What NOT To Ask The Urologist...

After my recent setback at the oncologist office, I was not looking forward to my urology visit.  OK, no one ever looks forward to their urology visit, not even the urologist (I mean, who wants to look at that all day long?).   However, I was looking forward to it even less this time.
For anyone that hasn't had a urology appointment this is how a typical urology visit goes.  No matter when you have been there last, there will always be an additional 312 pieces of paperwork to fill out, most of them involve digging through your wallet for various insurance cards, IDs, addresses of estranged relatives, etc.  Right in the middle of the paperwork, they will call you back up to the counter and give you a cup.  This is not for drinking out of, even though it is already personalized with your name on it.  So then, you have to figure out what to do with all the contents of your billfold that are spread on the seat next to you to fill out page 188, paragragh H, subsection 22.3.1 of the form verifying that you read the Paperwork Reduction Act, while you go off to fill the cup.
Once in the restroom one of two things will happen.  It doesn't matter how much you have "studied" for your urine test, there will still only be these two options.  Option one, you stand there awkwardly with the cup in one hand, and..."it" in the other, like two gunslingers at high noon staring down each other, neither one willing to draw first.  You will stay like this for 30-45 minutes waiting for the flow to begin, which will happen precisely when you hear the nurse out in the waiting room calling your name.  Or the only other possibility is you start going immediately and your volume of output is approximately the  same gallons per minute rate of Lake Erie flowing into Niagara, which is all well and good, until you realize you are holding a cup with the capacity to hold the juice from a single grape.  At this point you have to decide, are you going to overflow on your hand or spray all over the room trying to set the cup down midstream.  These are the only two outcomes to the second situation.  Don't try to be a hero and think that you can pull off some great acrobatic move to save the sample and also keep the floor dry.  That kind of cavalier attitude will only result in wet clothes and/or soggy paperwork.
Once you have been called back to the doctor's office, you will remain sequestered there for roughly two and a half hours.  Around you will be pictures of kidney stones resembling medieval weapons...except with more spikes, disgusting diagrams of every genital malady known to man (and some animals), and cutaway anatomical models of sex organs that will make you never want to have sex again.  You will sit here alone in the Office of Horrors until you finally get the urge to pee because you drank too much water for the "cup" and as soon as you pull out your phone to try to get your mind off of your situation, the doctor will walk in and assume you are taking pictures of the plastic cutaway penis.
It is at this time, the doctor will ask you questions having nothing to do with why you are there. "Do you have to urinate more frequently at night if there is a full moon?  Have you ever tried to scratch the back of your knee with your elbow?  Do penguins sweat?  Do you like gladiator movies?" And if you are lucky, you drop your pants, get a quick slap and tickle, pull up your pants, and get charged a couple hundred dollars.  However, I am going to issue a warning!!!
If you have a serious concern, by all means, now is the time to ask the doc about it.  After all, it was my own insistence, after the nurse missed my cancer initially, that resulted in my cancer diagnosis.  Other than that I have found the best thing to do is DO NOT ASK THE UROLOGIST ANY QUESTIONS!!!  See, if it's time for a prostate exam, it's an important part of a male's health and we all need to unpucker and endure it.  However, any added information or question for some reason results in a bonus prostate exam.  I don't know if they get paid more per violation, or all the doctors have a bet, or what, but every question results in a buttsploration.  "Doc, is it normal for your urine to be a little darker if you have been sweating a lot on a hot day?" DROP YOUR PANTS AND BEND YOUR KNEES!  "Doctor, is just waking up once a week in the middle of the night to pee excessive?"  HERE COMES THE BIRDIE!!  "How's your golf swing coming, doc?"  KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR BALL AND GET READY FOR THE FOLLOW THROUGH!!!!
It was for this reason that I decided NOT to ask when I would be done visiting him.  After all, every other time I had been asked, I was always told that I would have to see him for the rest of my life, and the next thing I would hear is the snap of a rubber glove behind me.  So as I my freshly lubricated buttocks swished their way to the front desk to make my next appointment, I was pleasantly surprised to be told that I wouldn't need to come back unless there was a problem!  After all, I had already been devastated by the news a couple months earlier that I was not being released by the oncologist when originally planned.  It seemed that following months of bad news from doctors, I finally heard something I wanted to hear...even if I was walking funny.
Now I just want to clarify one thing here, testicular exams and prostate exams are very important, and there is a peace of mind that one has after clear test (well, that comes after the initial shock).  And even though I was released from my urologist I will continue to do self exams (testicular self exam, I am not flexible enough for the other) and will still be getting the scheduled exams from my family doctor, oncologist, dentist, butcher, and anyone else with a white coat on (at least it seems that way sometimes).  But for now I can relax...without being told to relax and bend over...and celebrate graduating from one doctor and hopefully being that much closer to being a considered a cancer survivor and not a cancer patient.

PRS Guitars, the Cure for Cancer...

For anyone that doesn't know, right before I had gotten diagnosed with cancer, I had saved up to buy a new PRS guitar.  I had sold various things and was finally ready to make my new purchase.  When getting ready to go to the store, I saw two separate ads for people selling used PRS guitars and another brand I was wanting to try as well.  I realized if I bought used instead of new, I could get TWO guitars instead of one.  And we all know, two is twice as good as one.  I bought a PRS and the other brand.  Later when one of the other sellers finally got around to contacting me back and offered to sell me the other PRS.  I was enjoying the one I had, and still had a little bit of money saved, so I bought it as well.

As luck would have it, my surgery limited the amount of weight I could lift.  Those PRS guitars I bought were just under the weight limit and were how I passed much of the time recovering from surgery and chemo.  I decided to sell some more stuff I wasn't using on ebay (like parachute pants and a disco ball) and get a nice PRS guitar after I got well.  I didn't get the chance.  For the first Christmas after Chemo, my whole family got together and bought me one.  It was a gift I never expected to get and one of the first pics of my son were taken with him holding it.  A few days after Christmas, I walked into the music store with what little money I had been saving for a nice PRS (not nearly enough) and there sat the guitar that I had originally been saving up for in the first place, marked down drastically because it literally fell off of the back of a truck and chipped some paint.  Although, not nearly as nice as the one my family had just gotten me, I had just enough cash to cover it, and decided to make the PRS story come around full circle by buying the one that made me start the journey in the first place.

Two years ago, I had the opportunity to meet Paul Reed Smith and had gone over in my mind everything I was going to say and thank him for what was basically a coincidence, but it meant a lot to me.  All I managed to get out when I met him was my first name and I got too emotional to carry on any further.

Now I would say this is all review to my regular blog readers, but I can't imagine that anyone would actually come back to my page twice, it's really not that good, so that is what you have missed in the past.

As I said on my last post, I was expecting to be done with oncology visits and therefore done with cancer in May.  The nurses this past November told me it was customary to schedule something big to celebrate breaking free of the cancer stigma.  Paul Reed Smith was opening up the doors to the factory in June, just a few weeks after I was to be released, so that is the trip I planned for.  That is the trip that would bring everything full circle.  I started my cancer journey with PRS guitars, I would end it with a tour of the factory...except that didn't happen.  I didn't get released.  I got sentenced to an unknown number of years of continued monitoring.

I rolled into Maryland and on the PRS campus with a bittersweet feeling.  This was supposed to be a celebration of being free, instead it was a reminder that I am still going to oncology visits.  I am still a cancer patient.  I am still living under that threat that I am not free and clear.  

Now here is the thing.  Paul Reed Smith is an actual guy, not just some made up brand.  He's just a guy that likes playing guitars and tried to make a great guitar at good price.  He doesn't know any of this is going on.  And all I really wanted to do was say "thank you".  My wife came with me to a private event that was essentially for the PRS "fan club".  Paul was being very cordial and walking around to everyone talking to them, signing autographs, answering questions.  He was working the room and making his way over to us.  My wife was wanting him to come over, but I knew I wasn't ready.  It wasn't the man that was making me emotional, it was the whole process, the whole history.  I have had those PRS guitars for only about two weeks longer than I have been dealing with cancer.  The two are linked in my mind for eternity.  I can't separate the two.  One helped me survive the other.  I feel silly because it's just a hunk of wood and a little bit of metal, but that's where I spent my time and worked through my problems.  

