Dreams of Prostate Cancer

My dream is to live long enough to be diagnosed with prostate cancer. So why do I want another cancer. It’s not for extra Sloan Kettering hot chocolate, however tasty it might be. Nor is it for the possibility of extra radiation or chemotherapy, despite their inherent appeal. No, it’s based on the statistical certainty that all men will eventually get prostate cancer, so if I live long enough to have prostate cancer than I will have beaten the odds on neuroendocrine tumors. Many of you may not be aware that when I first got the cancer diagnosis, the oncologist in Brooklyn added a PSA test. The results were so high that I got to have a full prostate exam followed by a prostate biopsy. While I would have preferred a vacation to North Korea, in part because I am not a relative of Kim Jong-Un, the tests came back negative. What we later discovered was that the PSA test was a marker for my cancer, since it went to normal when my tumors shrunk.

That brings us to the good news. My blood tests are all normal or very close to normal and my PSA test has dropped and is now in the normal range. My cancer antigen test is still in the stratosphere, but has been dropping, leading to the conclusion that my cancer cells are still crying in pain. The bicycle barometer also indicates that I am in good health. I’ve been doing 19 mile rides with laps in Prospect Park and my last two weekend rides I did 54 and 46 miles. After getting my folding bicycle fixed, I have been commuting to work by bicycle. While this may seem slightly crazy given the cold, but by dressing in layers, a ski helmet and a balaclava it is actually much fun and I do not get cold. Anyone want to join me?

The day of discovery is drawing near. Next Tuesday I have my CT Scan and will see what the tumors are up to. I am hopeful, since, except for some mild pains in my back, I am feeling quite well. I have now had no chemotherapy since June and after recovery from the radiation, this is the longest stretch I have had of almost feeling normal. That is if you ignore the neuropathy and the periodic diarrhea, which can thankfully mostly be ignored. In any event, let’s hope for good news next week.

My final thought is that your life is never the same after you are diagnosed with incurable cancer. It’s a little like a Bar Mitzvah. “Today you are a man.” “Today you are a cancer patient.” Both are very important milestones in a person’s life. At one you read from the Torah, have a party and get gifts; the other you get radiation, chemotherapy and the near certainty of a shortened life. Okay, maybe they aren’t alike, except if you eat too much at the Bar Mitzvah party, you’ll get sick and vomit. Vomiting, that’s the connection!