Drink of Choice: Round Pond Kith and Kin Cab Sav, ’15. Get a bottle. Decant. Wait 30 minutes. Enjoy an outstanding value. About $30; worth way more.

As predicted, third round of injections today. Good news. PSA’s have dropped to 0.06. Almost. There. Very hopeful that on December 21 they will be “Undetectable.”

Not 100% Out of the Woods. Still need follow up scans as the last ones were “mushy.” Yet, the news is good and welcome.

They changed things up on me today. I used to have a choice of where I wanted the injections. I always chose “Arms” and had developed a strategy to combat the side effects at the injection site. Today it was “Abdomen Only.” We’ll see how that goes.

I celebrated with an outstanding Wednesday afternoon lift. Day before a holiday, the gym was lightly populated. Always a treat.

So let’s get to it. The things I have to be thankful for. Remember, I got my third injection today of a powerful, mind altering drug, so I might get a little emotional.

First and foremost, you. I could not have made it through the last six months without the outpouring of Love and support from you and others. Seriously. There have been dark days, hours, minutes when the only thing that kept me going was knowing I was not alone. For this I am forever grateful. Thank you. You have no idea what your thoughts, words and prayers have done.

I am thankful for powerful, mind altering drugs. Easy there, not that kind. I’m a bit old and sick for that. The kind I have been receiving. They are working. If I understand it correctly, and I think I do 0.06 means there are very few cancer cells left in my body. This a good thing.

I am thankful I was accepted to The University of Chicago in 1991 and that I have maintained a close relationship with it. I am further grateful that I live 6 blocks from the U of C Medical Campus. I have met many people in my situation or similar that travel from all over the Midwest to come here. Many Fly here and get hotels to get the treatment I get. I walk there. And walk home. It is a World- Class hospital staffed by World Class people.

I am thankful for indoor flush toilets. Always. If you ever get to Versailles, know that during the height of the Louis’s reigns, people just pissed in the corner. Any Corner. Perfume was popular ’cause the palace smelled of piss. I think they had the decency to take a shite in the gardens. So many thanks to John Crapper, may his memory live on eternally.

Very glad for Wine and Spirits. But I think you know that.

I am very thankful that in the year leading up to my diagnosis I got in shape. Not just a little, not just “Fit,” but “Athletic.” Why I chose to do this at the precise moment I needed to will always be a mystery. But I did. The exercise discipline is paying huge dividends right now. The human body is just better able to handle this crap if its not laden with fat. My Diastolic today was 66. Sixty- six. In 2002 it was 112. Stroke territory. Took many meds for years to treat High Blood Pressure. Now I take none. 66. Tip of the keyboard to my Primary, Dr. Alex Lickerman. Couldn’t have done it without his help.

Lastly, and most importantly, is my family. This has been as hard on them as on me. I know this. They have been so strong in the face of uncertainty. My daughters have made me proud and I have a first found respect for their strength and resilience. My parents and siblings have also been there at every step and supportive and caring in ways I have never known prior. Cousins have also been a tremendous source of strength.

And without question, the thing I am most thankful for in the whole universe is that I somehow, someway, found Phyllis Ann Long 29 years ago. It was a fluke- a Help Wanted ad in a College Newspaper. She has been so Loving, Caring and Understanding- and continues to be so- throughout this process. If I could offer anyone a single most important piece of advice on how to deal with Cancer, it would be find your soul mate when you are young. I did and it has made all the difference. Thank you is weak, but it is all I have. I love you Phyllis. And will until my dying breath.

So there you have it. Mushiness as promised, but it can’t be avoided. They are powerful drugs. But perhaps, a Truth Serum of sorts.

A Happy Thanksgiving to all. May you be as Lucky as I am.

Much love, Jay

 

 

Drink of choice: I’ll have the usual. And get one for my Good Friend next to me.

Weird day yesterday. I announced the University of Chicago Dive meet. Got home, had one drink and was whacked. Had to lie down. Managed to get up 45 minutes later, ate a small bowl of soup and went back down. Until 5:00 a.m. Usual rough night, Red Lady, etc… Did manage to get to the gym at 6:00 a.m. for a solid 1 hour + lift. Was whupped, but I made it.