As Paul got closer, I knew I couldn't say thanks this time either.  When you have had cancer, there are just certain things that trigger you memories and take you back to that time.  It could be a food, a phone call, a doctor's office whatever.  For me the flashbacks sometimes take me back to PRS guitars and or back to the urologist office when a guy I have just met asks me to drop my pants and starts playing with my ball.  Luckily that only happens in doctors' offices (or what I was led to believe was a doctor's office.  Fool me once...)  So as Paul got closer, and as my wife got more excited to tell him what I hadn't been able to, I just had everything flood back into my memory.  The cancer, the chemo, the celebration that didn't happen, and the seemingly endless years of monitoring.  I couldn't take it.  I walked out.  No explanation, I just walked around to the side of the factory where no one could see me.  I squatted in the grass.  I walked by the pond.  I messaged a good friend.  I did everything to try to distract me from what I was feeling.  It didn't work as well as I wanted.
I had decided I just needed to go through the factory alone.  My wife decided to get something signed by Paul for our son, since ultimately the PRS guitars will be his one day.  Cell service was non-existent in the factory and as soon as I emerged, my wife called me and asked where I was.  She had gotten the autograph for my son and told Paul that I wanted to say thanks.  Paul had recently had cancer affect people in his life and told her he knew exactly what I was going through and started searching for me.  She said she would bring me back to him.
She found me, and took me in the tent.  Paul had a line of people seeking autographs and I didn't want to interrupt.  All of a sudden, he looks up and sees my wife, whispers something to his assistant, and made a beeline for us.  I tried to keep it together.  All I needed to say was thanks, I knew I could do that much.  That is when he put his arm around me, told me what the people in his life had been through, and I broke down as he shared his pain.  I did manage to say thanks, but that was about it.  But that is what I needed to do.  I may have shown up for the wrong reason, but I still accomplished the original mission.  A week later, I watched Paul put on a presentation at another show.  I no longer had to say thanks.  I didn't go up to meet him with everyone else.  He knows my pain, I know his, and I finally got to say thanks.  Now I just need to learn how to play guitar halfway decent before the oncologist kicks me loose and everything will be complete.

Another Lump? I'm Running Out Of Balls... Or The Nutless Wonder?

For better or worse, going through testicular cancer once makes you a little gun shy.  Losing one testicle isn't too bad, but you quickly run out of testicles to lose after that.  I have sometimes wondered if having to carry a personal cell phone AND a work cell phone may have put out too much radiation and caused my cancer.  So to be safe, I wear cargo pants all the time and carry the phones lower.  My friends make fun of me, because I am still being exposed to twice the radiation of one phone it's just on my leg now, but I remind them that I still have TWO legs.
Anyway, at my last urology appointment, I mentioned I found a lump.  Having the health issues I have, I regularly see five different doctors, four of whom have a great sense of humor and I can joke around with.  However, my urologist, who is a great doctor and ultimately responsible for saving my life since he caught the cancer when a nurse practitioner dismissed it as nothing, he is all business all the time.  No joking, nothing but the facts.  I mentioned the lump to him, and kneeling down for my yearly check he was able to locate it as well.  He stated he was fairly certain that it was nothing, but if I wanted to get an ultrasound done to rest easier, I could.  I stated, I was probably just scared from finding the lump the first time (that ended up being cancer) and was paranoid about finding lumps now.  Still kneeling down and checking out the lump, he looks at me with a serious look on his face and says "When you feel something, I want to feel something."  Now, I know what he meant by that.  He meant, no one knows your body better than yourself, so if you notice a change you need to report that to your doctor.  It just seemed a little funny to me hearing that with someone kneeling down and holding my testicle in his hand.  And knowing that this very good doctor would not see the humor in what he just said, made the whole moment funnier.  I felt like a kid sitting in class in grade school trying not to giggle at "Guess what?  Chicken butt!"  I came pretty close to biting a hole in my tongue to suppress the laughter.
Fast forward six months later, and I kept feeling that lump with my regular checks, and it kept making me more and more nervous that it was "something".  I finally called the office when I could take no more to schedule an ultrasound.  The day they found my first lump, my ultrasound was scheduled for as soon as I could drive to the other office.  Last week's scheduling took days.  When the scheduler finally did return my call, she said, "When did you want to come in?"  I just told her, "Tomorrow!"
I went to the office and was relieved to see the same old lady that had performed my ultrasound last time.  Now there is probably more than a few males that would read this that are thinking to themselves, "Old lady?  No!  I was some hot young thing fresh out of college!"  And those males haven't thought this through all the way.  While the testicle may feel like this finely crafted orb, it is kept in the most hideous, unattractive container.  I am not much on trying to figure out what the fairer sex finds attractive, but I would imagine that is pretty low on the list of alluring male body parts.  And you are going to force someone to be up close and personal with it for some period of time since, to do it right, they have to scan the area from two different angles.  You want someone that you aren't trying to impress, that knows what they are doing.  You want to walk out of that office with some peace of mind.
And speaking of peace of mind, I explained to the lady where I felt the lump and she felt the area too.  This is where years of experience come in, because not only did she find the lump, but she described the area better than I could, which made me comfortable that we were both focused on the same spot and that she would get good images of the area I was concerned about.
First, she went ahead and checked "lefty" and put me at ease by saying, no matter what they found, he was going to stick around because the lump was not affecting him at all.  That was my main concern, I admire the "flatbaggers" because their journey is much more difficult with testosterone replacement therapy and other issues.  I didn't want to go down that road.  I did mention to her that last time, I could tell it was cancer, even though we had to wait for someone else to read the images, just by the look on her face.  That was a mistake.  She put on her best poker face this time, making sure I had no clue as to what she saw on that screen.  Do NOT play cards with that woman!
Feeling confident that at least I would get to the bottom of things so to speak, I went home to wait for the news.  Unfortunately that was Friday, so I had to wait through the weekend.  Each night, scanxiety was a little worse, and I slept a little less.  Finally, last night (night four), I think I slept for all of about an hour.  My wife had enough.  She told me to call the doctor.  I told her I was going to wait, because they were supposed to call me.  In my mind, if you call too much and irritate the doctor, they make the incisions twice as long, make you wait longer in the waiting room, or leave the blinds open during your screening.  She said "OK", then went to work and called the doctor anyway!  The good news is, apparently it's no big deal.  She didn't find out what it was, because she just wanted to hear it wasn't cancer so that I would quit tossing and turning all night long.
So, what is the moral of the story?  I don't freaking know anymore.  How about, when in doubt check it out!  Yeah, that works.  But seriously, there are two reasons for checking out anything you find suspicious.  First it could save your life (like it did the first time I noticed an odd lump) and second, you will be able to relax because you aren't worrying about it anymore.  And remember the words my doctor said to me, that if you feel something, he wants to feel something.

Testicular Cancer Top 10....or I Am Not A Doctor, But You Are Still Going To Tell Me About Your Nuts...

In the breast cancer community, there are a lot of sources for finding information on how to do self exams, what treatment options are, and how to cope afterwards.  And while there are certainly many sources of information and non profits for so called "men's cancers", we aren't as open about discussing them.  It is ironic that the same ones that like to boast about being so well endowed that they make donkeys jealous are the same ones afraid to ask anyone how to do an exam.  I am not real sure what the reason for the disparity between the sexes is.  Maybe it's because breasts are right up front where you can see them and testicles are hidden, except in European bathing suits.  Or maybe how the great masters would always view breasts as these perfectly formed pieces of art that they would spend days sculpting into marble, while at the same time, the artists would make a guys junk look like a wadded up piece of paper with some concrete slapped on it.  At any rate, the public perception about the two are not the same.
After I went through my fight, and if you have read any of my posts you know that I have no shame in discussing what one experiences with testicular cancer, I cannot tell you how many times friends, colleagues, and random strangers have pulled me aside and asked, "How did you  know?"  I certainly don't mind answering that question.  I can explain how I found mine and then I usually refer to a website like http://www.testicularcancersociety.org/testicular-self-exam.html to get a more clinical and better explained way to do exams.  Then the feeling of dread comes over me, because I have been through this enough to know what is coming next.  The person will then describe, in great wrinkly and hairy detail, why they are asking me that question.  So far, they have always stopped short of actually showing me, and I would like to keep it that way.  Let's face it, they are not a very attractive piece of anatomy.  One of the few good things about having a nutectomy (orchiectomy, if you want to get technical), is there is one less of those ugly things that you have to look at in the shower, and bump into random stuff with...oh, and you can do your self exams in half the time.
So in the spirit of changing the stigma of testicular cancer and breaking the silence, I will post before and after pictures of my...OK, not really, but I will answer some of the questions here, that I normally get asked in a hushed voice in the corner of a crowded room, or outside around the corner out of ear shot of the smokers, or in late night phone calls with heavy breathing...OK, that person never actually says what they want, but always hangs up after I tell them to do a self exam.

1. How to do a self exam?  There are several sources for how to do a self exam including the one from the Testicular Cancer Society I mentioned above.  Some places even offer shower cards just like some breast cancer foundations do. There are two things to remember.  First do exams consistently.  You will notice something changing down there long before anyone else will.  I don't care how often you go to the doctor or what odd pastimes you may have, you will still notice first if you do regular exams.  And the earlier you catch it, the less it spreads to other parts of your body.  Second, we all know about shrinkage, so the boys have to be warm to get a good exam.  That is why it is generally suggested during a bath or shower, rather than right after taking the Polar Bear Plunge.  After all, you want things loose to feel details, cancer starts small and grows, you don't want things cold and shriveled like trying to feel two acorns stuffed in a leather wallet.

2. What if I find something?  It's probably nothing, but do you want to take that chance with your life?  Go to a doctor to be sure.  You would be amazed of the things that hang out with two nuts such as hydroceles, spermatoceles, cysts, drummers (sorry, musician joke), most of which don't hurt anything.  In my case, harmless hydroceles were found, but the issue is they can mask cancer, so I was taught to do an illumination test, where basically shining a flashlight behind the boys GENERALLY causes the harmless stuff to glow and the bad things to be dark.  However, let your doctor determine that for you.  That is not always the case and if done wrong, you can have cancer growing for months without realizing it.

