My Turn?

At age 69, many of my contemporaries have already faced life-altering and/or life-ending episodes: cancers of various flavors, heart-attacks, strokes, terrible injuries, major surgeries, etc. I happen to fall into the chronic-pain-sufferer category myself. But I have not actually had to deal with a life-threatening illness.

(I was once diagnosed with bladder cancer – two docs in an emergency room – but it turned out to be a mistake.)

So, I keep wondering, as I sit through these days of waiting for biopsy results: is it my turn?

I already know that surgery is in my immediate future. How about chemotherapy? Radiation? The end?

Not really cheery thoughts. Sorry.

Talking About This

I don’t know how to talk about this yet. “This” being my cancer diagnosis. Of course, I only have incomplete information right now, with more news to come. I will be waiting a few more days before I have the biopsy results.

So, I really can’t say much to anyone as I wait. I’ve told only two people so far that I’m in this limbo state, playing this waiting game, sweating this out. Both people I’ve talked to are cancer survivors themselves, one from breast cancer, one from colon cancer. They are doing fine today.

That’s hopeful. Except I don’t really know anyone who’s really beaten a melanoma diagnosis. Even Jimmy Carter has struggled, and he undoubtedly has the best health-care team in the world.

Good News, Bad News

I’m doing ok, really I am. I’m moving through life normally: cleaning my apartment, updating my Mac software, posting my daily photo to Instagram, driving to Corvallis to take a walk at OSU. That kind of stuff. Still, there’s this feeling in the background like I could start to cry at any moment.

You see, it was just last Friday afternoon (three days ago) when I was at the dermatologist’s office and it only took about a minute for her to make the call of skin cancer on my nose. “Basal cell carcinoma,” she said, though we’re still waiting on the biopsy results. But it turns out this was likely the good news of the day. Apparently, with surgery, this condition is going to be mostly resolvable.

The bad news was that we biopsied another spot: a small brown thing on the back of my left leg. “Could be melanoma,” she said, rather casually.

Not As Young As I Once Was

I received the invitation to my high school class’ 50th reunion last week. How can this be?! It seems like only yesterday I was sitting in our school’s gymnasium, listening to some forgettable speeches, and awaiting my chance to walk the stage.

But, to be sure, it wasn’t yesterday. That event took place in 1965. How time flies.

Aging is the topic on my mind at the moment. And, of course, I’ve been thinking about this for quite awhile now. I attended my first reunion in 1985, having waited a full twenty years before finally getting together with the classmates of my youth. Upon entering that gathering, I remember looking around and saying to myself, “who are all these old people?”

It was at this point that the aging process really grabbed my attention.

So now, here it is 2015, and there are many more signs pointing to the fact that I’m not as young as I once was. I suspect that the things I’m noticing are many of the same ones my contemporaries are dealing with.

Here, in no particular order, are just a few of the markers of time that have caught my attention.

Housing. When I moved to Eugene last summer, I decided to rent a unit in a quiet, peaceful apartment complex that only caters to codgers (male and female) over the age of 55. There are no noisy kids around. And no out-of-control parties. There is a significant population of white-haired folks who use canes, walkers and oxygen tanks, however.

Mail. When I was 49 years old, my junk mail began to have a “retirement” theme – as this is age that AARP identifies you as a mark. And trips to the mailbox only get worse as time goes on. These days, I have lots of information flowing my way about the wide array of Medicare plans and burial options.

Diet. The older I get, the more my diet reminds me of medicine. I take numerous dietary supplements, so my daily pill count is way up. And a couple of years ago I bought a NutriBullet machine, so now, as has been the case for 25 consecutive months, I begin my day with a smoothie made of organic, raw fruits and vegetables. But, believe me, it’s not because I’m particularly enamored with the taste of the concoctions I come up with.

Skin. I have these benign brown splotches (I think one term for them is “age spots”) on my body, mostly trunk and scalp. Every so often I have a dermatologist reassure me that they’re not dangerous. I think these things are rather unsightly, but I see them on others my age. There seems to be nothing I can do.

Glasses. I was in the library at Indiana University, reading, in the early 1990s, when the realization hit me: I need bifocals! I made an appointment with the eye doctor, and sure enough, it was my time. Ever since, my eyeglass situation has become more complicated. For over twenty years now, I have worn progressive-lens bifocals for normal use, plus additional pairs for computer-only and reading-only.

