Last week, I learned from my doctor that my PSA count, five weeks after prostatectomy, was a big fat zero, which is exactly what we wanted to hear. Well, I wanted to hear it. Maybe my doctor harbours a deep-seated resentment towards me. Because of my cool hats. But I don’t think so because he gave me some party favours on my way out: Viagra — as he put it, “to keep the machine working.” Gross.
I’ll continue with blood tests every three months or so, tapering off over time. Even thought my prostate is gone, it’s important to make sure that none of those Krazy Cells got away. It can happen. But, as my friendly doctor put it, “You live with the results you get,” and right now my results tell me I’m cancer-free.
Obviously, I’m thrilled. In fact, I surprised myself at how relieved I was. I had been telling myself I was resigned to accept bad news if it came, only to feel a wave of emotion wash over me when the doctor shared the results. The mind does not always tell the truth. For instance, its opinion about that hat.
I’m sharing this news because so many of you out there in blogland have been so kind and supportive. Thank you all. I also wanted to point out that, as has been noted often, prostate cancer is treatable, especially when caught early. Nonetheless, I count myself lucky in so many ways.
I would also like to point out that this post is now particularly ironic.
Take care, everyone.