3. If it is cancer, will they take my ball(s)?  Most likely yes.  That is why you want to catch it early so you only lose one.  But ultimately, what is the big deal?  I assure you that in the almost four years since "rightie" was removed, no one has noticed.  I get just as many compliments down there as I always have.

4. Will my testosterone levels drop with only one nut?  Maybe, but probably only slightly.  My doctor put it to me this way, if you lose one lung or donate a kidney it doesn't mean you are running on half power.  Usually both don't work at full power anyway, so the remaining one just works a little harder than before.  My testosterone numbers are well into the normal range.

5. Will my sperm count drop?  See above.  The fun part is with testosterone testing you give a blood sample,  but with sperm count testing there is no needle but there are dirty magazines.  Even if you drop in half, you will still more than likely have enough to get the job done or get you in trouble, however you view that situation.  Just a word of caution, I don't think the girl downtown offering to check your sperm levels for $5 dollars has had any medical training whatsoever.

6. Will I be able to have kids?  God I hope so, because I had one, so if you can't then someone has some explaining to do!  Yes, either the natural way or with frozen guys.

7. What is the first thing I should do after being diagnosed?  Ask all of your hot female friends if they want to say "goodbye".  OK, obviously that is a joke and probably wouldn't even work.  But I would call an organization like livestrong.org especially if you are interested in having kids.  They can tell you about certain grants that will pay for collection and storage of frozen guys, but the catch on some of them is you have to apply BEFORE you go to get the collection done.

8. Can the cancer come back?  Yes it could, but that is why you talk to an oncologist to see what your options are.  I opted for chemo for the peace of mind of not having to worry as much about it returning.  A few weeks of feeling sick was more attractive to me than a lifetime of worry.

9. Do they just slice open the bag and take out the groceries?  No!  They go in from around your waist so they can take all of the plumbing too, just in case it has started spreading.  So you can show people your scar without being obscene...unless you want to.

10.  Do you miss it or have any phantom pain like an amputee would?  No, and the good thing is, say hypothetically, you have a two and a half year old that runs at you full speed with a plastic Mike the Knight sword, the chances that he will hit your tender spot have now been cut in half (although he still manages to get me on the tender side EVERY SINGLE TIME!  I am throwing that damn sword in the trash!).

So there you have it.  The top ten (legitimate) questions I get asked in whispers and darkened corners.  If you have anymore (legitimate) questions I will answer them like I did here, based on my own experiences or direct you to a trusted source.  I am in no way a doctor, and I in no way want to see pictures, diagrams, or even very accurate descriptions.

Back To Normal Levels After Testicular Cancer

One of the things many people worry about as they undergo treatment for testicular cancer is how will this affect them afterwards?  Well, I finally received my answer.

One thing I was worried about was testosterone levels.  One of my nurse friends said it would be good to have lower testosterone levels because it would decrease my future cancer risks.  However, commercials are constantly pointing out how my becoming a fat, lazy slob as I get older has nothing to do with me being a fat lazy slob, but low testosterone (that they would be able to fix).  Feeling like I was in a "damned if I do..." position I asked my urologist about it.  I was told that high testosterone doesn't increase the chance of prostate cancer, but it makes it grow faster if you do get it.  And low testosterone may make you more inclined to be a fat, lazy slob, but it doesn't really cause any health problems on its own (being a fat, lazy slob does though).  Worried that my levels would be half, he told me how most duplicated organs aren't working 100%  all the time anyway.  That is why people with one lung or kidney can still function, because the remaining one turns it up a little.  After going through a bunch more explanation in doctor talk which I kinda blanked out on, we decided to test my testosterone and the results came back that I was at normal levels.  So, I have to blame being a fat, lazy slob on something else...like the lack of global warming in my area making it too cold to go outside.

Recently, my wife went to her "female doctor" and somehow came home with an appointment for me!  I get enough doctors' appointments scheduled on my own without having to do someone else's homework too.  Anyway, I was told to go back to the Jerkatorium (official doctor lingo for a sperm bank) and see what my levels were, just in case we ever want to have another kid, which I am told we aren't having, but do this just in case we change our minds one day, which isn't up to me anyway, and it is always a woman's prerogative to change her mind so I should just keep my mouth shut...or something like that.  I will spare you the details of the inner workings of the Jerkatorium, because I have previously written about that.  But what I did find disturbing this time was the addition to the "library" of DVD "aids".  While carefully pushing them around trying my best not to actually touch anything in there, (because after all I know what people do in that room because I was about to do it) I noticed most of the DVD cases were empty.  I wish I could immediately decontaminate everything I am wearing as soon as I leave that room, so it certainly would never cross my mind that I should grab a integral part of the functioning of this room and bring it home with me.  Ewww!  Anyway, we will just fast forward to the results.  That came back saying I was normal too!  Not normal for a testicular cancer survivor, but normal for a normal person...assuming normal people go into a room, look at dirty magazines, leave their business on the counter, and occasionally steal DVDs.

So the moral of the story is, don't steal from the Jerkatorium because you DO know where that stuff has been....NOOO, that's not the moral of the story!  The moral is, not only is testicular cancer a very survivable cancer, but you can regain your normal life back.  You won't be half a man.  You can still have normal levels of testosterone and swimmers, and even if your tests results don't come back normal, you can easily fix the testosterone levels, and if you froze your swimmers like I did before surgery, you can still have children or use it for disgusting pranks to put on YouTube and none of your friends will ever eat or drink anything at your house again.

And there are even some positives of being part of the One Nut Club!  I will close with this Top 10 List:

Top 10 Benefits of Only Having One Testicle

10  You only have to manscape half as much (if you are a manscaper).
9  When you test your levels, you health insurance company is actually paying for you to look at porn!
8  You have more room in your underwear.
7  Not as much to get sweaty down there.
6  People are afraid to use the phrase "Don't go off half cocked" around you.
5  When it is really cold out you can say "I am freezing my ball off!"
4  When your toddler is flailing around like a twerking jellyfish, your chances of getting hit in the nuts just dropped by 50% (anecdotal evidence).
3  Your self exams are done in half the time.  Don't forget to do them!
2  You can make the comment "I would give my right (or left) nut for ______"  then you could offer to go get it from the surgeon.
1  When you wear Speedos you only have to worry about stuff slipping out on one side. 

When Are You Done With Cancer?

As I write this I am about two and a half years out of my cancer diagnosis and treatment.  Aside from a little skin cancer scare (which turned out was nothing) one could say I have been done with cancer.  However, that is not exactly how it works in the cancer game.

There are so many questions as to when you are officially no longer a cancer patient.  Was it the surgery?  The chemo?  When you quit going to an oncologist?  Or when you finally pay off all your medical bills? (In which case I will never be done.)  In many ways I no longer feel like a cancer patient, but at the same time, at the beginning of every month I look at my calendar and see what doctors appointments I have this round.  It is hard to feel "well" or "cured" when you are sitting in a waiting room all of the time.  I mean who needs a People magazine subscription when you can read it for free every month while you wait for the nurse to call your name?  The good news is the frequency of the appointments slowly grows further and further apart.  I think I am down to CT scans once a year now (so I only have to drink a half gallon of nasty tasting water a year).

The funny thing is, because of the doctors' good reports you feel like your not well.  Because of the type of work I do, I tend to run into people that I haven't seen for months or even a year and they always ask how I am doing  With the frequency of doctors appointments my answer is usually,"Well, I was just at the doctor and they said I was fine."  That is the Catch 22 of being in monitoring, you have to see an "ist" each month (oncologist, urologist, gastroenterologist, etc.) but at least they say you are doing good each time.  You don't feel like you can say "Oh, the cancer thing is over." because you are still seeing an oncologist, but at the same time you don't feel like a real cancer patient because you are not having to go through any treatment.

On one hand, it is nice to have the peace of mind every month that you are safe for four more weeks.  On the other hand things get so routine, you wonder why you are paying more and more for something you could probably do yourself at this point.  Heck, I am in and out of my urologist's office so fast, I could probably just drive by his office slowly with my scrotum hanging out the car window and toss out my co-pay.  

I think the biggest part of not feeling "over" cancer is the mental aspect of it.  Every bump, twitch, even feeling tired when you don't think you should makes you wonder if just maybe it's something bigger.  And not even your thoughts are safe.  My one-year-old had been going through a phase where he wants me to hug me, or have me hold him, or just lean against me.  Most people would just understand it is the clingy phase that all toddlers go through, but my mind wondered if he wasn't sensing something, that maybe I wouldn't be around much longer and he needed to get his quality time in while I was still alive.

Even happy dreams aren't safe.  I know two people that have flatlined on operating tables and come back to life.  They both tell of people that have died greeting them at the end of the tunnel and telling them that it's not their time yet to go back to earth.  I have had some friends die and some family members die, but only one person in my life has died that I saw everyday, and would spend an hour just talking to everyday about whatever.  Well, that person was in my dream the other night.  He welcomed me into Heaven, showed me around, and we picked up on conversations we started before he died.  I woke up feeling so good knowing that if I died, this person would be the one that brought me through the tunnel and took me to see my other friends and family that have already passed.  But that good feeling quickly turned to dread, as I wondered why I was dreaming about dying and does my body know something that it hasn't shared with my brain yet.  Maybe part of my brain does know and it is just not sharing the information with the rest of my brain the same way it does when I ask it where I put the car keys.