I think it was mental exhaustion. For those of you who have never announced a NCAA Dive Meet, it is fast, furious and precision required. I did two sessions yesterday (and two on Saturday), each one had 198 dives (Saturday had more). My job is to announce the dive but it must be precise: the Diver has to do what I say. If they don’t, it doesn’t count. Then, when the dive is complete, I have to announce the Judges scores (5 Judges). And then on to the next one. I timed it, and 18 dives in the Men’s 1m took about 8 minutes. Takes a lot of focus.

Which is in short supply these days. Google search “Low- T,” and see what you get. I have “Zero T.” Bit ultimately, I think this is good for me. Just like going to the gym, mental exercises like this help.

Gotta get going. Life/I’m cooking dinner calls. Hope to get some stairs in tomorrow. Much love.

Peace out.

Drink of choice: 2:1 Martini, up. Citadelle Gin, Dolin, ‘natch. A French Gin. Not bad. Good botanicals and citrusy. Maybe better for summer as it doesn’t have the long spice finish I prefer in these temps. Still, it doesn’t suck. Will likely change mid- post.

Weird week. Positive note, I have made all of my lifting sessions at the gym. Progressing nicely there. Starting to fine tune some muscle groups. Upper body has never been this fit or, frankly, looked this good. Still much work to be done and I look forward to it. Negative note. Didn’t run stair number one. I think I burnt myself last week. Good news is my lower body is still absolutely ripped. Not bragging, but I could be a Calf Model. Seriously. Don’t know if that’s a thing, but I have the face for it.

The nights continue to be rough. Can’t get The Red Lady out of my head, ’cause its true. Nasty cycle. I get the Night Sweats which wakes me up. Lasts for 5-10 minutes. Just as I get cooled down and about ready to fall back to sleep, they kick in again. Argh…

Really, I can’t complain. Settling in for the long haul. I think I know what to expect and when. Still a brain dead idiot from time to time, but truth is, I was before the Meds. Now I have an excuse. I did have one Bitch episode this week, for which I am truly remorseful. I have much greater empathy for some of the bitchy people in the world. Some of us just can’t help it. Many others, on the other hand…

Went to visit a good friend today in Hospital. He is in ICU with Pneumonia and sepsis. He might not make it. Fifty years old. I have it pretty good. He doesn’t have health insurance, so he ended up at Cook County/ Stroger.  Make no mistake: the care there is good. However, if you ever are feeling too happy and need a dose of something to bring you back, please do go. Won’t take long. You’ll be choosing your cocktail long before you get back to your car.

The Holidays are nigh upon us. Looking forward to them, I think. I do get Juiced on Wednesday, day before Thanksgiving. Like many families do, ours starts the dinner by going ’round the table and everyone saying was they’re thankful for. Hoping I don’t turn into Sally Field winning my first Oscar. “Fraid I might. May  have to come up with a gracious “Pass,” lest we never eat.

Tomorrow is always fun and full of promise. Mine does not disappoint. First, a good lift at the gym. Next, I am the Official Announcer for the University of Chicago Dive Team. It is the Phoenix Fall Classic this weekend. Straight after the afternoon session, I head to Mindy’s Hot Chocolate for a Cousins Dinner. Many, but not all of my Cousins will be there. I will be late. I look forward to it.

Time to go. Grateful Dead type love to all. Really. Enjoy your Holiday. Peace. Jay.

 

 

 

Drink of choice: 2:1 Martini, up, with a twist. Gin: 50 Pounds. Vermouth: Dolin Dry. “A Very Good Martini.”

I like this time of year for drinking Cocktails “Up.” I can sit on the back deck, temps in the lower fifties, and the drink doesn’t get too warm too fast. Summertime requires something “On the Rocks,” preferably in a double walled glass.

I am, of course, grateful for the results shared earlier this week, made possible by Modern Medicine. However; make no mistake; these are Powerful Drugs I am taking. My goal, since I knew the course of treatment, has been to try and stay ahead of the side effects through exercise. I had been successful. Until this week. Then, I got my ass kicked.

