What I'm Doing

Trying To Turn An Anvil Into A Grain of Sand

I'm trying, but failing miserably, so please turn on the following symphony and listen to it as you read the following:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFZoaTCrggQ

If you've been reading long enough, you know that I begged our family doctor to do a PSA test on my husband over 2 years ago to no avail. By the time we got the results from the Urologist a month ago (1-25) that my husband had aggressive prostate cancer, it wasn't a surprise. 

I suspected, and I think my husband suspected, that it wasn't just the prostate. With a PSA of 120 (Normal is 4!!!), and a gleason scale of 9 (on a range of 1-10, with 10 being the worst) the likelihood of it being in just the prostate was very slim, but one can hope and pray, and that's what we and others did.

There was a pelvic CT/MRI on 2-8, to see if the cancer has metastasized to the lymph system, followed by a bone scan on 2-15 to see if it had spread to the bones. I was allowed to watch the bone scan, and was relieved to see no "hot spots." {picture} (https://myhealth.alberta.ca/Health/pages/conditions.aspx?hwid=zm6038) Cancer in the bones is almost always a quick and dirty death sentence. Still, there was the pelvic CT/MRI that I didn't watch, and that was a concern for me.

We arrived at the Urologist's office on Friday, and instead of the usual large office with all the surgical equipment, we were ushered into a small room with a cute painting on the wall. Here it is:

Yes, they're all eating donuts! Oh, and my husband is smiling in that picture. 

So, we waited, not very long, either, and before the Urologist could say anything, I asked a few questions, because, honestly, I knew he told me, but it's all been so overwhelming that it never registered. It's funny how nice people are when they realize you're dying. He was very soft and patient with me,  so I knew he had something unpleasant to say. Why else would he put us in such a bright cheerful room?

He started out with the "good" news but didn't call it good news (those are my words), there were no "hot spots" on the bone scan, (which I already knew) so the cancer hadn't spread to the bones, and I waited, dreading the next one.  Then he said, "Unfortunately, the cancer has spread into your lymph system." My husband just sat there as tears started to roll down my face. I cried silently, as the Urologist said he would send the results to our PCP, who would refer my husband to an Oncologist and a Radiation Therapy Doctor.  My Husband got up and handed me a tissue, and told me "Don't cry honey." I don't think he realized how serious it was at the time. I thanked the Urologist for being so kind, and we left. 

Once we were outside, I started to cry again, still silently, and I asked him if he knew why I was crying. Then I told him that he was just given a death sentence with 6 months to maybe 2 years to live. He didn't say anything, but went on like everything was okay. It was 9:30 when we left and headed home, and I felt like I had gone through a full day. Since I was so upset, my husband insisted (as did my Friend) that I go and spend the weekend with my Friend. Who was I to object? When we got home, I went down for a much-needed nap. Just as I was about to get up around 1, my Husband came in the room, got into bed, and holding me, began to cry. Loudly.  The reality finally hit him.  The last time he cried prior to that was 3 years ago, about a month after the death of his Mother. I just held him and reassured him that I would keep my promise and take care of him. 

I've done quite a bit of crying since then, including a few times while writing this, but I feel I have good reason. I decided to wait until today to write this because it was just too fresh on Friday.  

I have a huge mental list of things I need to do, things he needs to do, and meetings with various family and Family members. 

And, as always... we wait.

What The Urologist Said

First, an apology. Christmas and the New Year ate up my time, but as you will soon discover, maybe it's better this way.

So, here it was, one week and one day after Thanksgiving, and on the drive to the Urologist, my inner child was upset.  She asked difficult questions and cried as I tried to focus on driving, and let me tell you, driving and crying isn't a good mix.. One inside the Urologist's office, my husband and I tried to make light conversation, but my gut was tied up in knots. My gut is rarely wrong. The whole "What if?" litany of questions went through my head.

It reminded me of when I had to deal with my mother's breast cancer.  We knew something was up, because there were so many tests done to her, so we agreed in advance to "Hope for the best, and Plan for the worst." So when Mom was actually told, we looked at each other, smiled, and scheduled the surgery. A full-on mastectomy, because we didn't want to take our chances.

And here I was, sitting in the Urologists office, and reminding myself to hope for the best, and plan for the worst, but knowing that I saw the invisible sign on the door 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.'

I just don't know how doctors do it. He walked in, smiled, said hello, and then went over how MRI's of the prostate are graded. For a brief moment, I relaxed. Then he went on to explain what each "grade" meant.  He looked at my husband, and said "Yours is a grade 5."

Taken from Prostate Cancer Research Institute (https://pcri.org/whats-new-in-prostate-cancer-a-clinical-perspective/):
"The radiologist reading the MRI images of the prostate assigns a score on a 5 point scale to express the probability of high grade, aggressive cancer being present. If the score is 5/5, the possibility of an aggressive tumor is > 90%."

Yes, I bolded the possibility of an aggressive tumor just to show that I'm not overreacting.

We looked at each other and then the Urologist and asked "What's next?" He told us a biopsy had to be scheduled along with a followup in two weeks minimum, and he sent us to the clerk. As we waited, my husband said, "Well, we shouldn't be too surprised. After all, I smoked for 40 years."  My thought was something I won't write here.

Scheduling was a bitch! Between my husband's work schedule, the Urologist going on vacation, and the upcoming holidays, the soonest that a biopsy could be scheduled was January 7th in the late afternoon. That's Monday. 5 weeks ad 3 days after the MRI results were given to us. Did I mention how anxiety provoking that is? Then we wait until the 25th in the morning, which will mean that by the time we have any definite answers we will have been in this hellish limbo for 8 weeks. Honestly, I just want answers so I can plan accordingly.

Do I sound heartless and uncaring? Do I sound selfish? I don't mean to. The truth is I'm afraid. Afraid of being without my husband. Afraid of the decisions that will have to be made.

For now, I wait...