The biggest joy I have in life is watching my son play, which we weren't even sure we were going to be able to have when all this started.  Even while sitting there just watching him run around like a drunk kamikaze gymnast, I worry about recurrence and not being around to watch him grow up.  Or not being around and maybe his only memory of me will be me yelling at him to quit splashing in the dogs' water dish (which to be fair is something I do approximately 1500 times everyday).

So am I done with cancer?  The doctors say "yes" but then tell me to schedule an appointment to come back and make sure it's still "yes".  Physically, outside of underwear not fitting quite the way it used to, I feel like I am done with cancer.  Mentally, the chemo fog has cleared up, but there is always that cancer cloud hanging over me, just like a summertime meteorologist's permanent "30% chance of storms".  The ironic thing is the more my son shines the more I worried I get about that cancer cloud.  But until then I will enjoy every second I get to spend with my son, even the hours on end I spend pulling him out of the dog dish, and hopefully live long enough to teach him how to check for testicular cancer on himself one day.

(Creating) Life after Testicular Cancer.

I know I was supposed to write this last week, but by then end of today's post you will understand why I am not always able to post when I want.  As I have mentioned in the past, I was laid off from work exactly two weeks when I was diagnosed with testicular cancer.  Two life changing events that came back to back. What only my very closest friends know what there was actually a third event that happened right after that.

We had been wanting to start a family for a while, and were actively trying for around a year.  A few days before I started chemo we found out that we were pregnant.  It seemed like the typical feel good story, boy loses job, boy loses ball, but before he lost that nut boy and girl get pregnant.  There was a whirlwind of emotions, it was something we desperately wanted, but the timing couldn't be worse.  Chemo works by being a very nasty drug that is easily absorbed by anything that grows quickly in the human body, like cancer cells, hair, taste buds, and unfortunately babies.  Because of this the first week I had to take tons of precautions around my wife making sure that she did not come into any contact with anything that may have the chemo in it.  Even using the bathroom involved closing the lid, covering the lid with a heavy towel, and flushing the toilet twice.  I never realized how long it takes a toilet to flush until I had to stand, weakened from chemo, waiting for it to finish flushing twice so I could remove the towel and go back to my normal routine.

After we went through all of this trouble, we lost the baby.  It was very early in the pregnancy, and to say we were stressed during this time would be an understatement.  What we found out after this was the staggering percentage of first time pregnancies that end in miscarriage, however that didn't make us feel any better.  It was a third blow to us in less than two months.  It was the ray of hope we had been focused on through chemo.  Of course many things ran through my mind, like was it my fault for missing a chemo precaution and maybe I should have postponed my treatment.

The next few weeks were a mass of confusing information.  Some people say to try again right away, others say wait.  Some doctors say don't try so soon after chemo, others say it is fine the swimmers either die from the chemo or are not affected.  My urologist said to just give up for at least six months, but my oncologist urged us to see a fertility specialist because we "needed something good in our lives".  And he was right.

The first thing a fertility specialist tries to determine is which partner is causing the trouble.  This makes tons of sense, I mean treat the person with the problem(s), right?  So, my poor wife goes through a series of tests that look like the set of a alien abduction movie.  I still have nightmares about some other the stainless steel contraptions I saw.  I also had to go through a series of grueling tests that involved me going into a room, and being provided with dirty magazines, dirty movies, and a cup.  It was horrible for me, mainly because I had already read all of the magazines when we "banked" some samples before my surgery.

So after my wife goes through her series of probings and shots, and I watch a few movies, we find out that...surprise surprise the problem looks like it is with the guy with the testicular cancer and chemo.  Who would've guessed?  The doc was very supportive and said with very little intervention, we could use my frozen stuff and probably be successful.  No nasty chemicals, no danger of having "Plus 8" after our names or being chased by reality TV producers, for the most part things are pretty normal...except one.

This technique required me to give my wife a shot in her gluteus maximus the night before the procedure. Our doctor was very supportive and involved so they even drew and "X" on the targeted butt cheek to show the exact spot that the injection needs to be placed.  Well, the first round didn't work, so when went for the second try the next month, I asked the nurse if instead of an "X" if she could draw a happy face so I could "jab it between the eyes with the needle".  See, these are the kinds of suggestions that would normally get you thrown out of your wife's doctor's appointments, but in our case the nurse drew the happy face.  This seems all very funny at the doctor's office, but it results in uncontrolled giggling when you are sitting there with a giant needle getting reading to lance a happy face on your wife's posterior.  For some reason, my bent over wife did not see the humor in the situation which only resulted in even more uncontrolled giggling from me.  Luckily, we did not have to try it a third time because my wife said she was working on a few ideas of what she was going to have the nurse write on her butt to greet me the next round.

So, I will leave on this cliffhanger, did we get pregnant, did we have a baby, is the baby keeping me from blogging as regularly as I would like?  I think you know the answer, but I will talk about it more tomorrow.

Summer's Here, Time To Hurt Yourself!

The past couple of days, I have had every intention of hurting myself.  No not in one of those cries for help sort of ways, but just in pushing my self more and more to get back to normal.  I still haven't tackled the dangling a push mower down the ditch yet.  I am really afraid that may undo all the healing I have been doing, so when I do finally get around to attempting it, I will do it as gingerly as one can dangle a push mower down a ditch without simultaneously chopping off body parts.  Just the fact that the engine starts to cut out because the mower is at such an extreme angle that it can't get gas, shows that maybe this isn't a recommended use of this particular mower.

However, that wasn't a problem yesterday.  I had intended to do it, but secretly hoped something would come up to keep me from having to do it, and luckily plenty of things did.  I spent some of the early part of the day helping my good friend with the project we are tackling.  After that I waited for a HVAC company that claims "1 hour service" to call me back....that's been about 36 hours ago, and I am still waiting for a call back on the message I left.  The reason, our thermostat decided that when the air conditioner kicks on, the house will cool down like it is supposed to, but the temperature reading will go UP!  And that keeps the air conditioner on.  You notice this when you look at the thermostat and it reads 87, while the other thermometer in the house reads 72 (and that is the real disparity in numbers we had when we first noticed the problem).  A little research on the company turned up information that all electronic thermostats from this particular company do this.  I won't mention their name because I don't want to embarrass Honeywell.  I finally called in to our HVAC company through a different line (not a repair line) and asked them if they could fix this.  They said yes they would replace it...in five days.  I asked if they carried any other brands than the one they installed and they didn't.  Frustrated I decided to runaway from the problem and went out to mow some of the muddy areas of the yard with the riding mower.

Now our mower is an commercial grade mower that we had to buy because someone keeps running into stuff bending the deck on regular mowers.  I won't say who that someone is, but it's not me and it's probably my wife.  Because of this, the mower weighs 1400 lbs. (about 650Kg) and because of its massive weight it gets stuck if there is any amount of moisture on the ground.  While attempting to mow the parts of the yard that were too wet before, I hit a puddle or moss or gnat pee, whatever it was, the mower became hopelessly stuck.  Now for reasons that I won't go into right now, I am the only one currently able to run this mower, so there was no one to drive the mower while I attempted to pull it out.  So I did one any red blooded American male would do that has a Jeep and at least one ball (which I barely qualify for), I hooked up the Jeep and dropped it in four wheel drive low and jerked the crap out of it.  You may have seen in the news where the day was .25 seconds shorter yesterday, that's because the massive torque of my Jeep pulling out this mower actually stopped the Earth's rotation for a brief moment.  After these shenanigans were done, it was pretty much too late to attempt the ditch mowing/incision ripping yesterday.

So today I got up and went to a hardware store to find a thermostat that didn't have "Honeywell" stamped on it.  I found one and then had to pick up a bag of concrete for another project we are doing.  I found the correct type of concrete (for the record, there are approximately 75 different types of concrete and no matter what your project, there will be exactly 1 (one) bag that kinda fits what you are needing to do, and it will be on a very high shelf).  I look straight at the bag...literally, because someone at Home Depot decided that this particular type of concrete needed to be about five feet in the air, and it dawned on me as I read "80 lbs." on the side of the bag that:  A) I haven't lifted 80 lbs. since my surgery, I am officially supposed to be closer to 30lbs., and B) I can't bring the Jeep in to help me with this one.  I briefly thought about asking for help, but two things occurred to me:  1) Guys are not supposed to ask for any sort of help whatsoever in a hardware store unless it is a veiled attempt to prove they know more than the person they are talking to, and 2) I have about as much chance of finding and employee at Home Depot to help me as I do of finding the Loch Ness Monster, Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa, and  a regular cast member from Alf.  Now Andrea Elson did walk by while I was contemplating the next move, but without Elvis, Jimmy, and Nessie she wouldn't have been much help.  So I did what any self respecting guy would do, I picked up the bag anyway, rather than get help, and waited for the "pop" down below.  I firmly grabbed the bag and just as gracefully has a Olympic weight lifter clean and jerks 1000 lbs., I put the concrete in the cart...OK, it was less like an Olympic weight lifter and more like a out of shape fat guy struggling to lift more weight than he lifted in eight months (outside of Golden Corral) all the while trying not drag the bag (which they for some reason make out of paper just slightly thicker than tissue paper) over anything that might snag it, causing it to burst open cartoonishly burying my feet in 80 lbs. of concrete, while at the same time trying to keep me from bursting open cartoonishly burying my feet in a large pile of my intestines.  Unfortunately for the person watching me on the security camera I was able to load the concrete without any comic mishaps (yes, they actually have a sign in the concrete section pointing to the security camera, maybe that is a sign you are way understaffed if someone can grab an 80 lbs. bag of concrete and no one notices nor is able to catch someone fleeing with 80 lbs. of concrete).