Monday was perfect. Got my two lift sessions in, all reps completed (60 reps x 12 lifts=720 reps). Monday night, however, the Night Sweats started kicking in in earnest and have continued all week. I wake up, uncovered, soaking wet. For reference, Phyllis is under a winter weight blanket. Our bedroom is cool, ceiling fan on High. I get up, come outside- temps in the 30’s-40’s- mostly naked save a loin cloth and cool down. Go back to bed. Just as I am about to fall back to sleep, another round kicks in.

Tuesday a.m. I got up at 5:00 (or was I still up?) and took the Little Pug out. Usually I would go run stairs after that. Couldn’t’t answer the bell. Had to go lie back down. Then Tuesday happened (see previous post) and in the afternoon, after the emotional rollercoaster the day was, I decided in favor of strong drink over stairs. I stand by that choice. But, instead of my usual 144 stories of stairs, I did none.

Tuesday night- more Night Sweats. I wasn’t worried though because Phyllis and were taking Wednesday off (see previous post) and planned on going to The Gym together around 10:00 a.m. Which we did. At first it was perfect- I was the only one in the area, had my choice of weights. Perfect. During my second set, it started to get busy. I had to ask another gent if I could “borrow” the 70’s he was using (he was in between sets). As I was using them, controversy arose in my area, I lost concentration, I went too fast and something in my right arm went, “Oops. Should Not have done that. Nope. Definitely should not have done that.” I stopped that lift. Try to proceed to the next, but the answer was, “Nyet!”

Wednesday night- more Sweats. Couldn’t answer the bell in the a.m. to walk or run stairs.  It was all I could do to get out of bed and get to work, and then further all I could do to get some work done. I got home in the afternoon, knowing I needed to run stairs, but instead, took a nap. I hate when that happens. Got up with plenty of time to do my stairs; went to the store instead. So again, instead of 144 stories, I did none.

Last night- el mismo. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good schwitz as much as the next Soprano, but this is ridiculous. Justified not going to the gym this morning because I need to give my arm some time. Lumbered my way to work, managed to get most goals there accomplished, and came home. Knew I couldn’t lift, but. Somehow, someway, I found a gear and went and ran eight sets of stairs. Thats 72 stories worth. Do not know how I did it. I know I did not want to. I think those of you who workout will appreciate that I have very little memory of it. But I did it.

I am grateful for these drugs. They will hopefully save my life. I knew the bargain going in and knew what I would have to do. Going to take the weekend off and try again on Monday. I know my metrics, my goals are set. I hope to do a better job next week. I hope that Tuesday’s emotional ride played a big factor and, that behind me, I can forge ahead. I wonder, sometimes, if the fatigue is drug induced or self induced. No way to really tell. I firmly believe that the heaviest weight I have to lift is the three pounds located between my right and left ears. Its also the furthest distance one ever has to travel to get to where they want to be.

Again, no self- pity here. I am Thankful. I just want to memorialize the process in minutiae so that a year from now I can remember and share. Thank you for reading, thank you for being here. Thank you. Better days ahead. Much love.

Drink(s) of choice. Staring with a Four Roses Manhattan, to be followed by a 2009 Rudd Oakville Estate Napa Cab Sav (Its one of those wines where the salesperson has to get a key to let you in the special room and they have to carry the bottle to the register) after which we will enjoy a 2014 Napanook by Dominus. If any of that mean anything to you, you know where this is headed. Foreshadowing.

I got my first PSA results today since beginning treatment on September 28, 2017. On that day my PSA’s were 6.84. High for a healthy man, very high for someone like me who did not have a prostate gland at the time. Prostate cells are the only thing that produce PSA’s and all of mine are cancerous. In brief, that’s a lot of cancer cells. On that day I received my first set of injections and daily meds.

On October 26, 2017 I had my blood work done and received my second round of injections. In those 28 days my PSA’s dropped to 0.14. That is a 98% reduction in cancer cells in a very short amount of time. In short- its working. And, more importantly, I do not have the feared Castrate resistant Prostate cancer. That one has a 2-3 year life expectancy. But in Paul Harvey fashion, here’s the Rest of the Story.

My Hospital, like most, shares medical data electronically. We use something called MyChart. Its quite nice. Go online, use the app, and everything (almost) is there. I woke up this morning and had six different test results to view. Because I’m in a clinical trial, they do a lot of tests. I have been anxious for the results, in particular my PSA’s. I logged in and although I was pleased that my blood and thyroid function are in good working order, there were no PSA results posted. Usually this means there is bad news and they’d rather tell you in person. My initial Cancer diagnosis is on MyChart, but not until the Doctor called to tell me in person over the phone.

