Surviving Prostate Cancer

Don’t you just love the NHS? Free medical care at the point of delivery for all… wonderful

Having been given the news that my PSA score was 3 and that the GP said it was “raised” my wife and I quickly knocked on the door of the all knowing oracle that was the Internet. We both found lots of information about PSA test scores and what they meant, but none of them were really aimed at my age group. If I was 60 then i found that I really didn’t have anything to worry about as most men of that age have some form of either enlarged or cancerous prostate but a score of 3 was “nothing to worry about”.

I was 38 at the time and what I was getting back form the Internet was that it simply didn’t happen to men of my age group. We tried to convince ourselves that the test result was a blip, raised for one reason or another and nothing would be wrong. Besides my twin brother didn’t have cancer so I shouldn’t either.

When I’d got the news from the GP he told me that it was unlikely that there was anything to worry about, but just to be on the safe side he would get me to see a consultant at the local hospital. I was told that a letter with a telephone number and password would be available to pick up form the receptionist the next day and that I needed to call the number and make an appointment. Funny, I thought, I’ve never had to do this before. Last time I saw any kind of consultant, I was send a letter through the post weeks after the GP had seen me for a date far into the future at a hospital far far away.

I called the number, spoke to a efficient sounding women who asked for my password and told me that I was to attend Nottingham City Hospital in two weeks time to see a Mr Brown. I would need to take the letter with me and expect the appointment to last about half an hour.

Hmmm, OK so now I have to see a guy in a hospital about my PSA score…. back to the Internet Bat Man!!

Lots of reading up ensued going through all the possible tests that the consultant would do if needed and what the results would mean. The main one that worried me was a thing called a Prostate Biopsy. The whole experience looked nasty, men with fingers up my bum, rubber gloves, probes, needles! All this made my eyes water!

The day of the consultant appointment arrived and having arranged childcare for the day my Wife and I went to see Mr Brown. When we arrived the waiting room was full of men my Fathers age, some alone, some with their significant other, but all well over 55. I was convinced by then that it would be a quick “in and out” with Mr Brown and then back home feeling happy with the world again.

Damn! That wasn’t to be. I sat down with Mr Brown, nice chap really, and went through my family history with him. “Hmmm I see” he said… a lot and then said the words I dreaded most… “Lets get a Biopsy taken and have a look and see what’s what”. AHHHH!!!!! I felt my legs go weak and my anus collapse to the size of a black hole as I recalled the details of the biopsy procedure. Sometimes knowledge is not a good thing!

Half an hour I waited while Mr Brown went off and did 3 or 4 other biopsies before mine. Each time the door to the examination room opened an “old” man would walk out looking stern, speaking to the nurse in a hushed tone and then walking out without making eye contact with anyone else. “Not good I thought”, getting more and more nervous.

“Mr Robert Davies please” said the nurse standing by the door of the examination room. It was my turn, and trying to put a brave face on, I walked slowly into the gates of hell. Mr Brown was waiting in the examination room playing with some rubber gloves. “I know what you’re planning to do with them.” I thought to myself felling my bum tense up and tried to walk out on it’s own.

“Ah Mr Davies, how are you feeling?”, Asked Mr Brown. “Nervous” I told him and he just smiled. “Don’t worry about a thing, I do about 500 biopsies a year here, mostly on old men, but you are not the first under 40 I’ve seen before.” he said trying to reassure me. “Really?” I asked. “Yes, I’ve seen one guy who was 39 and it turned out he had an enlarged prostate.” One sub 40 year old out of 500 “old” men and he didn’t have the BIG C! Phew!

I was instructed to pull my trousers and shorts down to my knees and then get on a table and lay on my left hand side. A sheet was put over me to protect my modesty (which incidentally disappears the further down the road you go with this!) and Mr Brown began the “procedure”. I felt a push and then realised that he had pushed a finger up my bum, that wasn’t too bad I thought to myself in a totally heterosexual way. He felt his way around my prostate and then withdrew the finger to replace it with something far bigger. Ouch, now that isn’t nice at all. The ultrasound probe went in and again he moved it round inside for a few seconds.