Eventually, I made it home and the first thing I had to do, with the air conditioner running like an out of control Trane, was replace the thermostat.  The thermostat contains slightly more wires than the Space Shuttle, except with fewer directions.  After approximately 47 hours of cursing, reading, taking a Spanish course, reading the other manual, taking a Hindi course, calling tech support, and some Eeny Meeny Miney Mo, I was able to hook up the thermostat with a minimum amount of smoke and sparks.  As I was wrapping up, a large storm hit, effectively ending my mowing/stomach shredding/toe slicing plans for the day.

I don't know if the events keeping me from mowing the ditch are a bit of Divine Intervention or just me being lazy and slow, but I will welcome the postponements no matter what the reasons.  I just don't know what I am going to break to get out of it tomorrow...

There's More To Recovery Than Just Recovery...

Today I spent the morning with a good friend who is recovering from her own serious health condition.  We got into a conversation about how hard it is to recover from a serious illness, not necessarily physically but mentally as well.  There are so many aspects to recovery that get overlooked because caregivers are focused on, well recovery, but just physical.  The medical profession seems to think if they fixed your ailment, you're done.

One thing I noticed since my cancer diagnosis, is before I found out I had cancer, I did routine checks for testicular cancer.  I had a doctor in 1998 tell me it would be a good idea to check and I did the checks often, sometimes twice or more a day depending on how many other people were in the pool at the time, but every since I found the cancer, I hardly check.  The ironic thing is, I have about half as much to check after the cancer, so you would think it would be easier to check now.  However, I could probably count the times I have checked since then on one hand...not that hand the other one, the non-checking hand.  I don't know why, but I have developed an aversion to checking myself since I had actually found something.  Luckily, since I still manage to see one professional or another approximately every forty three minutes, I am getting checked enough right now by other people, so I don't need to worry about it, my family doctor, my urologist, my oncologist, my friend's overly curious dog, that TSA guy behind me in line at Arby's the other day, well at least I think it was a TSA uniform, or it could have been a bus driver's uniform, who ever it was he was very gentle and paid for my Arby-Q.  I brought this issue up at my cancer support group to see if any other of the self examiners had the same mental block after diagnosis, but unfortunately the breast cancer survivors weren't there that day.  There were a few prostate cancer survivors, but they didn't look flexible enough to perform self exams.

When down physically for so long, it takes a while to get back in the swing of things.  The doctors pretty much force you to be a couch potato through weight restrictions and other warnings of dyer consequences if you overexert.  After weeks, or even months, of continuously watching daytime TV, it's hard to get back into a routine of getting up, moving around, and even concentrating on anything that doesn't involve paternity testing, especially during Oprah's last season!  And even when you do start to move about and get braver and braver, there can be certain obstacles in your daily life that look insurmountable.  As part of my mowing routine, I have to dangle a push mower down a very steep embankment about five feet, pull it back up, and try to keep my toes out of the way the whole time I am struggling with it.  This is something that leaves me physically drained and crippled on a good day, I will admit, I am scared to death to do it when I still haven't been released to do that sort of thing from the doctor that performed my surgery.

Then there is just the mental recovery.  Believe it or not, you feel like your brain gets flabby from not being used while you were recovering.  I tried to keep my brain sharp by first reading Yahoo articles on-line, then working my way up to on-line versions of magazines, then newspapers, and even tried to read a few books on-line.  It was months into my recovery before I realized I had just been looking at porn the whole time, which I would stop, but I am not quite done with this article.  The point being, when you brain isn't working as hard as it had in the past, it takes a while to be able to stare at a computer screen for hours on end again (especially if there is no porn on that computer screen).

One last part of mental recovery I will mention, kinda relates to one of the first things I mentioned, and that is the fear that you are not quite well yet, or that it will come back.  There is a reason that until recently, oncologists would never use the word "cured" they would just say "remission".  I don't know that I will ever get over the fear that the cancer isn't quite gone, or that it's hiding somewhere else, or that it's just not big enough to show up on tests yet, or that it's lying dormant, or, or, or, or....with so much of cancer being an unknown, how do we as patients feel secure in our "cured" diagnoses?  And am I sure our families/caregivers/support networks have the same fears, whether they will verbalize them or not.

I guess in many ways, recovering  from a serious illness is like a "recovering alcoholic".  Sure, Bill W. never plans on having another drink, but he knows that threat is always lurking in the background.  In much the same way, I don't ever plan on having cancer again, but I know there is a possibility, however slight, that it  could be hiding somewhere.  Maybe I should do some more internet "reading" and a self-exam just to make sure there's no cancer left.

Oncologists Do Care About Swimmers Sometimes

As I have mentioned earlier, the thing that has been bothering me lately is my questionable swimmers.  At one point I was told they were normal at another point I was told they were abnormal.  Giving someone hope then recalling that hope is worse than not giving the hope in the first place.  At least that is how I feel about it.

Last week I had a heart to heart with my oncologist and told him how much it was bothering me and that I didn't feel like waiting around until May to check the swimmers again as my urologist/surgeon had suggested.  My oncologist was in a hurry and didn't really seem to be very interested in the conversation, but he said he agreed with me, made some suggestions and sent me on my way.  I assumed that was the end of it.

Then this week my oncologist called while I was gone.  The first reason I like my oncologist is that he didn't wait until I was home and leave some cryptic message, he talked to my wife and gave her information he knew I wanted to know.  I am sure he broke fifteen or twenty "rules" about divulging medical information, but as the patient, I appreciate it.  My wife has been to just about every oncologist appointment with me, and oncologists' calls are usually pretty important.  One doesn't generally want to wait until the "next business day" to start playing phone tag.

The information he gave was my lab results saying that my "tumor markers" came back good.  I have no idea what the heck "tumor markers" are, but if he is happy about them I am too.  Whoopee tumor markers!  What really impressed me though is that the subject I thought he was blowing off, he actually cared about and thought about after the appointment.  He said he consulted some colleagues and they agreed that May seemed like a long time to wait to see if my swimmers could go in the deep end when they should be back to the pre-chemo ways much sooner than that.

What is really cool, is that my oncologist came up with a way to not offend my urologist, by simply not telling him I was doing any of this.  He suggested we go to a "fertility specialist" that will have me tested right away. I mention this to my cancer support group, where there has been another individual in a similar position.  Somehow during the conversation I mention that wives are not allowed in the room during the "testing" to which they replied that they got to "test" as a couple.  I feel cheated!  I mean the first few times were fine being alone.  After all I had a lot of reading material to look through, but now that I have seen all of those sticky pages, I wouldn't mind going through the test without having to touch something that cracked when you turned the pages.

All of this has put me in a much better mood than I have been during the scanxiety.  I have a plan again, and hopefully will gain some good news or at least have a good game plan mapped out.  If nothing else, I get to watch some "documentaries" again.

Braced For Impact Wrench

With the heatwave we had today, I knew it was a good day to get outside.  With temperatures soaring just above freezing, I took my wife's car to my workshop for an oil change.  I put on my "abdominal brace" and waddled to work.

Up to this point I have only been wearing my abdominal brace when walking around the yard.  I haven't been doing anything that requires bending with it on, because quite frankly you cannot bend with it on.  For just walking around the yard, it doesn't do too bad.

With the snow beginning to melt, I also put on my heavy snow boots.  I was up in my workshop with the abdominal brace's lattice work digging in to my back and immobilizing me from the waist up, and clomping around in the heavy rubber steel-toed boots that really don't bend at the ankle at all.  I was stumbling around up there like an arthritic Frankenstein after hemorrhoid surgery.

I will say this much for the abdominal brace, it did help my ailing incision with only a mildly intense pain in my back.  I don't know if it was from trying to bend over with this complicated contraption on, or just the nature of the brace itself, but I feel like I have been bailing hay for eight hours, then decided to lift weights for another eight hours, all after spending the night sleeping on the hood of a '54 Cadillac...sideways.  In other words, my back is really hurting.  But the oil is changed and that is all that is important.  Now I don't have to worry about the car breaking down while my wife drives me to the emergency room.

My incision area is still bothering me, I am assuming it is the stitches dissolving like the doctor said.  Even though the brace causes severe back pain, that is a lesser evil than severe abdominal pain.  Until I heal I will just continue to wear it and walk around in the snow like a cowboy mummy.

The First Three Month Cancer Results Are In!

I took an unwanted break from writing mainly because I couldn't focus long enough to write.  Between the doctors' appointments last week and the appointment yesterday, I was thinking about results, questions, possibilities, outcomes, etc.

The good news is that my results from my first three month cancer check-up were clear!  I didn't really expect any result other than that, but no matter how much I try to tell myself everything is going to be fine, it is kind of hard to convince myself completely.  After all, I didn't expect to find cancer in the first place.  But that is behind me, and I have three months before I start worrying again.

