It came as no surprise when Bill chose a radical prostatectomy instead of ignoring the cancer. It wasn’t fear of death, it was a determination, a simple decision thousands of other men are forced to make each year. There was a problem to be gotten rid of.
Open belly, find prostate, cut the fucker out…
During the build up to surgery it was pointless trying to pinpoint a cause. The human body has built in obsolescence. Almost ten percent of Australian men will develop prostate cancer by 70. Age is the main factor, though excessive drinking and smoking don’t help. Bill, at 69, was almost Mr Average.
While prostate cancer is most common in men over the age of 50, younger men with a history of prostate cancer in their family are at greater risk.
Cancer is an insidious disease. Almost every cell in the body is susceptible. Scientists, despite overwhelming odds, keep researching. In 2011 Australian researchers found a gene that causes breast cancer can also cause prostate cancer. Some families are riddled with this natural, genetic mutation.
The cancer war between the sexes is now being fought on equal terms.
Bill is the only man in our extended family to be diagnosed with prostate cancer. That’s not to say none of the men from decades past didn’t have it, they just weren’t diagnosed. None of the women in our extended family have been diagnosed with breast cancer. Cancer is not a common trait among our family. It just happened to Bill, out of nowhere, or more specifically, right in the prostate.
Pick up any pamphlet on cancer or read any website and the messages are clear. Smoking, poor diet and a sedentary lifestyle increase the chances of getting cancer. History shows the inverse of these public health messages, too.
I once knew a man who did not drink. He did not smoke. He practiced Tai Chi. He ran. He carried no weight and cancer struck him down with sickening vengeance. Clean living does not make one immune.
Bill is a social drinker. His kids never saw him with a cigarette, though there is a photo in existence taken when he was in his twenties. In his right hand he is holding a cigarette, but he is not alone in the photograph. Argument could be made that he was holding it for someone.
Our family never made a habit of fast food. Patsy cooked every night. When we grew into teenagers she took Friday night off. If I had a spare couple of bucks, she didn’t mind if I bought fish and chips for dinner.
We ate plenty of meat, fish, fruit and vegetables. If we were hungry after school we were given offered fruit, cereal or toast. We didn’t have snacks in the freezer or cupboard. Our diet could only be described as healthy.
That extended into adulthood. Bill and Patsy basically refuse to eat fast food. They were good role models. We were force-fed quality food and taught how to cook. Now in their seventies, Bill and Patsy are not carrying any weight.
Simply, Bill did nothing to increase his chances of developing prostate cancer. It just happened. The results of his last blood test before surgery showed elevated PSA levels of 7.2ng/ml, up from 5ng/ml.
A man without prostate cancer has PSA levels of 2.5ng/ml or less. Bill’s PSA levels were rising. His decision, I’m just going to get rid of the fucking thing, was the right one.
Post surgery – the aftermath
The day following surgery, I took the afternoon off work and went by train to Auchenflower Station. The Mater Hospital is a modern building. From the outside it looks pleasant but it’s impossible not to feel overwhelmed on the inside. No matter the décor or façade, doctors and nurses are in the hurt business. People die and the heartache goes on forever.
Seeing Bill in a hospital bed was shocking. He was pale, sedated and vulnerable, like I’ve never seen him before. He was in pain. Each time he moved the pain was exacerbated. I had to concentrate not to cry. My body heated up and rolling up my shirt sleeves provided a diversion. I wouldn’t cry, but it was tough not to.
I gave him a book to read, Mute Witness, written by Robert L Pike. The book was adapted into the movie Bullitt, starring Steve McQueen. The book had long been out of print. I found it in a half priced book store for five dollars.
Bill was in no condition to read a book, but I knew he eventually would. He put the book on the bedside table.
‘The nurses got me out of bed to do a lap of the hallway this morning,’ he said. ‘After the first lap they asked me to do another.’ He shook his head. ‘I just wanted to get back into bed.’
Getting patients out of bed soon after surgery seems cruel, but it helps keep many of them alive. After invasive surgery, there is a real risk of pulmonary embolus, or blood clots forming in the body. If a clot dislodges and moves it can hit the heart, lungs or brain, and the patient will die.
A pulmonary embolus is generally diagnosed at autopsy. They’re common, but hard to diagnose when the patient is alive. Research has shown that getting patients on their feet in the first 24 hours after surgery reduces the chances of blood clots forming.
It may hurt, but doing laps when Bill felt like his insides were about to fall out helped to keep him alive.
