Notes: Crossing the Halfway Mark of Treatment

This week I crossed over the halfway mark of my marathon to a malignancy-free prostate, and so, in radiation speak, here’s a few short but concentrated blasts:

Professional analysis
On my weekly Wednesday consult with my doctor, Dr. BG, I asked the esteemed radiation oncologist how the cancer was doing after almost five weeks of targeted, high-dose radiation. “By now,” he says to me, “it’s wondering, what the hell is going on here.”

What does it feel like?
I get asked that a lot – does the radiation hurt? Burn? The answer is no. Difficulties can accrue as the radiation inevitably touches sensitive areas, like the rectum wall and urethra. But for me, my first 24 days has been fairly easy.

In marathon terms, this is only the 16-mile mark, so the real showdown may lie ahead. Dr. Green thought I might suffer some fatigue soon. But I’ve crossed many marathon finish lines with my energy in tact. So far, so good.

I have a persistent urinary burn, which may clear up when they change the radiation blast from the full prostate to smaller sections next week. A week ago, I had 4-5 days of diarrhea but that cleared up.

Like running long distances, I monitor what’s going on in my body, but I don’t dwell on it. If I tire running, I slow down. If I feel fatigue now, I take a 20-minute catnap. I might do that once a day, and I’m good to go.

The Freakin’ Clot
Here’s where I bitch and moan. While patience has been a gift from the cancer (more later), I have little for the 8-inch clot, or DVT) in my left leg. It seems to be dissolving as slowly as rain and wind wears away the faces on Mt. Rushmore. (For anyone who missed the clot-blog earlier, it appeared around the same time as the cancer diagnosis, the probable result of the cancer changing my blood's coagulation properties and a long, cramped plane ride.)

Though the leg is still swollen, I got approval from my doctor to start walking/jogging last week. Three times I've covered 3 miles. That's huge! The pool's a drag--you can't sweat or listen to an iPod. Getting back on the road, even in a shuffle, feels good. Still, not knowing when this thing dissolves (and how long I need to be on blood thinners) is unsettling.

In The Waiting Room
Larry, with the tongue cancer from a lifetime of smoking, walked into The Waiting Room after treatment this week and declared that the doctors told him that after double-sessions of radiation for eight weeks his cancer was gone.

“My God, this shit really works!” Freeman piped up, which made us all laugh. Waiting Room humor.

Several days later, Larry finished up his treatments, and while I was thrilled to see him cured, it was oddly bittersweet knowing Larry wouldn’t be hanging out in the Waiting Room anymore. Watching the Closing Bell on CNBC. Swearing the occasion blue streak.

He may’ve been in his late 70s, but the difference in age hardly mattered when you’re fighting the same battle.

"Doctor says in a month I can eat a pastrami sandwich. You know what it means for a Jew to be separated from the deli? It hurts right here," he says, pointing to his heart, just above his feeding tube.

Best of luck, Larry. Live long, eat strong ....