I was more anxious to talk to the oncologist about my swimmers though.  Although I trust my urologist, I feel like he was a little rash when he told me to basically forget about any baby making for another six months.  I have been anxious to get back to baby making, and not just because of the fun involved in mixing the ingredients.  There are several reasons, but I think there is a part of me that feels like I will be moving past all of this cancer crap once the baby stuff gets back on track.

My tests revealed that my swimmers weren't the strong swimmers we initially thought.  I suspect part of that is my fault for getting tested as soon as they said I could.  In my haste to move on with my life, I ran to the spankatorium to find out if we could start again.  I wonder if I would have waited a few more days if the problem swimmers would have completely left the pool.  That is where I differ with my urologist.  His idea is to just do another test in May.  Well, my first problem with that is that I don't know that we have to wait the full time frame to see if I rushed things the first time.  My second problem is that his math was way off!  The amount of days he said we should wait would have landed me somewhere in March, but then he said May.

There is a part of me that is a little embarrassed about all of this too.  I don't want to become a regular at the jerknasium.  I walk in and they tell me they have my favorite magazines laid out for me already and the video is cued up to where I stopped it last time.  But I want to know when the games can start again.  I don't care if I have to go in there a thousand times, I want to know exactly when it is safe to start again (although admittedly after a thousand times I may be a little chafed).

I had a heart to heart with my oncologist about this yesterday and he kind of agrees with me that the sooner the better.  I asked him how to keep from offending my urologist and he said to not even go through him.  He suggested working through my wife's doctor to order the test since she is the one I am trying to impregnate (my wife, not the doctor).  He called this plan the "backdoor way" of getting my tests done.  I go out to the car, excited about my oncologist's idea, and as soon as I said the words "backdoor way" in relation to getting pregnant, I was immediately vetoed.  However, once she heard what the "backdoor way" was and that it had nothing to do with the plan that was conjured up in her mind by those words, she was more receptive to it (figuratively and literally).

So, that is where I am currently at as far as getting cancer behind me.  I am clean.  I don't plan on getting recancered anytime soon.  I just want to be that One Nut Wonder.  Now off to the Backdoor Cave and make a call with the Back Phone, to put the Back Plan in action.

Fears Subsided But Validated

I met a friend for lunch today.  She is a fairly good friend and she asked how my appointments went yesterday.  I told her about how the nurse mistakenly told me my swimmers were OK and how my wife and I thought it was OK to start trying for baby again and her face went pale.  Luckily (?) we are not preggers right now, so I don't have to worry about any damage done from my chemo cooked swimmers.  But her reaction today showed me that maybe I wasn't over reacting yesterday.  It is one thing if God gives you a special needs child, it is another thing to do something that caused your child to be a special needs child.  That is why most of us don't smoke, drink, do drugs, bungi jump, work in nuclear power plants, or watch Jersey Shore while pregnant.  I can't imagine the amount of guilt I would have had if we had a child that was born facing challenges their whole life because of something I had done, i.e. chemo side effects (knowingly or unknowingly).  So, I am feeling a little better about that issue today.

Other bad news I almost got was that our dear rescue basenji darted out the front door when a delivery driver came to drop off a package.  My wife and I were both gone at the time so it had the potential to be a very bad situation.  Luckily it was very cold and snowy yesterday so she ran all the way from the front door to the back door to be let back in.  She made it back there before my mother-in-law could even put on her coat to go chase after her.  I guess it is a good thing that African dogs don't have much fur, otherwise she may have tried to stay out longer.

Daisy the abused and neglected basenji paid me back this morning  for her little excursion by eating part of a stuff toy causing the stuff toy to re-emerge while I was trying to sleep...three different times.  The mistake I made was telling my wife and mother-in-law about it.  To understand why that was a mistake I will run through my first waking moments today.  I wake up to the unmistakable noise of a dog puking, and knowing I am too late to do anything about it.  I lay my head down in disgust, not wanting to deal with it, then I hear that same sound again, but this time I am awake so I am able to throw a dog blanket under her to keep it off the carpet, and success!  I lay back on the bed to revel in my success, when I hear a third mess being created and instantly deposited on the carpet.  I drag myself out of bed, walk the dogs in the bitter cold, then come in to clean up the messes.  I come out from my cleaning just to get asked to explain everything in detail to my mother-in-law.  I finally think I am done talking about dog regurgitation, when my wife calls.  I mention Daisy ate another stuff toy, with the usual outcome, and I again get asked about time, coordinates, etc.  And now for some reason I am writing about it...

I did briefly try out my "abdominal brace" today while I walked the dogs, and it actually works very well and allows me to walk normally.  I don't know if I will use it out in public or not.  It would have a rather slimming effect the way it compresses the gut to hold everything in place, except that the adjustable scaffolding in the back, the contraption that allows it to brace, is a huge bulge that sticks out so much it won't even fit under clothes.  I guess I will have to find a long jacket.  I plan to use the brace tomorrow as I take advantage of the bitter cold and clean out the snake haunts in my shop and hopefully leave them with nowhere to hang out anymore.

So that is my life about now.  It's just a rootin' tootin', doggy pukin', snakepit bootin', workshop lootin', Daisy losin' 'n' return to roostin', tummy boostin', no swimmer shootin' kinda week.

Apparently, My Swimmers Should Stay In The Shallow End...

Today was my scan and my urologist appointment.  Two things I wouldn't necessarily say I was looking forward to, but I was anxious to get them out of the way.

With the foretold doom and gloom from the purveyors of precipitation prediction, I left the house a half an hour early and with all the inclement weather...I ended up at my doctor's office an hour early.  I am not sure where I drove through a time shifting wormhole, I think I should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque, but whatever the reason, I suddenly had an hour to kill.  Luckily my scan orders weren't for any specific time and the hospital was less than a mile from the urologist office.  I thought an hour would be more than enough time to get irradiated.  I forgot, however, about hospital bureaucracy.  After all the red tape and going to this desk, then that one, then the other one, I flew into my urologist's office with less than five minutes to spare.  I don't get the scan results until I talk to my oncologist next Friday, but the lady didn't have the "Oh, crap!" look on her face when she looked at them that the nurse that did my ultrasound had on her face when they found the cancer.  I am taking that as a good sign.

While signing in at the urologist's office, the receptionist was asking the usual litany of questions, among them was if I had a procedure done.  I wasn't sure what she meant or why she was asking (maybe it looked like I had lost weight in the groinal area) so I said I had the one procedure in September.  She responded by asking if that was the only procedure.  I stated that I only had one left, so there wasn't too many more procedures he could do.

I go back to the exam room and tell the doctor of the problems I have been having.  First he discussed the results of my testosterone level test.  He said I am at the bottom end of normal, which isn't bad considering I  have only half of the production facilities.  Next, he looked at the area that my general practitioner had suspected that a stitch trying to push its way out.  He grabbed a package containing some fierce looking tweezers, and digging around down there, pulled out a stitch!  It was like a magic trick...that hurts and bleeds a little.  Next we addressed the thorn in my side ever since the operation (figuratively and literally).  He came up with two scenarios.  Option one is that I could have scar tissue that is constantly building up, and for some reason the walking is breaking it apart causing the pain.  I am still not sure I understand that explanation, which is probably why he gave it to me to shut me up and get me to quit whining.  The other thing that could be happening is that my stitches are dissolving.  Apparently they dissolve at different speeds in different bodies, and the fact that he pulled one out of me today is evidence that they haven't dissolved completely yet.  He says as these stitches are starting to dissolve they get weaker and break, which could be that "popping" feeling I have been experiencing.  The only solution he had for me was an "abdominal brace" to use just when I plan on doing a lot of walking, since every time it has let loose, I have been doing a lot of walking.

So I went to Wal-Mart, which in itself is a lot of walking, and found their assortment of braces and supports.  Most focus on the back, but I did find an abdominal one under a pile of dust.  It basically looks like a back brace that has been slid around to the front and had $10 added on to the price tag.  I haven't really walked with it yet, since I was already hurting pretty bad from walking around trying to find it, but I did try it on.  Basically, you strap on this elastic and velcro thing fairly snugly.  Then, there is a ring that you pull and through a complex series of cables, pulleys, and winches in the back, it supplies the added support.  I must say, just from walking around a little bit to test it tonight, it feels really good.  I am just fortunate that this is happening in the winter, where I have heavy jackets to cover up this contraption!  My wife says is looks like some S & M mechanism.  I will admit I am not that up on S & M paraphernalia, so I guess I have some research to do the next time I can't sleep.

There is one final bit that I have left out about today.  The urologist discussed the last test I took and I will admit, it has me more than a little bummed, even on the verge of depressed.  When I went to read my dirty magazines, the nurse called and said I didn't have many swimmers, but I had swimmers.  I specifically remember asking her, if they were good swimmers and she said they were.  Today, I found out that was not the case.  I don't have many swimmers, and a good portion of the ones I do have are not very good ones.  I don't remember the exact term he used, I just know as he was describing them, I am thinking of little sperm swimming in neverending circles, a few ramming repeatedly into random objects, and other sperm just wiggling around aimlessly screaming "I want a juice box!".  The good news is that I am producing the little guys so the chemo didn't shut down the factory.  However, it appears that the factory hasn't yet been retooled after the chemo (pun intended), and that I haven't completely gotten rid of the affected guys yet.  It can take as long as seventy two days for the little guys to regenerate, so he wants me to wait another three months, and test again.  And I am definitely NOT supposed to try to have kids in the mean time.

