It had been another sleepless night for Wiarton Willie. He wasn’t worried though. It was always this way for him at this time of year. The world, which usually revolved its way around the sun, was now revolving around him (and his counterparts, located across the northern climes) and he was feeling that feeling in the pit of his stomach that said “Must succeed!”
As a ground hog, Willie was wise to the ways of the world and knew that as many people as held him in high regard, there was another set ever eager for his downfall. “Old wives tale!” they would shout out their windows if it should become known that his mid-winter prediction was wrong. But wasn’t he, Wiarton Willie, the best of them all, with almost 60% accuracy over his illustrious career; far and away the best, even better than Poughkeepsie Pete, his American cousin.
Willie got himself ready in front of the bedroom mirror. He pawed at his head fur, slicking it down with his drool. He stopped for a moment to investigate an area over his ear. Was he losing fur there? It wouldn’t surprise him, what with all this nervous waiting. But he was only 11 after all.
He made his way downstairs and through the kitchen. His wife, Wiarton Wanda and their 2 year old twins, Wendy and Wallace, smiled at him as he took his place near the tunnel entrance.
“We’re proud of you dear,” said Wanda.
The children could barely contain their excitement. “Go get ‘em pop,” Wallace shouted, jumping up and down on all fours, and Wendy made him kneel down for a good-luck kiss.
Willie wrapped his muffler around his neck, winked at them all and ran off into the tunnel. But he stopped just a few feet in, scrambling to a halt with a look of horror on his face. The tunnel was jammed with snow. To a depth of five feet! What was he going to do?
* * *
A couple of hundred kilometres away and slightly to the south, I woke to the sound of this snow, in pellet form, hitting the window. The storm that had been promised had arrived but in an underwhelming fashion given that the media had nicknamed the storm “Snowpocalypse”… I mean, really.
There are maybe 4 or 5 centimetres on the ground. Maybe more was still to come though. It didn’t really matter. I don’t have any concerns about the weather. I am still reeling from the latest in my relatively short but heady trip down cancer lane.
The pathology report came to me yesterday at a meeting at Princess Margaret Hospital. Apparently I’m CANCER FREE!
The offending gland, sliced and diced and cowering on the pathologists table, had yielded up its secrets. No detectable cancer cells in either the surgical margins or in the lymph nodes. “Great news”, Dr. Fleshner had said. In a word, yes. Brooke was on the verge of tears as the relief of the moment flooded over us. I was in much the same state then as I was when he lowered the boom on me some four months ago; dazed but calm and waiting for some explosive emotions to come forward. But it didn’t happen. Still hasn’t really, although I am obviously relieved at the outcome.
There are a few reasons for this emotion delay I figure. One is that, owing to a clerical error when my appointment for February was made last month, I wasn’t properly scheduled for a PSA blood test. I had been wondering how they were going to give me a definitive prognosis if they hadn’t taken blood. Well, of course, they couldn’t. So after I got the good news, gland-wise, I had to go down to blood services for them to do the PSA test. I won’t really know if I’m out of the woods until the results of that test, but Fleshner is pretty certain that it will come back with a 0 rating.
The lab was busy. When we arrived and took a number we were 93 while the counter on the wall read 50. We whiled away the time by filling out a survey that somebody gave me after the meeting with Fleshner. One of the questions on the survey was this… “Do you feel that your illness has interfered in any way with your health?” Sure, I’ll just bet it did, you know? Another question referred to my mental state. “Did you feel any of the following… worry, depression, sadness?” You were to circle one of a range of numbers from 1 (being never) to 7 (being often) reflecting frequency. It seems to me that the question should reflect quality not frequency. I mean which would you rather have… ten instances of mild worry, or one completely debilitating day of inner horror and depression? Still, as I say, it passed the time.
I did the blood thing, returned the survey to the clinic and then we went for breakfast at the Lakeview Lunch. Still no large up swell of emotion. Then we went home and did some phone calls letting friends know the news and then a bit of time online doing the same thing.
Oh yes, the other reasons for confusion of emotion. I am still going to be having the side effect issues. The incontinence and leaking will go on for a time; possibly shorter than most in my case, as control already seems to be coming back. And as for the sexual side of things; Fleshner, erring probably on the side of caution, predicts that it could be as long as a year. A year… He prescribes a course of therapy involving daily doses of Cialis. This seems a lot of Cialis to me but hey, whatever it takes I guess.
Today, I find out that my insurance doesn’t cover this (why on earth it doesn’t is beyond me. It was prescribed for Pete’s sake). The 3 month course he has prescribed will cost over $400. No wonder I get cheesy spam ads sent to me on the internet on a daily basis. I will, of course, bite the bullet on this one, but not before I have it out with AFBS. Although, they wouldn’t even answer my emails when I complained that incontinence products were not covered. I guess they figure I’m just wearing them for fun. It’s a funny old world isn’t it?
Still, here I am, seemingly on the back end of a strange and emotional and totally un-predictable 5 month journey. I will have to be monitored every three months for PSA levels. That will be for a year and then probably 6 month intervals after that. Easy-peasey. It seems that rumours of my demise were pre-emptive. Rumours I started by the way.
I’ll continue to write this blog I think. It’s been good for me. I’ll go on a weekly basis, probably. Setting down the road to healing and what it’s taking in my case. Perhaps some future prostate guys (that I have come to call The Brotherhood of the Gland) can see something there to encourage them on.
Oh yeah, and I have started a team in a fund-raising effort for cancer. We’re going to play in a one-day, dawn-to-dusk Road Hockey tournament. If you’d like to sponsor me or the the team (The Truzzers), you can go to the following website. www.teamuptoconquercancer.com and look us up. I’ll put it in the links area for you, too.
That’s all for now; stay warm. Grand hugs to all…
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