So I got nervous. Started thinking about the things I’d need to do- call the Insurance agent, lawyer- that kind of stuff. How am I going to tell who and when. Bad Company, ’til the day I die.

At Phyllis’s suggestion, I reached out to my Primary Care Physician. It was a good idea. He’s a good doctor, I’ve been with him for over 20 years, but; he doesn’t know shit about cancer. He’s an Internist. He admits it. But more importantly, he has access to The System. So I asked him via email to check my PSA results. It took him 500 years- no really, it did, 500 total years- but he got back to me. Worst 500 years of my life. There were times when I was literally shaking. I checked my in box every 25 years- I was that nervous. Finally he got back to me. I paraphrase here,”PSA’s are down to 0.14 from 6.84, which is interesting.” Like I said, he’s an Internist, not an Oncologist. “Interesting” must be Doctor speak for “Holy Shit Batman, it Worked!” (Switched over to a Buffalo Trace Manhattan here. Waiting for Phyllis for the really good stuff. Its better shared).

So I’m not entirely out of the woods yet, but there is a light. The way it has been explained to me- by the Oncologist, not my Primary- is that even if the cancer spread to the bone or elsewhere, its still prostate cancer. Which means that with the dramatic reduction in those cells over just 28 days, my chances of dying from something else has risen exponentially. Or thereabouts. I was an English Major, after all. They don’t make us take much math. Exponentially means “A Really big number I don’t understand, or the number 10 with a silly symbol attached to it. I’ll take Emily Dickinson for $500 Alex.”

And my Year goes on. That does not change. Androgen Deprivation continues. The gym beckons. Incontinence, impotence, gender issues, powerful drugs; these must all be met, head- on. And so I will, with a renewed vigor.

I am thankful and grateful for your help along this ride and hope you continue. It feels good knowing you are there. I’ll do my part. I promise.

 

Drink of choice: Wine. Feeling Napa, red. Liparita Cab Sav, ’14 in the glass right now. That’ll change before this is over. Music of Choice: Ella and Louis (Fitzgerald and Armstrong). Dinner: Going to be a riff on a bouillabaisse. Had Steamed mussels and Clams for brunch. Saved the juices as a base. Roasted garlic Rouille. Come on by.

I think we can all agree; Cancer sucks. Scary, marginally treatable, potentially fatal disease. The cure is arguably as bad. I’m only 55.7 years old. Shit. But.

There is always a Sunny Side of the Street. I’ve had this conversation with other cancer patients, and from the moment one hears of their diagnosis, the world looks different. It really does. The sky is a bit bluer on a sunny day, and forms a sharper contrasting background to the things it backdrops- buildings, trees, birds, clouds. The edges are cleaner, sharper, more defined. Everything moves slower. The world is, somehow, more beautiful than before. A stray piece of trash becomes a work of art, like it was placed there to observe and reflect on. Kind of like the bag in “American Beauty.” One notices things previously ignored. Life becomes one extended Emily Dickinson poem.

Food and drink become pleasure. Not that they weren’t always, but more so. I look for more variety; the usual isn’t good enough. I dig deeper into my repertoire and seek to expand it.  (Just switched to Decoy Sonoma Red Blend, 2014. Quite Good)

People are nicer, more friendly, helpful and compassionate. Which begs the question: Why can’t we be like that to each other all of the time? Do we really need the threat of a deadly disease to make us be nice to each other? Do me a solid. For one week, treat every human you encounter as if they have cancer. They’ll appreciate it and you will to.

For my part, I am not nearly the Crusty Old Man I was until recently. Its easy to say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Harder to execute. No longer. I do not sweat the small stuff. I still flip the odd bad driver the occasional bird- I’m not dead yet- but still, things that used to upset me don’t any longer.

Family and friends become not niceties, but indispensable. Without you, I would be done. Just the facts M’am.