He was able to eat, which was a good sign. His fluid intake was up, but there was blood in the catheter and blood in the drain stuck deep inside his body. It was going to be a long recovery.
From down the hallway, an old woman constantly called out, help me, help me, HELP ME. It sounded like something from a horror movie. She refused to stop. I wanted to tell her to shut up.
‘She yelled out all night,’ Bill said. ‘The nurses woke me each hour to take my blood pressure. I barely slept.’
The woman down the hall continued the plea for help.
‘I wish they’d give her a pill and knock her out,’ Bill said.
The visit knocked me around. It wasn’t my prostate that’d been sliced out. I wasn’t in any pain and didn’t have fear of cancer invading my body. But Bill had been a constant source of strength all my life. To see him hurting like that, completely helpless, was confronting.
The train trip home was a blur. As I neared Banyo station, Queensland Rail’s ticket inspectors were moving through the carriage checking people’s Go cards. I thought back to the wait at Auchenflower station and realised I didn’t touch on. I was travelling illegally. Thankfully the security guards didn’t make it to me before I got off.
It would’ve been an interesting chat. I was furious with the world as I stepped off the train. That unwavering aggression remained during the short walk home. As I stripped off into shorts I wanted war, it didn’t matter with who or what. A run in the afternoon summer heat and a long swim calmed me down.
Doing the ring around to Patsy and my siblings wasn’t easy. I gave them an edited version of the visit, he’s okay, as good as expected, he’s been up and doing laps, he’ll be home in a few days, so give him a call.
Anger manifests in ways many people don’t expect. I kept mine in check, but I was amazed by the aggression I felt that afternoon after seeing my father in hospital.
The following day, Bill told Patsy not to visit. It was a long trip from Caboolture to the Mater Hospital by train, about 90 minutes, and she had to do it again to get home. He worried for her safety on the train. She worried for his safety in hospital.
Dr John Yaxley was upbeat during a bedside visit. The surgery, he said, had been successful and timely. There were five individual cancers ready to break out from the diseased prostate and send their poison throughout the body. That is natural, built in obsolescence…
‘I’m not saying they would’ve broken out in a month,’ Dr Yaxley said. ‘We’re talking twelve to eighteen months.’
Prostate cancer can be controlled if it is contained. If it spreads, like any cancer, you’re history. Bill’s cancer was ready to set itself free. Dr Yaxley said he got it all. The prognosis was good.
I took a day off to pick Bill up from the Mater Hospital, doing about a dozen laps waiting for him to emerge at the main entrance. Discharge can take hours. found a park and walked up to the hospital. As I was walking in, Bill was walking out in slow, measured steps, wearing a colostomy bag. A nurse was nearby offering support.
Bill went back inside into the cool while I hustled back to the car.
As I drove up to the main entrance, Bill emerged again to find a car parked halfway across the pedestrian crossing. Bill, as only he would, rapped on the window and gritted his teeth. When he got the driver’s attention, Bill waved his arm and glared at the man, move along dickhead, and the man inched the car forward.
I had gotten out in case there was an issue but Bill had already shuffled across the pedestrian crossing.
‘You don’t park on a fucking crossing out the front of a hospital,’ he said.
Though Bill was in pain, it was good to see he hadn’t lost his spirit. Holding a colostomy bag, pale, hurt and stitches in his belly didn’t stop him from telling someone to get the fuck outta my way…
The drive home was took more than an hour. I tried to drive gentle. It was pointless trying to miss potholes and bumps. Bill wasn’t happy. His belly throbbed with each bump.
‘You see those things in the road,’ he said. ‘It’d be good if you could miss them.’
At Elimbah, we sat in the lounge. Patsy was exhausted. Bill tried to show us the scar. I didn’t want to see it. Leaving was hard. My parents were about to face a difficult time. Mostly, they’d be alone.
Bill, of course, wanted it that way.
Pride Cup results:
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125 |
Anne (6) |
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124 |
Russ (6), Matt (7) |
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123 |
Dave (6) |
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122 |
Matt B (6) |
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120 |
The Pole (6), Wayne (6) |
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119 |
Andy (6) |
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118 |
James F (5) |
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117 |
Stevo (3) |
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116 |
George (6) |
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114 |
Eric (5) |
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111 |
Dallas (5) |
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109 |
Jim (7) |
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108 |
Adam L (6) |
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105 |
Paul (5) |
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46 |
Nemo (3) |