First of all, I know this wasn't a big setback.  We have frozen guys, and it isn't out of the ordinary at all for the little guys to be affected like this.  When the factory starts pumping out quality product again, the baby making attempts can resume.  What I will admit was absolutely devastating to me today was that two weeks ago the nurse told me I was good to go.  When you hear so much bad news, the good news really lifts you up, and to get told today that what the nurse told me was incorrect seemed like it knocked me down lower than I was before.  I know it shouldn't bother me.  It is a minor set back.  But it is bothering me.  A lot.  Four months from now, I should be able to move on with our plans for baby making.  It is just that I thought I had a bulk of this cancer crap behind me, and today I get told I have this Klingon that won't get off my butt.

Trying to always find the bright side in everything, I admit it was kind of tough today.  I was just blindsided by that news.  The one thing that kept me from really getting down in the dumps was I had told my good buddy Willie before today that I would stop by his house that is within a mile of my doctor's office.  As usual, Willie cheered me up with random fire department stories and tales of the latest thing he hid from his wife and got busted on.  It worked out well that I saw him within five minutes of the news today.  I guess one of the few bright spots is by May, there should be some new magazines in the jerkatorium for my next test.

I Can't Wait For The Urologist...

I can't wait for my urologist (who was also my surgeon) appointment this week.  No, not because of the slap and tickle I will inevitably have to experience as soon as I get in his office.  I am hoping I will get an answer to why no matter how long it has been since my surgery, my incision just never seems to heal.

Today we took the abused basenji to her class that is supposed to break her out of her shell.  On the way back we decided to reward her for her hour of torture by taking her for a walk in the park.  I was a little gun shy about the whole thing after hurting myself so bad in Florida.  But that has been well over a month, and I haven't hurt myself that bad since.  However, we didn't get too far in to our walk before I felt something happening.  My wife asked if I was OK, and knowing how much I could potentially be hurting myself, I did the guy thing and said I was fine.  I don't think it took her too long to tell I was lying.  I think it was walking like an off balance Weeble Wobble that gave me away.

I think the best way to describe what happens is to compare it to taking a Band-Aid off.  You know how when a Band-Aid is on, most of the time you aren't even aware it is there.  Occasionally, your Band-Aid will catch on something while you are changing clothes or something, just giving you a little reminder that it is there, but not really hurting.  When it is time you take off your Band-Aid you start to peel it back and it doesn't hurt too bad, UNTIL you get to the point that you have to just rip it off because it is going to hurt no matter what you do from that point on.

Ever since my surgery, on a good day, my incision feels like wearing a Band-Aid.  Occasionally, I have a little tenderness there along my waistline where the incision is, but most of the time, I don't even notice it.  When I start doing too much physical activity it is like I am brushing against the Band-Aid.  Sometimes, I can feel the incision about to let loose, like today, where while walking, it was like I had pulled the the Band-Aid, but if I took one wrong step, the Band-Aid would be completely ripped off and leave me laying around for another two weeks.

I am tired of living like this.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to when I get to that Band-Aid ripping point.  I can Wii up a storm with only a slight irritation, but I start walking on uneven terrain, and the effects are almost immediate.  However, when it let loose in Florida I was walking on the pavement, but I had been rolling around under a car for hours earlier.  I would have thought it would have pulled apart when I was practicing yoga underneath a Highlander, not when I was just walking minding my own business.  I don't like walking around through life like I am in a minefield, and I don't know when I am going to step on the one that will send shockwaves through my body.  It is bad enough just avoiding the minefield of poop during dog walks.

So, I am hoping this week's appointment will give me answers.  I don't care if he says I have to have another operation, use a walker, wear a girdle, sit around in traction, or drive a Rascal scooter through Key West getting stuck on curbs (that one was just for you, sisters), at this point I will do it.  Unfortunately, the first option they always offer is painkillers, which I always refuse, because I don't want to mask what is going on, I want to be healed!  Until I get an answer I will just keep tiptoe-limping through life praying that my next step is not onto a landmine that rips off my Band-Aid.

2011: The Year Of The Doctors' Appointments

After the surgery and chemotherapy, I am now to the "observation"  phase of my treatment and I will be at that phase for a few years to come.  So far I have had four doctor's appointments this month, and I have three left.

First, I have swimmers!  Before you start chemo, they tell you that the chemo will probably make you sterile, which is obviously the part that the lawyers of the people who manufacture the chemotherapy make them say.  The oncologist followed that up by saying he didn't know anyone who had that particular type of chemo that actually became sterile (for example, Lance Armstrong and I had the same chemo, and he has had two successful swimmers in the past two years).  What was funny, is the nurse from the urologist's office acted like she had devastating news for me, saying that my count of swimmers was low.  For me, having just cleared the time period when I should be able to start making swimmers again, and after being told I may never make swimmers again, I was ecstatic.  All I need is one swimmer!  Maybe two, my wife and I are still arguing that point.  Personally I am hoping when my swimmers do make it to the finish line we get triplets.

My second doctor's appointment was with my G.I. doctor.  The best news there was I am not due for another buttsporation for another four years!  The colonoscopy itself isn't too bad, it's just the prep that has you wishing you hadn't ate all of that food over the past three years so you could get off of the toilet and move on with your life.  I have an upper scope in July, but all you have to do for that one is not eat after midnight then go to sleep when they inject you with the good stuff.  The only bad news I received from the G.I. doctor, wasn't from him at all.  He had been wanting to do a CT scan on me for a while, but we couldn't really justify it.  So, since we already had one done, I had sent the scans over to him.  He got to see what he wanted to look at and said everything seemed good.  In fact the only thing they marked on my scan was the two cyst type things in my kidneys.  The only problem with hearing that, was I hadn't heard that before then.  So now I have something new to worry about.  I asked him if going through chemo would help my Barrett's Esophagus at all, and I was told it wouldn't because esophageal cancer doesn't respond to chemo.  Not what I was really hoping to hear, but then he reiterated that is why it is so important to do the scopes when he says to.  I guess I will see you in July, doc!  Other than that, some of my G.I. issues are doing so well that I have been able to back off some of my meds!

Appointment three was a blood and pee test.  The only bad thing about these tests, is you do them at the same time (well a few minutes apart), and they want you to not eat anything that morning, yet still be able to pee.  So I was left chugging water on the whole way to the doctor's.  The vampire was nice (she always is) and let me in on a little secret. I have veins that like to roll around when stuck, and most nurses are fine when I say that they usually need a "butterfly" to stick me, but every once in a while I get a cranky don't-tell-me-how-to-do-my-job one, who manages to stick me several times before grabbing the butterfly.  This nurse said the main reason nurses are like that is that the butterfly needles cost considerably more than the regular ones.  And some employers will actually ration the number of butterfly needles a nurse gets in a week.  Yeah, that makes sense, stick a person nine times before you break out the more expensive needle (and I speak from experience).

Saturday, I had my regular doctor appointment.  I had a year's worth of questions to ask him, which just about every answer was to quit worrying about it.  I asked him about my kidney cyst looking thingys.  He said  just about everyone has those and he is sure that my oncologist is watching those if he is worried about them.  He also said it looks like a stitch may be trying to push to the surface from my incision and to have the urologist look at it.  I don't know what the heck I will do if I see a string poking out my belly?  The kid in me will want to pull it, which has me running all sorts of scenarios in my mind, most of them involving me unraveling.  The good news is since a CT scan is much better than getting poked in the butt, I was able to avoid having to get the dreaded prostate exam (or the finger wag as my dad calls it).  I don't think either one of us has been looking forward to that.  Since this is my no nonsense doctor, he spent most of the appointment telling me I was doing great after my cancer treatment, and now it was time to lose weight!  Sometimes I don't feel like I am doing as well as I would like after my treatment, but I definitely agree with him on the losing weight part.  I want to lose the weight as fast as possible, then think of a reason to go to him just to prove I could take off the weight.  What am I talking about?  I am sure I will probably manage to hurt myself sometime before next year's check up.  I'll probably end up hurting myself while trying to lose weight.

So, four appointments down and three left this month.  I don't know exactly what to expect from the urologist and oncologist.  At least the X-ray will be another one of those laydown and don't do anything tests.  I am good at those tests.  Oh well, nothing I can do but show up to them and then blog about what happened...

Juggled And Poked At The Urologist's Office

Today was another big day in my recovery.  I had the last post surgery follow-up appointment with my surgeon/urologist.  I had some good news, and some not so good news that I am taking as good news.

