So the local treatment is the good bit. The bad part is the queue of people needing it. There’s a six-month waiting period.
I was playing for big stakes, my health, but from past experience I expected to be given the all clear. A voice in my head spoke for him, ‘Nothing wrong here.’ I was so convinced nothing was wrong that it had taken me a few weeks to get back to seeing him. I’d even considered not going.
He mumbled out the results as he quickly scrolled down the page. 'Bad cholesterol okay, good cholesterol too low, too many white blood cells. Not to worry, white blood cells can be high for any number of reasons, flu, fever. They recommend another test.'
He clicked through to the next test.
'I did have a bad cold at the time,' I said, hoping to slow him down. I was confused. Why was he rushing through these results. The blood test had been his idea.
‘That would explain it,’ he said. ‘And PSA 16.9.’
Pause.
‘Is that bad?’ I asked.
He nodded.
And so began a process of discovery about men’s health, my health. The prostate is one of the few body organs exclusive to men and it produces a protein that can be picked up in blood tests called Prostate Specific Antigen or PSA. A high PSA count such as mine and the indications are that something is wrong. And the worst possibility is cancer. I had been down that road before.Dad had prostate cancer nearly thirty years ago. It didn’t kill him in a hurry but it had made his last few years of life miserable. I remembered the painful and embarrassing tests he had to undergo, followed by surgery that seemed barbaric in its severity.
The last thing I expected was that I would have prostate cancer as well. I felt I was afflicted far too young compared to dad, but then worked out at fifty-seven I was only six years younger than he had been.
Another big lesson was finding what a difference of opinion there is about how best to treat this cancer. Surprisingly little is known about what causes it although it is a significant disease. It’s the male equivalent of breast cancer with approximately the same number of people diagnosed and dying from it each year. However, it has only recently been recognised as a serious problem with some serious research starting to happen. People with a family history are more likely to get it and certain national groups with distinctive diets are less likely to get it. However, this has had little impact on the mainstream treatment options that are offered, which mainly involve cutting, burning or emasculating. They are punchy and invasive. But first come the tests.
The tests I had to go through after the initial interview with the GP seemed endless: results from one led to my needing another. While the doctors were testing to decide which of their big guns to use on me, they had no interim treatment on offer. They placed little value on alternative natural treatments. They reassured me prostate cancer is slow growing, but meanwhile my PSA count increased 26.
In desperation I took time off from work and researched alternative treatments. I changed my diet and started on whatever vitamins, herbs and minerals other people had said they found helpful.
Finally the scans and other medical tests were complete and a treatment plan was developed.
Doctors classify prostate cancers into those that are manageable or curable. These are further sub-classified to decide what treatment will be offered. It was decided mine might be curable using High Dose Rate (HDR) Brachytherapy, a very intense radiation directly into the tumour, and very high tech. But wait: there’s more.
Only one of the high tech machines needed for the treatment is available in Adelaide, courtesy of a local philanthropist who donated it to the Royal Adelaide Hospital. A year ago I would have had to go to Melbourne for the same treatment. So the local treatment is the good bit. The bad part is the queue of people needing it. There’s a six-month waiting period.
I’m not much good at waiting. However, I have learnt a lot in the past few months, not just about my prostate.I learnt I’m not afraid of dying but I am scared of some of the treatments that might be done to keep me alive a bit longer.
I learnt empathy for middle-aged and older men. We are generally not very supportive of each other. I also learnt that I had never properly grieved over losing my father. Most of my tears over the past couple of months have been shed over him, rather than me. My biggest lesson has been about the generosity of love.
Being married to Elizabeth for 27 years has been the best part of my life. As soon as I got over the shock of the original diagnosis, I discussed it with her. I had always regarded myself as the strong, dependable one in our relationship. When I was first diagnosed I imagined terrible things and grieved bitterly for my father. She took over. She has been uncomplaining in the role of sole breadwinner, while I focussed on good health and beating this disease.
Adversity tends to teach you a lot about yourself — and other people.
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