Lifestyle. I live what I call a “rehab” lifestyle. No, I don’t mean working the twelve steps; it’s more a physical therapy kind of existence. Given that my life is, more-or-less, dominated by multiple aches and pains, there is very little time during any given day when that fact is not on my mind. To manage it the best I can, I have sought out practitioners of various therapies for years. You name an approach, conventional or alternative, and it’s likely that I’ve tried it. I’ve had three cortisone injections in my spine in the past three months. In January, I started seeing a local teacher of the “MELT Method” – which has resulted in spending a considerable portion of every morning and evening doing prescribed routines. I walk three or more miles a day. I wear a Thermacare heatwrap around my mid-section almost all the time, and I take a Epsom-salt, hot bath every evening. Every morning I wake up, groan, do my MELT routines before anything else, and start the whole cycle all over again.

Reading list. It’s probably no surprise, given the above observations, that the book I’ve most recently read is Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End. This work very elegantly explores the inadequacy of America’s health system when it comes to end-of-life care.

Well I suspect that’s enough of a list from me for now. I’m sure you have your own.

So, yes, I’m old. But I realize that I should be very grateful. I am living a long, full and interesting life. I got to be a college student in the 1960s. I’ve earned multiple degrees and had the opportunity to work on college campuses most of my life. I don’t rely on narcotics (or illicit substances) for pain management, and have escaped, so far, the trials and tribulations associated with baldness, diabetes, obesity and heart disease. I don’t need to take cholesterol or blood-pressure meds. And, I’ve avoided most mention of tumors. [In 1998, though, during one very long night in an ER, I was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Thankfully, that particular medical opinion, validated at the time by two doctors, turned out to be wrong. (I had a kidney stone.)]

It’s a little over three months until my 50th reunion. The celebration will take place in rural Northern Wisconsin, about two thousand miles from where I now live. I hope the stars are aligned appropriately so that I can make the trip.

Soundtrack Suggestion

No, no, no, no, I don’t do it no more
I’m tired of waking up on the floor
No, thank you, please, it only makes me sneeze
And then it makes it hard to find the door.

[“No No Song” – Ringo Starr]

Roto-Rooter & Recovery: Part 5

Continued from Part 4…

Just after the three-month post-surgical mark, I had another follow-up appointment with my urologist. I had had some significant time to recover since the surgery, of course, and I wasn’t doing too badly. I was mostly-healed internally; thankfully, I had stopped peeing pink liquid. The continuing complaints I had were urgency and frequency with regard to my bladder behavior. I was also unhappy with the persistent tightness in my pelvic area that coincided with those symptoms and resulted in more trips to the restroom than I was really comfortable with. And the number of times I awoke during the night, to get up to urinate, continued to be problematic.

During this particular chat with the urologist, I made the observation that after years, yes decades, of frequent bathroom visits, I believed both my body and mind were still products of their long-term behavioral training. Despite the surgery, it appeared, my system was so accustomed to the bathroom ritual that it continued on, despite the radical intervention.

The doc seemed to agree, and named other cases he had had that were similar to mine. He indicated that he been thinking about a strategy to address this condition: unfortunately, it involved yet another medication. He recommended a small dose of a low-risk, low-side-effect drug to control bladder behavior. (“It’s so mild they can give this to infants,” he said.) Although I wasn’t thrilled to take on yet another long-term medication (I had just recently disposed of my stash of Flomax, which I had been on for years), it seemed like a reasonable thing to try … especially when he indicated that we could view this as a temporary fix until my body could re-train itself. The drug involved is Oxybutynin, and I have been taking the 5-mg pill once a day since March 16, 2012 (just over thirteen months now).

For me, Oxybutynin has been only a partial solution. I had a short-term adjustment period getting used to the side effects (mostly dry mouth), but my body gradually came around to accepting the drug. And, over time, the tightness in my pelvic area became less pronounced and my bladder better behaved. However, given that I’m still taking it, this has obviously become a longer-term “temporary” fix than I’d anticipated.

A few months after I’d started on the Oxybutynin I was still having problems with frequency, so I was referred to a physical therapist specializing in bladder issues. (Yes, really, there are such therapists!) The whole physical-therapy experience will be the topic of my next entry.

Update on March 14, 2015:

OK, I lied. I said I was going to continue on with my description of the prostate-surgery recovery, but, as you can see, I never did follow up. So, just let me try to tie up loose ends very briefly. I did see a physical therapist for a while and she was very helpful. The remedy, which turned out to be quite effective (in addition to the Oxybutynin medication), is a routine called “Kegel exercises” – or “pelvic floor exercises.” As I write this here, in March of 2015, I still do this every day, and control of my bladder remains manageable. For a description of this technique, click here.