Yes - It Is Okay To Whine

In some of the recent comments that have been posted, I have detected a certain amount of snark. I like it.
There is much that I would like to unload regarding my journey with prostate cancer. If you will indulge me, here goes. I suspect some of you fellows might have had some similar experiences.
Eight years ago I was a young whippersnapper age 62, happily retired, reasonably fit playing singles tennis with few worries in the world. At my routine check-up with urologist Dr. C, he jammed a digit up you know where and said, "Hmm, something feels hard. We better do a biopsy." In short order a biopsy was done, and I awaited the result. Next morning at exactly 8 a.m. the phone rang waking me from a sound sleep (after all I was retired). Barely conscious, I answered the call and heard: "This is Dr. C. It's cancer." Seriously, is this any way to wake up in the morning?
Thus began my journey. The prostate cancer was an aggressive type (of course it would be), so at my age and fitness, I was told surgery was the best option. Weeks later I was in the hospital pre-op area getting my chest shaved by a very cute nurse, who then gave me a stack of forms to initial and sign. I swear there was a section in a form that basically stated, "If you die during the operation that you requested, we shall not be considered liable." That was a real confidence builder before going under the anesthesia. After the evil prostate was removed, I was lying in a hospital bed where Dr. C checked on me and said with much confidence, "I think I got it all." How many of you fellows heard those words from your surgeon?
The next day when I got home, I decided to see what was done to me. Looking in the mirror at my bare chest, there were seven bright red incision marks. Out loud I mused, "Looks like I was in a knife fight and lost!"
The operation was over, and no more cancer! Then the first post-op PSA result came back...0.089. Uh oh. Dr. C gave me the straight dope: "You better do the radiation, just to make sure we get all the prostate cancer." So I did the 40 sessions of radiation. Not that easy to go through. Especially for me, as I have always had a small anal fissure. Usually it does not bother me, but every time the radiation tech guy removed the rectal catheter, it felt like razor blades were being pulled out of my butt."
Not a fun experience, but it was over. Finally I was cured! Every 6 months my urologist would call to tell me, "Your PSA is 0.00." Life was good for 4 years, then one day the fateful call came: "Your PSA is 0.09." Huh. Must have been a mistake, maybe the test was contaminated. No such luck. Every 3 months the PSA climbed until Dr. C told me it was time for the hormones. Two types of hormones, give that nasty prostate cancer the old one-two punch. It has worked, my PSA is 0.00 again. But at what cost?
For starters, total erectile dysfunction. On top of that, the sex urge died a quick death; no more erotic thoughts. If I were to notice Kate Upton sunning herself on the front lawn in a string bikini, I would not give her a second look. I am basically a eunuch, qualified to guard any harem of virgins.
Of course I have hot flashes. I slap a bag of frozen peas on my head for 20 seconds, and that seems to take care of it. Lost a lot of body hair. My torso is now as sleek and hairless as an Olympic swimmer.
For many years I have gotten up in the morning and the first thing I do is weigh myself. Prior to taking hormones, my weight was stable. Now, it is a desperate struggle to hold the line. Each morning when I cautiously approach the weight scale, I can almost hear it taunting me. "Go ahead, you fat bastard, step on me. I dare you! You won't like what you see!"
I have never had a six pack stomach, but at least it was reasonably flat. Now my gut looks like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
I don't have a serious issue with incontinence, but now every time after I urinate I have to dab "the little guy" with a tissue or else I will experience an annoying wet spot in my underwear. I recall the wisdom of a sage but anonymous philosopher who wrote these words on the wall of my college restroom: "No Matter How Much You Jump and Wiggle and Dance, The Last Two Drops Fall Down Your Pants." Words to live by.
I realize that I have vented too long with my personal story dealing with prostate cancer. The point is, every man who has prostate cancer is getting a raw deal. It is a tough road to go down, and no matter how much support you are getting from wives, family and friends, they do not really know what you are going through. They can't, not really. That is why this Mayo Clinic Prostate Cancer Support Group is so vital. Your fellow prostate cancer survivors, we Band of Brothers, are the ones who really know about prostate cancer and what it does to you. So whatever angst you feel, fears, questions you have, or just need a place to gripe and rant, feel free to do it here. We will understand. We will help.