Thank you,
JayH! It was quite an experience, and a
very close call. When I was hospitalized on Aug. 8 my hematocrit -- my red blood count -- was below 20 (normal is 38.3 to 48.6 percent) and I ultimately needed five immediate transfusions, along with antibiotics and nutrients and whatever else they were pumping into me. I wasn't sent to the ICU but believe me, my care was pretty intense, if not intensive. Lots of IVs (I never needed oxygen.)
After I had stabilized and was clearly going to make it my doctor -- Dr. Oleg, part of a cohort of Russian doctors at Ellis Hospital -- walked in, gave me a hearty handshake and said, "You tough guy, you should be
dead." We had a good laugh. He especially loved me teasing him back with my Rooskie accent.
Lots of good news: we avoided dialysis and my kidney function has returned almost to normal. My appetite has returned and I've already put 25 lbs. back on (I was skin and bones, down to 151 lbs. when I was weighed the second week of August and I normally walk the streets at about 210). I still have a Foley catheter in but I think that finally comes out on Monday; that's my next urology appointment, so we're going to try. All my vital signs are good and I have good energy again.
The bad news is the root cause of my problems is Stage IV metastatic prostate cancer. What I thought was arthritis in my neck is actually an area where the cancer has caused the bone to disintegrate and it's causing a spinal compression, which affected control of my arms and has produced a drop foot as well as some other fun symptoms. The prostate cancer itself caused the severe anemia, dehydration and ultimately both kidney failure and the total blockage of my GI tract. Rather ugly situation.
Thanks to the combination of anemia and dehydration I was cognitively non-functional and not able to care for myself. Thankfully my neighbor and close friend had the feeling something was wrong and came by to check on me just as my niece arrived to do the same -- I hadn't been responding to any phone calls or texts or posting anything on social media, so the alarms went off. They called for an ambulance, probably just in time.
So, here we are. I'm cleaning up all the follow-ups with nephrology, urology and neurology, and then oncology takes over on Sept. 27. I start with radiation to deal with the issue in my neck (I avoided invasive spinal surgery as well as invasive abdominal surgery, two big wins) and then we pivot to chemo. I also caught a huge break: all the treatments are at the New York Oncology and Hematology facility here in town, which happens to be on the other side of the trees from my house. I could throw a rock and hit the roof.
I'm also feeling really good. Even though my cancer is in a very advanced stage, you wouldn't know it to see me, especially now that I've gotten some treatment. As I said, I'm eating really well and I've put some weight back on, and I'm not that far from being able to exercise again. I have a good strong constitution and a
very positive attitude.
I also have no illusions about my situation; the cancer has spread to the bones, and you happen to have bone all over your body. Not good. It's been detected on my pelvis, rib cage, spine and skull, but so far not in the soft tissue. Although of course that's next. The only question is when. It's all a matter of how I respond to the chemo.
Which means there's no way to know how much time I have left, and I haven't asked the question, nor will I ask it. I've always hated that scene in movies, and they're just guessing anyway. Besides, it doesn't matter. Everyone dies eventually. What matters is what you do with your life. I won't lie, I'd love to be there for Opening Day at our stadium, but until then my focus is on making the most of what I'm doing
today. One of the things I'll be doing is chronicling this experience, so stay tuned.
I also may finally get a tattoo, even though they're not my thing. Something simple, with just four words: NO FEAR, NO TEARS.
(Or maybe I'll just keep the mantra and skip the body paint. LOL)