Beating Prostate Cancer
 

My Cancer Story

SEPT 2010. After traditional treatment failed with my cancer, I'm taking it on the hard way. This is the story of my battle with recurrent prostate cancer, how I'm beating it.......so far.  This is for every other bloke out there to pick through to see what might work for them.  After reading through this you are welcome to contact me, its a hell of thing to go through, so if I can help others in anyway, it will at least make all this a little worth while. As you will read, I did not get off to a good start.

JUNE 2009. It was 2am in the morning and I awoke to the sound of choking and coughing coming from the bathroom. I got up immediately because I knew it would be my brother in-law who was suffering from late stage throat cancer. I found him leaning over the sink pulling wads of congealed blood from his mouth. I quickly glanced at his bedroom; there was blood all over the pillow. I knew right then that the large tumour in his throat which is fed by copious veins had burst.  I  knew what this meant. Ray looked at me in the eyes, I saw them glaze over in shock and fear; he started shaking uncontrollably. I suspected the blood would be draining into his lungs and wanted to get him on the ground and onto his side so I had chance of keeping his airway clear. His legs then gave out and I lowered him onto some carpet and then on to his side, comforting him all the while letting him know the ambulance was on its way. My wife had run for the phone as soon as she had seen him.

It was going to take twenty or thirty minutes at least for the ambulance and Rays breathing was already painfully laboured and I could see he wasn’t getting any air. I put him on his back and gave him mouth to mouth pushing air past the obstruction in his throat. I could feel the resistance and sudden release as it cleared the tumour and rushed into his lungs. When I thought he was breathing again I would place him back on his side to help clear the blood from his mouth and throat, continually encouraging him and letting him know the ambulance was on its way. As soon as his breathing became laboured again, I would repeat the process. I could only begin to imagine Rays terror during all this, but despite that, the desperation and the pain he would have been suffering, while I breathed for him he gently squeeze my hand. I think he knew how this would end and I agonized as to whether all I was doing was prolonging his pain. I knew blood would be draining into his lungs and could hear the gurgle of his hard one breaths becoming louder. I thought of other options I might have of keeping him alive. Pushing a tube into throat would only rupture the tumor further and I had no way of exiting the blood and breathing for him at the same time. I kept this up for thirty minutes. As the paramedics took over Ray died. It was only a little while later I realized I had to pack my things and go to hospital to get my cancer removed.

While this was a pretty horrible experience, I was glad that this had not happened in a hospital where he would have been alone with strangers. It was always going to be a bad ending, we all knew that. I took comfort in the fact that in his last moments it was his family that were holding him close, not strangers.  I can still feel the gentle squeeze of his hand.

Cancer was not new to me. As a young army officer I was sent by the camp nurse to a local hospital with a suspect mole. Located on my shin the doctor took one look at it and rang my commanding officer. The result of the call was that my CO ordered me to stay where I was and cancelled my leave pass. I was operated on that night, with the mole being removed along with a chunk of my leg. Skin grafts were applied to the area that was cleaned out. I was to learn later that I had stage IV malignant melanoma. I spent the next three weeks in hospital finally leaving with orders to stay in bed and on my back for another two weeks. I owe those guys and the camp nurse my life. I should also mention my mother kept nagging me to get it checked out, which is why I finally went to the nurse.

The post surgery prognosis wasn’t brilliant and the very real possibility of removing the leg was on the cards. Spread of the disease within my system was likely. All this meant to me was that I better make the most of things while I could. I resigned my commission and left to travel the world just in case the cancer did get me. But somehow I was blessed enough to dodge that bullet.

However, nearly thirty years on here I am back in the same space. And just like the first time I thought I was going to dodge the bullet, but as it turned out that was not to be the case.

Two years ago after a rising PSA, digital exam revealing an enlarged prostate and a family history of the same, I had a biopsy done which confirmed I did indeed have prostate cancer. The Gleeson score was 3+3 which is a low score indicating that it could be treated with the prospect of a cure. I subsequently underwent a radical prostatectomy and post biopsy results were good. Great…I thought.

Unfortunately nine months after my operation my PSA was rising again, given I had no prostate I shouldn’t have had a PSA reading at all. More alarming wasn’t just how high the reading was, but the speed at which it was growing, a doubling rate in the three to four month range – not good! Doubling time is defined as the duration for PSA levels in the blood to increase by 100 percent. A Mayo's study, published in an April issue of Mayo Clinic Proceedings, concluded that patients with a PSA doubling time of less than three months after therapy are at imminent risk of death from prostate cancer.  Adding to this bad new was the fact the cancer had returned within twelve months, which meant an aggressive metastasised response.

‘I’m sorry’ were the words that stung me the most when my urologist confirmed my greatest fears. I knew my urologist, who had conducted the operation, was sincere. It was that sincerity that truly drove home the harsh reality like a dirty lead nail to the heart. It was not the result either of us had expected. I had assumed I was cured, as statistically many men were who were at the same stage and Gleeson score often are.

So I sat there half listening to the doctor with the sound of the cancer gun going off still reverberating around my head. I remember him calling the radiation oncologist guy and saying, “I have a patient who has presented with recurrent prostate cancer.’ The dreaded recurrent cancer I thought, a term I had figured would never apply to me. In my case this was made worse because of my age. Age is a significant factor with this disease and I was just 51. This meant the cancer would grow more aggressively and would kill me long before anything else. If I was older producing less insulin growth factor, less testosterone and with a generally slower metabolism, the cancer might not kill me before something else did. At 51 I knew this disease had me plum in its cross hairs.

Recurrent prostate cancer means initial treatment with either surgery or radiation has failed and the cancer had metastasized to other parts of the body. The genie is out of the bottle and it cannot be put back. I was well read on the matter and the path ahead of me was all too clear; I would have to submit to radiation as a last ditch effort, unlikely to succeed but worth a shot. This would damage my bladder, destroy once and for all any sexual function and would likely stuff up my bowel operation as well. After that it would be hormone treatment…..female hormones. I would lose any muscle mass, grow boobs, get fat and develop brittle bones. This treatment might give me an extra three to five years but after that once the cancer became hormone refractory, I would have just months.

The fear I felt was incredible. I was walking with the grim reaper and the book of death was open on my page. I truly would rather have been shot at; at least there were good odds of surviving and the ability to fight back. I wondered how people were able to manage so stoically that were given months, I would think how brave Ray was. My heart went out to him and everyone else and I wondered if I could muster such courage and bravery as I have seen so many of them display. At least I still had time, but to say I was scared would have been an understatement. All I could think of was I was going to die.  

My fight back begins, no doctors, just me kicking some cancer ass.  Find out how, doing great so far but not quite out of the woods, read on..........

  xxx