Ultimately, one is thankful, grateful, appreciative of all those things that  one has for too long taken for granted. Which of course begs the question,”Why did I have to get cancer to truly appreciate the fullness and richness of life that has always surrounded me?” My bad, I guess. I’m slow, but I get there in the end. Most lessons in my life have been learned on the blunt end of a 2×4. This is just the latest example.

Do yourself a favor. Slow down. Find beauty in the un- beautiful. Be nice to people. Treat them like its their last day on earth. And drink the wine. Listen to the music. Eat the food. Its pretty good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight’s drink of choice: A Vieux Carré. A French Quarter Classic. If you’ve never had one at the Carousel Bar in The Hotel Monteleone, add it to your Bucket List. One ounce each of Rye, Cognac, 0.5 ounce each of Benedictine and Dry Vermouth, a few dashes each of Angostura and Peychaud’s Bitters. A Twist of lemon. On ice, stir. Yes, my bar has all those ingredients. Always. Doesn’t everyones?

If discussions of Human Sexuality make you squeamish, now would be a good time to see what you’re missing on Netflix. Or read a Good Book. If you choose to proceed, might I recommend a strong drink? A Vieux Carré would be a nice choice. You’ll excuse me while I freshen mine. We’re both going to need one.

That’s better. Now to proceed. No real discussion of Prostate Cancer and its treatments would be complete without an honest discussion of how it impacts sex. The Prostate Gland’s main role is to produce, along with the Seminal Vesicles, Semen. Since all of the above were removed from me on June 14th, June 12th will be the last day on earth that I ejaculated. As I age, there will be more key dates; last day I lift weights, last day I run stairs, last meal I ever cook, last fish I ever catch- you get the picture. Thankfully, those dates are in abeyance- for now. June 12th is locked. Had a decent run, but Show’s over folks, thanks for coming.

That in itself took some getting used to. The next step is a little harder. Because the cancer had spread, they had to remove one of the two nerves god gave me that make an erection possible. There is thus a 30% chance that I will be able to gain an erection within the next two years. If I can’t, thank to Big Pharma, I still have options.

“Caverject is injected directly into the side of the penis.” Sounds like a party to me. “A Patient must learn to perform a penile self- injection each time he wishes to have sex.” I could have gone my whole life without reading that. To be honest, the longer I go, the more desirable this sounds. But, alas, it also might not work. In which case I can look forward to…

The Penile Implant. Three choices here. The first, Non- Inflatable, is essentially a perpetual Hard- on. No thanks. Had that when I was in my early 20’s. Glad to see its back side. Other choices are the Two- piece or three piece inflatable. I’ll save the details for a later date (feel free to Google “Penile Implants”), but I’d prefer the three-piece, since more is better. Plus the two piece leaves your cock looking like a “broom head,” whatever the fuck that means.

In the meantime, I take generic Viagra or Cialis daily. The thinking is that increased blood flow to my remaining nerve will help it recover and allow, eventually, a natural erection. Or not. The fact that I am at a healthy weight and workout also helps. Again, its about blood flow to my last nerve.

I have, post- surgically, still been able to achieve an orgasm or two. Took some getting used to, but scientifically, it all makes sense. The pleasure center is, obviously, The Brain. Apply the proper stimulation, even to a limp pecker, and the brain responds. Make no mistake, it is different by a country mile, but still pleasureful. Bad Frozen Yoghurt to a dessert course at Hot Chocolate, Chef Mindy Segal. But still.

And now comes day 30 of Androgen Depravation Therapy. As I like to say, I’m still incapable of having sex, but at least now I don’t care. And, by and large, I don’t. I still  fantasize about sex. I still dream of ejaculating. I still see a pretty girl and think to myself, “That’s a pretty girl.” And I longingly look at my wife, and wish desperately we could make love like we have. And we try from time to time, but piss management is still an issue- it comes out at the most inopportune times, which, as you might imagine, ruins the mood for both of us.

Which brings me to this. The most important part of dealing with Prostate Cancer is to have a loving, understanding spouse/ partner. And for all the crazy, stupid, fucked up choices I made in my life (and they are voluminous), finding her and asking her to marry me is not one of them. Quite the opposite. It was transformative in every way, and in every way for the better. She has been so kind, supportive, understanding, helpful and brave through every step of this process. She has allayed my concerns of being “less than a man,” we have found ways to be intimate without the easier methods. She is my bestest friend ever. And I love her. I Love You, Phyllis. Thank You.

