myBloghead13-Gland of Gold

You may wonder why I created the title 'Gland of Gold-life in the outback'?

For most of us our bodies are places we have lived and worked in without giving any thought to the vital work our internal systems do. Places within that very skin of ours we take for granted and never give a passing thought until our bodies very own 'special effects' send out its worrying warning signs. Some pain, some swelling or rash, to name a few.

The cancer I have is in an area that I have never ever seen in my whole 63 years on this planet. The rectum area. For most males who suffer from this form of cancer the thought of someone sending a probe into a nether region that you, personally, have never gained any visual acquaintance or access to, is a bit like going walkabout in the outback of Australia. The unknown.

If you are a male like me and reading this, you may agree that this very personal area is our 'outback', where you tread with caution. A place where only your mother was allowed, when as an infant, she diligently changed your 'nappies'. So, the thought of allowing complete strangers to venture into this region is a bit like being that baby again. Vulnerability based on trust.

I had the dreaded prostate biopsy in January 2017 and it was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had and I have had a few. On the day of the test, I was provided with an outpatient bed with at least six other unfortunate males. Most were older than me but I do remember a younger man sitting in his chair next to his bed trembling and the fear was beaming from his face. I tried to catch his eye and create some idle chit chat, but no response.

Fortunately, I was first in. I gave a wry smile and a half hearted wave to the guys and off I went. The nurse then led me into the theatre where a gaggle of medical practitioners were gathered around the operation table. I felt like a guinae pig being led into a weird Vincent Price experiment. I hate operating theatres. I have horrible memories from my childhood when they removed my tonsils. I still have quivering visions of that operation to this day.

Once in the theatre, I was told to lay on my side, knees up with my outback exposed for all to view while this chirpy wee male nurse kept chatting away at me saying how much the current Scotland football team were rubbish. Nice guy, trying his best to distract and relax me.

Good try.

Lying there, so exposed without an opportunity to see what they were doing behind me and feeling out of control, is a scary situation to be in. The doctor starts to chat to me over my shoulder explaining the procedures and what to expect. I look up at male nurse, he smiles, I shiver, and he offers to take my hand, which I gladly accept. Oops, there goes the Elvis leg. But, any comfort is better than nothing and yes, the football team is rubbish!

The doc tells me he is about to place some gel over my rectum to make the probe insertion easier. Cold and awkward. He then puts this tube into my outback which feels like he was inserting the tubular leg of an oil rig. You begin to feel strange as he 'manouvers' the alien probe around the prostate gland guided by matching the MRI scan with his live ultrasound pictures. The movie is about to begin.

He informs me that there will be a sharp sting and this is the local anaesthetic. After a few minutes the manoeuvring begins again. At this point, you definitely feel that something does not belong and on occasions I felt like going to the toilet. He starts inserting the biopsy machine gun and says "I will tell you when I am taking a sample and you will hear a click" That click reminded me of the sound of a staple gun going off. I had fourteen samples taken I think and at least three of them were very painful. You know, it felt like they had let a bumble bee loose in my outback. It was over. Relief. The poor male nurse must have required an x ray on his hand as I think I crushed at least three of his fingers. The power of nerves.

He then helped me up and walked me through to my bed area. The other guys awaiting their turn were looking up at me apprehensively to see what facial expressions I would give. Typically, I kept a stiff upper lip (I'm a (he) man and not going to show my emotions!!) but they were not fooled. The giveaway was the John Wayne walk. 'Just off ma' Hoss' after a long trail'.

There was some bleeding when passing urine and they did say this was normal. Scary to see. It did bleed sometimes for a few days afterwards but it cleared. I had some slight stings in my outback area for a wee while but nothing to worry about.

Since then and after being 'officially' diagnosed, I have been enduring eleven months of hormone injections in the stomach combined with a daily bicalutamide pill. The side effects have slowed me down a bit, especially the first couple of days after the injection. They hoped to administer radiotherapy around June time 2017 but my systems special effects he'd it back. But. Recently, my testosterone and PSA are now at acceptable levels to start the radiotherapy process. Having hormone treatment has its moments as you probably read in recent blogs but now the more physical process starts.

Last week I received a letter from The Beatson, home to Scotland's world renowned cancer hospital. A huge cathedral of a place as busy as Sauchihall Street and all suffering or living with cancer like myself. One chap said to me "this is cancers holy grail."

I have been to the Beatson with my father on many occasions and more recently my brother, who is currently attending for his treatment and I am pleased to say they have worked wonders on both.

Now it is my turn. Who would have thought after all the times I attended the Beatson with my father I would be attending for my own cancer? Life can throw some curve balls.

The letter outlines the next steps of my treatment over the coming two months. First stop: the so called 'golden seeds', to be implanted on my prostate. This procedure was similar to the biopsy but not as lengthy but it is uncomfortable. The nurse took me through the same procedure as the biopsy although not in a theatre but in a more comfortable room.

A similar process of insertion into my outback and the nurse tells you when the three gold pellets are being inserted. If I could describe the insertion it is a bit like pushing a pencil against your skin. There is a sharp pain but only for a split second. Once done, I did feel a bit queasy and in slight shock, but the whole process is shorter and more routine than the biopsy.

I now, officially, have a 'Gland of Gold'.

I can just imagine some western prospectors pioneering through my outback panhandling for my gold. There's gold in them there outback!

Phase one done. Phase two is the CT scan in two weeks time. Jeez, My outback must have more movie footage than Bogart.