The Stress Never Ends

So, yesterday was terrible.

Princess P was sick from school, and was vomiting much of the morning. We think she had the same virus Kevin was battling. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I had my urologist appointment early in the morning, and was hoping for good news.

After sitting for what seemed like forever in the office, I was finally called back. The crazy cute Russian nurse took my vitals, and had me give a urine sample. In the urologist’s office, you pee into what looks like a spittoon, and it analyzes the urine and reads the numbers. Afterward, the nurse took a quick ultrasound of my bladder to make sure it was empty. It was…

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Do. Not. Like.

So as you all know by now – thanks in part to my incessant whining – I had a biopsy done for possible prostate cancer. The entire day was less than enjoyable.

The day started off with a trip to court, where the gods smiled upon me by getting me out of the courtroom in less than an hour. I was home by 10am, and began the preparations. First up, “the dreaded apparatus” AKA the enema. I’ve never had to use an enema before; the closest I’ve come was a terrible tasting liquid I had to drink before taking a colonoscopy, which had me glued to the toilet for an hour.

The enema was basically the same deal, except more, um, invasive. I won’t disgust you with the details, but if nothing else, they work like a charm.

An hour before the visit, the doctors wanted me to drink 32 ounces of water for the ultrasound. I ended up drinking three 16-ounce bottles, and really, really, REALLY had to pee when I arrived at the office. After ten minutes of agonizing waiting, the doctor called me back and said, “Oh we’re not doing the ultrasound. Do you want to use the restroom?”


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A Simple Plan

For the benefit of those who read the blog and expect some back and forth from me, today will not be that day. Instead, I will be spending the first half of my day off in court, and the second half in a doctor’s office.

Today is biopsy day.

I received a court notice Thursday for a robbery case today. The case is set for 8am, which means little sleep last night, an hour drive in rush hour traffic to basically check in and check out. It doesn’t appear I’ll be needed to testify, but I do need to appear. The plan is to pull the ADA aside and tell him I can’t stay because there is a lot of, um, “prepping” for a prostate biopsy.

The procedure is set for 2:45pm, and hopefully I’ll know the results early next week. Thanksgiving will undoubtedly throw the schedule off, but the sooner I know if it’s cancer, the sooner I can begin treatment.

Apparently I can’t do much for the two days afterward, but I’ll have to go to work. You don’t call out sick on holidays. Luckily, sitting at a desk is not too strenuous, so there shouldn’t be any issues.

I have posts set for the rest of the day, but if – read: when – I’m not around, it isn’t because I hate you. It’s because I’m preparing my perfectly-shaped ass for the scalpel.

Prognosis Negative

My urologist appointment regarding my prostate issues was yesterday, and while I was not looking forward to the event, at least I would know if I have cancer or not.

The doctor reviewed my blood work, and stated my prostate specific antigen (PSA) count went from a 2.9 to a 3.1 in a week. Similar to the first visit, the doctor said my numbers would not be alarming for a 75-year old, but for someone who is five months shy of fifty, they are mildly alarming. The doc said he doesn’t believe I have cancer, but if I do, and we wait another six months, it may be too late.

So, the doctor will be delivering a bouncing baby biopsy next Tuesday.

This was arguably worse news than finding out I have cancer. If I had cancer, we can get right into treatment, but now I need to wait another week – or more – to know the results. It’s both frustrating and frightening.

Today would have been my first day back to work after my days off, but I took a sick day. I needed a day at home to process all this, so I’m not sure if there will be any more posts today. If not, regular posting will appear tomorrow.

No Ifs, Ands, Or…

You may remember this post from a year ago where I saw a urologist for elevated prostate specific antigens. My PSA was a little high, but the prostate was okay. The only condition was I needed to follow-up a year later; in this case, yesterday.

The crazy stupid hot Russian nurse – it’s awesome living amongst Russians – took my vitals, drew blood, and had me urinate into a machine which analyzes it. It was like peeing into a big bucket. Shortly afterward, the doc “probed” me and sat me down to explain a few things.

My PSA level is 2.9, which he described as “a little high for someone who is 49 years old.” He then said, “Now I don’t think this is something we can ignore, and I also don’t think we need to do a biopsy…” Straight talk… I like it. “But I’ll looks at today’s blood work and see you again in two weeks.”

Whew, I dodged that bull-

“That said, if it IS prostate cancer, your version is 100% treatable.”

I’m gonna be honest here; I really didn’t hear anything after the words “prostate cancer.”

So now we play the waiting game. I either have prostate cancer or I don’t, but tune in two weeks from now to see the stunning conclusion!

Oh, and as if the day wasn’t depressing enough, my heart monitor arrived an hour after I arrived home. So now I’m hooked up with electrodes, a monitor, and a mini cellphone I need to press when I have a PVC incident. So yeah, life is just a big old god damned fairy tale.