So to wrap this, sex is good, sex is fun, but Sex is not always possible. Intimacy is always possible. If you are in Love- and I am- it is not ersatz; it is real.

If you made it this far, drinks are on me. Stop over. I’ll make you a Vieux Carré. They are good.

This evening’s drink of choice: A Manhattan. Four Rose’s Single Barrel, Angostura, Dolin Rouge, three Luxardo Cherries, and a bit of the syrup thereof. The syrup is a witches brew and must be used judiciously. All on the rocks because I like the cherries a bit chilled. Can’t refrigerate them because the syrup, well, it is a witches brew.

The good bits: Got up, was at the gym at 6:00 a.m., light crowd, got in a great lift. Fridays are my heavy days. Sets of 5 reps, heaviest weights I can handle. All new highs today. Three sets this a.m. Takes about 50 minutes. Went back this afternoon for three more sets. A month ago when this started, my max 1 rep Bench was 120 pounds. That’s now my 5 rep weight. So 120 pounds is 80% of my max single rep. You do the math, I’m drinking. Thanks.

The bad bits: spent most of the day in a fog. Don’t think I could spell my name if I had to and I don’t remember it being a difficult name to spell. Screwed up at work. I rather wish I could spend the rest of this year working out, running stairs, drinking quality wine and spirits and eating very little, but very well. And sleeping.

On the subject of sleeping. Well, as The Red Lady says, “The Night is Dark and Full of Terror.” The Lord of the Light burns strong in me. Literally. I wake up around two En Fuego. Overnight lows in the 30’s, I come out to the back porch wearing noting but a diaper and Birkenstocks to cool off. Good luck erasing that one. Bet it takes more than one stiff one of your choosing. Sorry. I warned you upfront.

Ordering out tonight. Don’t trust myself around live fire, what with the powerful drugs and all. Local joint, Louisiana Fried Chicken. In a town known for good Fried Chicken, they are the best. I order from the 51st Street branch. Way better than Harold’s. They also have my new favorite South Side dish, Catfish tails. Bone in tail piece, fin removed. Quite good. Nice light cornmeal breading.  Friendly delivery service as well. Big City living has its drawbacks, but having strangers bring you tasty food for a moderate exchange of geld is a benefit.

Life is good. When Life is Bad (as it often is), Life is Good. Thanks for reading, thanks for caring. Go tell someone you love that you love them.

I’m going to do the same. And eat some fried chicken and catfish. After two more of these delicious beverages, the name of which escapes me. Can’t blame the powerful drugs on that.

Drink of Choice: “I’ll have the usual Charlie.” Stoli and Dolin, on the rocks, Donostia Olives- four; two anchovy, two stuffed with some Basque pepper I can’t spell, but they’re really good.  If you like good olives- and I do- please try Donostia’s manzanilla olives. They are special. I was always a Queen Olive Man until I discovered these gems. Very buttery, a burst of EVOO in every olive. Do try them. https://www.donostiafoods.com

My Year as a Eunuch lasts a bit longer than and a little shorter than an actual year. For the former, it has 13 months. For the latter, it only has 364 days. In this regard its like a Credit Card. I get Compound Interest every 4 weeks, of which a year has 13 cycles. So only 11 more injections to go. Not that I’m counting.

Today was my second round of Injections. In case you forgot, the Drug of Choice is Degarelix. And again, the immediate side effect are redness, swelling and pain at the injection sites. Hurts like a Mother Fucker. Nurse suggested my Glutes as an alternative site, but I know how to deal with the arms. Vodka, Ibuprofen and lifting. And Vodka. And Olives. Maybe not olives, but they are good. Did I mention Vodka? It helps. And it is not counter- indicated. Thanks be to Jesus. And the Russians. In that order. I think.

“How are you doing,?” they ask. And Thank you for asking. By and large, okay. I’m alive, and I like that. I have a serious, potentially fatal disease, and I don’t like that. I take a lot of high powered drugs, which, given the right combination, I might like, but this ain’t it. Like The Man said, “Livin’ on Reds and vitamin C and cocaine, all her friends say ain’t it a shame…” It is.