“You may feel a slight scratch” he said. “I’m just putting a local anaesthetic into the prostate and then I’ll start taking the samples. You shouldn’t feel a thing”

Actually to be honest I didn’t even feel the scratch, the needle must have been so thin that it past by every atom in my backside and delivered the local anaesthetic without incident. The the biopsy started in anger. “Click / Thud”  went the trigger which fired the needle into the prostate, took a piece of it, and then went back in for more. It is the strangest feeling I’ve every had. It’s like flicking on of your own finger fairly hard but deep in side your body. It didn’t hurt at all but it was a strange sensation. All in All he took 8 samples from different parts of the prostate and finally withdraw the probe.

The results will take a week or two to come back he told me as I was getting dressed. “Ah” I said. We had been planning to move back to Berkshire at the end of October, and two weeks would cut things really close. I arranged with Mr Brown to discuss the results over the phone and that he would write me a letter which I could hand to my New GP once I got settled down south.

By this time I had spoken to my boss at work and explained that I was having some tests to see if I may have prostate cancer. They were really supportive of me and suggested that when I got the phone call I should return home and spend the rest of the day with my family if needs be. Compassionate leave was granted in case the news wasn’t good.

The particular day when the call came was nice and warm and I had decided to go home for lunch as I only lived about 10 minutes walk from the office. Just as I walked through the door the mobile rang and I heard the voice of god on the other end of the line.

“Hello Mr Davies, Mr Brown here. Is it ok to talk?” He asked me.

“Of Course, no problem” I replied and wondered back out of the house towards the car when I would be guaranteed some quiet away from the kids. My darling Wife followed me out and we both lent against the car while Mr Brown explained the results to me.

“As you know we took 8 samples a couple of weeks ago. Well the news isn’t exactly good, you have 2 samples which showed some cancerous cells and another sample which showed Hi Grade PIN. However given your age I believe we have caught this very very early so the prognosis should be really good”. said the voice on the end of the phone.

I looked over at my Wife, Diana, and staring straight into her eyes shook my head. She burst into tears.

Having done loads of research over the past couple of weeks I knew exactly what that meant. I had prostate cancer! To be honest, Diana and I knew at the time we were told the PSA score that I had the BIG C but to actually be told this, by a qualified medical professional was, well, earth shattering.

“I have a letter for you to collect before you move away which you will need to give to the doctor as soon as possible so that you can get the ball rolling. Sorry, that’s pretty much all I can say now, but if you have any questions?” Mr Brown asked.

“No, thank you, I kind of already know as much as I need to at the moment. Thanks for all your help.” I said and then hung up. That was it then, I had gone from a slightly overweight 38 year old man to a slightly overweight 38 year old man with cancer in the blink of an eye! Amazing really.

I walked over to Diana and took her into my arms, “It’ll be OK Sweetpea” I said pulling her closer, “He said they got it early and it will be fine.”  We stood there, in each others arms, for what seemed like a decade before the phone suddenly rang again. It was someone at work wanting something or other but I simply cancelled the call and squeezed Diana’s hand.

“I need to call work, and then I’ll call the folks and my brother.” I said. “If you can grab the kids we’ll go out, I fancy a drive to be honest.”

I called work, told them the news in short and then explained I was talking the rest of the day off as compassionate leave as arranged. I called my parents and brother and explained it all to them in a calm factual manner. “No point upsetting them.” I thought to myself.

We spent the rest of the day in the peak district driving around, Diana took over once we had got there so I had time to reflect on the news and then potential future(s) that lay ahead for me. Then we found this incredible Fish and Chip shop in this small two house village in the middle of the peak district and sat down, kids in the boot eating dinner as the sun came down.

It was at that point when I got a call from an old friend of mine out of the blue. Gary called, asked how things were and then when I told him, uttered the word I would hear a thousand times over in the coming months… “Gutted”.

In the next post I will over the first visit to my new GP and meeting Mr Karim for the first time.