The urologist was very nice and took a lot of time to answer our questions today.  Of course he had to check his handy work.  To be honest, my goodies have been fondled so much over the past few months I just kind of block it out at this point.  I don't remember what he did or what he said.  I guess I just go to my happy place in my mind.  Some people go to their happy place by remembering their favorite Christmas as a child, or by thinking about being on a warm sunny beach, I just imagine that my goodies are being cupped by a man in a white coat...I guess don't have a very good imagination for my happy place.  He asks how I am doing (after I pull my pants back up) and I answer honestly that I feel like a disgusting, lazy, slob.  I say I am still trying to fight this chemo fatigue, and if I lift anything over a certain weight or twist a certain way I still feel that "tickle" in my incision.  He says something surprising, that I probably will feel that tickle for another month and not to push it.  He basically said to stay away from weights for a while.  I didn't ask about the Shake Weight, because to ask about it would be admitting that I have one, but it seems to be my only option for the time being.  He did clear me to do whatever cardio I want.  That is the good news.  The bad news is that now I am expected to do cardio.

The doctor answered all of our assorted questions, including the ones we had for other doctors but asked him anyway.  He then told me to check my swimmers in a month to see if chemo killed them or not.  They gave me the option of going to the place I went to make my "deposit" or another place (both hospitals, not just in some alley).  I wanted to opt for the other place, because I have already seen all of the getting-in-the-mood literature at the first place and was hoping to see something new.  My wife didn't like my idea and wouldn't let me do that.  Lastly they needed to draw blood from me.  This is usually quite an adventure because my veins like to squirm and roll around when the needle comes at them.  I have been spoiled by the phlebotomists at the oncologist's office because all they do is draw blood all day and they are very good at it.  At the urologist it was people that are normal nurses that happen to be asked to stick people now and then.  First of all, I swear they must use different needle suppliers, because at the oncologist the needle slips in so smooth you think you are still being wiped off with the alcohol pad.  At the urologist, each and every needle feels like it is rusty, bent, and broken off and I watched them take it out of a new package three different times!  The first nurse jabbed the needle in and moved it around like she was churning butter or trying to shift a Mack truck.  When she started drawing blood from places other than through the needle she gave up and passed me off to another nurse.  This nurse was much nicer and talked very calmly, politely, and apologetically as she jabbed the needle into me again and again and churned butter and shifted a Mack truck (they must have gone to the same school).  I was just about to ask if we could do this another time, seeing as how my veins have about as much holes in them now as a clarinet, when she finally got some blood to get into the vial.  I am assuming it was my blood, but as vigorously as she was sticking and moving she may have actually gone through me and poked herself.

Finally we scheduled my next appointment for sometime in January.  I say sometime, because as I was trying to focus on my calendar to pick a day, the nurse kept spitting out possibilities and my wife kept talking about my other appointments as well.  Between trying to focus on three different stimuli (my calendar, the nurse, and my wife) all I could do was just say yes on the first day I heard that wasn't already highlighted in my calendar. The nurse asked if I wanted it written down, which I most certainly did, because I have no idea what anyone said.  My wife decided to keep talking about how I should have made it the same day as one of my other doctor's appointments, which is what I was trying to look up when everyone was asking me so many questions that I couldn't look it up.  For all I know it may be the same day or even time as another appointment, I still am not sure what the heck went on at the counter, I just went to my "happy place" again (that doctor has such soft hands).

All in all it was a good day.  I didn't really want to be told I was still on limited duty, but on the other hand I know I am not just being a fat, lazy, slob.  I am being a fat, lazy, slob that is not supposed to lift too much.  Tomorrow I will start to work on some cardio and maybe step up my Shake Weighting.  I should probably get some rest now, that twelve minutes of exercise tomorrow will really take a toll on me.

Back Home Again From Indiana

I am back at home, and more importantly, back at my own computer.  While there I borrowed my parents' laptop which has the convenient feature of having the cursor randomly jump on the page if your palm happens to brush the touchpad while typing.  Sure it was annoying, but at least it made proofreading interesting.

Yesterday, I definitely felt the effects from my big day on the town Friday.  I don't know how much longer I can blame this on the chemo and when I have to just admit I am a big lazy wimp.  For right now, I will still blame chemo.  But at least I felt good enough to pretty much stay awake all day and watch the crazy dogs.  All six were in rare form, ranging in size from, I don't know, like nine pounds to about two fifty.  Just a rough guess on those numbers.  My wife and I ran into a hippo costume for dogs, and thought it would be a wonderful gift for my sister, who when she is not working to save the lives of your pets, has a hobby of finding new and innovative ways to torture her own pets, such as dressing them in hippo costumes.  I will have to say, her dog looked nothing like a hippo, unless hippos are about a foot high and run around at high speeds doing figure eights and back flips.  Something I did learn from the experience is apparently all dogs have the innate urge to chase hippopotami, all dogs except African bloodline basenjis, which is quite ironic.  I guess since she was the only dog in the room who's bloodline would have actually seen a hippo, it was nothing novel to her.

And speaking of that little African bloodline basenji, Daisy was a completely different dog this weekend.  She was letting people walk up and pet her.  She was very affectionate.  She was exploring the house.  Then we crossed back over state lines and she turned back into her old abused and neglected self.  Well, she is a little better, but certainly not the dog she was at my parents' or even in the car.  But it does give us hope that a normal dog is in there somewhere, er...as normal as a basenji can get.  We may have to move out of state or build a house that looks like the inside of a car, but at least we have options.  

Back home, I am wore out.  Tomorrow we have to get up at around five and head to a urologist appointment.  I am excited and apprehensive both about this one.  I am anxious to hear what he thinks I can do physically and how my recovery is coming along.  However, he still can request the dreaded CAT scan, and I have no idea if he will or not.  If I were a betting man, more that just two bucks on lottery tickets once a week, I would bet I will just have a few ultrasounds on the boys, I mean, boy.  Ultrasounds require significantly less effort on my part than a CAT scan.  You just lay back, flop out your junk, they run some magic wand over the goodies, and tell you to pull your pants back up.  That's something I can handle, even in my post chemo, lazy, wimpy state.  

So tomorrow I will have the final piece of information in my cancer treatment.  I certainly won't be done by any stretch of the imagination.  Cancer treatment involves years of watching, testing, and of course waiting long after what most people consider the "treatment" part is done.  But at least tomorrow, I will know the plan.  This is the last doctor I have to get my medical test road map from and for that I am excited.  Hopefully it will be a plan that doesn't involve sliding into a big metal tube and pooping sensations.

I Feel Good Enough To Look Like An Idiot

Today I started to slowly move back into my routine.  I am starting to put more and more stress on my surgery.  I meet with that doctor on Monday, and this may sound weird, but I am afraid he will release me because I don't feel like I am ready for it yet.  There are still certain things that I do where I feel a little tug at the site of my surgery.  I may feel it when I am twisting my torso and trying to lift something with a little bit of weight to it, or if I am pulling something from left to right, or if my wife asks me to do anything I don't want to do like wash the car or go shopping.

The past two days, I have been both getting back to my old routine and testing the strength of my surgery by walking the dueling basenjis.  Daisy the abused one, will stay by my side and not put a bit of stress on me other than wondering how much longer I have to stand out in the cold in my Homer Simpson PJs before she will finally pee (that answer is, until the bus load of kids drives by to laugh at us).  Benny, the spoiled basenji however, acts much like Haley's comet in the sense he takes long elliptical orbits around me at a velocity nearing the speed of light.  Each pass by me ends with a sharp tug that I didn't notice before my surgery, but now sends a shock wave through my body.  I completely understand now how the moon affects the tides.  Regardless of how silly I look out there with my Homer pants and orbiting basenji, I do feel like I am slowly gaining strength.

Also today, a friend I haven't seen since chemo stopped by to take me out to lunch.  He was on the clock, but that didn't seem to bother him much.  I was able to walk at a normal speed, eat food that actually tasted like food, and got to hear plenty of stories that were wholly inappropriate for the lunchtime crowd at a small town Frisch's.  Maybe this chemo and surgery thing is finally gone.  He drops me back off after lunch, and I was feeling so good, that I fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours.  I guess I am not as recovered as I thought I was, but I am making baby steps.

With my new found sense of freedom, I decided to work in my gardens.  Well, they are AeroGardens, but they are probably cheaper to maintain and a lot less work than a real garden.  In my attempt to try to eat healthier and expand my food palette to things that are green, I have replanted my garden and commandeered a second.  Well, I didn't really commandeer it, we bought if for my mother-in-law to grow tomatoes in the winter and after six months of growing it produced two tomatoes...small...and hard...in the middle of summer when there were plenty of other  bigger, not hard tomatoes around.  So, she regifted and gave the present back to me.  After my hours of toiling in the fields, up on the window sill, I planted lettuce and herbs.  Hopefully, I will be fully healed by the time they start producing so I can reap the bushels of fresh produce I will soon have.  And if history is any indicator, I should be healed just fine, and it will be summer.  I felt a little weird having two AeroGardens at once until I read their catalog this month and saw the article about the lady that has twenty three AeroGardens!  I am still not sure if that article was a sales pitch or a cautionary tale.  I am just wondering how many powerstrips it takes to supply electricity to twenty three different AeroGardens.  I am sure it's up to fire code.

Tomorrow I plan to push myself a little harder.  I may get back up in my workshop and see how that goes.  I can stand up there and stare at all the projects I wasn't able to complete this summer until I am tired and come back down to the house and cry myself to sleep.  Either that or I can just stand outside all day in my Homer PJs and let the dogs do their maypole dance around me.  If you hear little kids laughing on the school bus out my way, you will know which one I decided to do.