Alcohol helps. A Lot. I’ve been getting jiggy wit it. I’ve been trying some new things; Luxardo Liquer is worth the $ as a mixer. Tried getting back into herbal remedies, but, as I remembered, they just make me stupid for like, all the time. Imbibe now and again, but on a daily basis, I find a good drink to be supportive. Still fall back to Vodka and Bourbon most days. And Good Red Wine.

Physically, I continue to be in the best shape of my life. It is not easy, but it wouldn’t have been regardless. I love my Lifts, but Stairs continue to be the key. I did 167 Stories today. The running up is great for the calves and Quads; turns out that the walking down is great for the incontinence. Walk them down slowly; it gets the pelvic muscles involved big time.

Again, these are largely notes for future reference. If they make no sense to to you, I hope they do one day for me.

Thanks for being part of this.

With Love, which is all you need.

 

Drink of choice: A Kenyan Micro- Lot, “Kanake.” Full City+ Roast from Storehouse coffee. Superb. It is Sunday morning, after all.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the kind words and support from you. Words can not describe what it means knowing that you are there. Thank you is weak, but its what I have at hand. Thank you.

I feel very good overall. I am in the best physical condition I have ever been. Ever. I am lifting heavier weights at the gym and continue to build stamina and endurance on the Stairs. I just measured  my body fat and am back down to 15%, which is the highest I want to be, heading towards a maintenance rage of about 9-12% long term. For reference, a few years back I was composed of over 50% Fat. Hell, a year ago I was about 40%. I have stopped caring about what I weigh. I only focus on body fat percentage. Lean muscle is my friend. Fat, not so much. Resistance training- lifting weights, running stairs- is the gift that keeps giving. You burn calories during the workout, but then you keep burning more calories while sitting at your desk. Plus, I won’t lie, its pretty cool to see muscles I’ve never seen on me before. This week it was a defined “dip” between the upper bicep and the lower Deltoids. Yeah, a bit of vanity creeps in. Fuck it, I earned it.

I had started exercising prior to being diagnosed and was doing well. Now I am doing better. As I read the list of side effects of The Treatment, I divided them into two lists: Those That Must Be Endured and Those I can do Something About. Most fall into the former but two important ones are in the latter: Muscle loss and Bone density loss. I highlighted these. Figuratively, as I don’t own an actual highlighter. And what I can do is Resistance Training. It dawned on me that there are plenty of women at the gym who have excellent muscle definition and body fat ratios and if my High School Biology serves me, they aren’t carrying a ton of testosterone around (I’m not talking 1970’s East German Female Weight Lifters here- that’s a different story). So I know it can be done, so I intend to do it. So far, so good.

One of the purposes this blog serves is as a record for me of how this year is in detail to review a year from now when it is (hopefully) over. As I said before, when we humans come through a trauma, we tend to forget how we felt during it. Just last week I caught myself doing just this. As I have regained my strength and stamina Post- Op, and some of the side effects- notably incontinence- are improving, I found myself thinking of my Post- Op recovery one day last week, “That wasn’t so bad.” I quickly stoped myself. It was that bad. At least at times. I can’t remember much of the detail, but it was that bad. Mostly I just remember there was piss everywhere including a brief period of medically inflicted fluorescent orange piss, the stains of which are still evident in my bathroom. The infection in my Urethra was a party to remember as well (and related to the orange piss). Progress was measured in weeks or months, not days.

If I ever leave this Blog alive* I hope to write a book of not just the experience of being diagnosed and treated for cancer,, but also share diet and exercise helps as well as mental gymnastics to help other people in my situation. The experiences I record here will assist in that endeavor. It won’t be Prostate Cancer Specific. I have learned that Breast and Prostate Cancer are very similar. Both are disease of the endocrine system, and the treatments are very similar as well. The mental aspects are without doubt the same.

One thing I try to remember as I go down this journey is that life is still life. To paraphrase Freud, “Sometimes a Bad Day is just a Bad Day.”

So, despite the occasional raw recording of unpleasantness, know that, by and large, I am well. I have, so far, been able to cope and adapt and I hope I can continue to find those strategies as the year progresses. I believe I will.

And please, keep the Good Thoughts and Prayers coming. They help. Thank you.

*Tip of the keyboard to The Flogging Mollies