It was almost like the famous scene from the Godfather. Vito Corleone, months after being shot five times, is carried upstairs to his bedroom on a stretcher. The Godfather’s extended family make a loving bedside visit. Grandson Frank reads a poem. After lunch Fredo enters the Don’s bedroom and sits and looks at his father.
Bill wasn’t carried up to his room, and he hadn’t been shot but the family was excited to see him. It was three weeks following surgery. We’d had to wait until he was ready to receive us. Aside from the day I picked him up no one had been allowed to visit. He didn’t want his family to see him wearing the catheter bag. He wanted to have some of his strength back.
We were all at Elimbah, sons, daughters, partners and grandchildren. He was still pale but looked healthy. Recovery was steady but he still wasn’t eating much and by mid afternoon Bill was tired.
The grandkids might’ve understood Bill had been sick but the specifics of surgery and recovery was beyond them. They wanted what they normally got at Elimbah, a ride on the go carts, drawing or playing with clay and running around the property.
With Bill outside entertaining the grandkids, the siblings huddled beside Patsy, quiet conversations for the inside story to his recovery.
‘He’s doing everything right,’ she said. ‘We go for a walk every day. He’s doing his exercises but he gets tired in the afternoon and doesn’t like that.’ Patsy smirked. ‘He still thinks he’s 50 instead of 70.’
Before being released from hospital, Bill was given a strict set of instructions. He couldn’t lift heavy things or drive for six weeks. Pain in the belly meant he couldn’t bend or move too swiftly. He was weak for the first time since being a toddler.
The sedentary existence aggravated him.
When I was a kid I quickly learned weekends weren’t for rest and relaxation. Bill was always working, on cars, repairing, tiling or painting. My grandfather, who was also Bill Watson, built his house at Oak Park decades ago. The house is still standing. My grandfather was a capable man. Bill inherited some great traits.
Having grown up in another era, Bill hates paying tradesmen money. By necessity he became an electrician, plumber, carpenter, plasterer, tiler, roofer, builder, mechanic, panel beater, gardener, painter, fence builder, tree surgeon and any other trade required to run a household.
If Bill couldn’t do it, he’d learn. He only paid people to do things if he didn’t have the right equipment, like a bobcat or backhoe.
For a man so active, a six week medical suspension from anything physical was a tough adjustment. Getting used to pain and tiredness was equally tough. On occasion, the frustration manifested into an angry word or conversation. Frustration following major surgery is natural. Allowances must be made. Recovery from a radical prostatectomy takes time.
There are complications, commonly known as side effects. Patsy made dinner as she usually did but it was too much. Bill couldn’t finish dinner for weeks. He lost weight, from 77 kilograms before the surgery to 73. It took months for his appetite to fully return.
There are other side effects. Impotence is one. Incontinence is another.
Prior to surgery, Bill was advised to do pelvic floor exercises and stomach crunches. Dr Yaxley told him to do 400 crunches a day. Bill did a thousand each day. He spent hours strengthening his muscles, but no amount of exercise can prepare the body for prostate removal.
His belly was sliced open, a five inch incision. Muscle and nerves were severed and stitched back together. They had to learn how to exist again. Dr Yaxley had him doing pelvic floor exercises a week after surgery.
Once the catheter was removed, Bill had little control over his bladder. If he coughed or sneezed, he would piss. If his got up in bed he would piss.
Incontinence is something most people can’t remember. As children we’re trained not to do it. As an adult, wearing sanitary pads must be demoralising, no matter the surgery. Bill longed for bladder control and kept doing pelvic floor exercises, but contracting muscles doesn’t provide an overnight cure for incontinence.
One afternoon in a chemist while waiting to collect a prescription, the middle aged woman behind the counter wanted to chat about the weather. Bill agreed, it was a lovely day, and as he was smiling at the woman he felt urine run down his leg. The sanitary pad was full.
He kept smiling as the trickle found his foot. The woman kept talking about sunshine. Bill wanted to leave. The moment, he said, was surreal. He was pissing himself in a chemist while talking to a woman about the weather, with a smile on his face.
When he walked away from the counter with his medication he left footprints on the floor.
Smiles can mask all sorts of emotions. Weeks later he claimed a milestone in the long recovery.
‘I’ve been able to shop without pissing myself,’ he said.
Smiles and jokes can’t mask impotence. Removing the prostate usually renders men impotent for up to six months. Too many nerves and muscles had been severed. They don’t want to work anymore, no matter what the brain wants to do.
In young men impotence is generally fleeting. It usually involves alcohol or a brain that just won’t get into the moment, whatever the reason. Most men have dealt with it and felt embarrassed and horrified. When it happens, women are usually sympathetic but nothing they say is soothing.
Imagine not being able to get it up and not being able to control your bladder. Taking the prostate gland out is often life saving surgery but it reduces the quality of life most people are used to.
Things taken for granted are no longer controlled. Some men never have sex again following a radical prostatectomy. Others need to wear sanitary pads for years. A man’s existence can be changed dramatically.
No matter the preparation or age, this is what a radical prostatectomy can do to men.
Following his surgery, Bill must’ve told Nick and I a dozen times to get a PSA test. When I presented at a GP clinic in the city, the doctor seemed surprised. He shook his head. Though he didn’t say it, he clearly thought my request was unnecessary. When I told him about Bill’s cancer, he signed a form ordering a blood test. Two days later, the results showed levels at less than one percent.
I was in the clear. The doc told me not to worry about having another test for five years. Bill was pleased I did as he suggested. Later that night he wrote me an email. It was 24 March, 2011, about a month after having his prostate removed.
Hey guys I guess we just have to face it….men are just anal retentive when it comes to their health!!!
We just don’t like talking about any problems we may be having and we definitely only go to the Doc as a last resort!!!!!
I was no different, however since being diagnosed with cancer of the prostate I thought I would start spreading the word and was I surprised at the reaction.
I told everyone I could “Have you had your prostate checked”???? and “Have you had a PSA blood test done on an annual basis”???
(PSA=prostate specific antigens)
The replies, in their simplicity, were stunning!!!
What is a prostate?
What does it do?
There is no history of cancer in my family!
And the classic…..My doctor says that they don’t do blood tests anymore for that, he checks with a rubber glove, now that is great if you like that sort of thing but personally I would prefer the PSA and use the rubber glove as back up(no pun intended).
Approximately the same number of men are diagnosed each year with this problem as women with breast cancer and approximately the same number die as with breast cancer and us men accept it without a whimper, whereas if woman had the prostate they would have allocated it a colour by now and we would be seeing cricket and football stands awash with arm bands and T shirts in that colour.
We would have TV and sporting celebrities on screen and in magazines telling how they survived it and asking for donations to further research.
There would be Trusts set up to raise money for research and there would be internet blogs and chat rooms where they can talk about how they feel and how they are coping and of course don’t forget Twitter.
Men……lambs to the slaughter!!!!!!!!!!
PSA (prostate specific antigens) a simple blood test available from your GP probably every two years after you hit 40 and then every twelve months after 50……Do it….it’s your life and if your doctor says it is not necessary get another GP.
We need International Women’s Prostate Day where people would buy a ribbon or badge, with all proceeds going to further research.
Bill’s email highlights the disregard many men have for their health. It seems a traditional disregard. We’ll spend three weeks repairing a seventeen year old lawn mower. We’ll help a mate pull the engine out of his car and slide another one in. We will repair things until they finally die. Repairing things is a point of pride.
So, it seems, is ignoring our health, yet we will order the wife, girlfriend or kids to the doctor if they’ve got a sniffle.
When it comes to our own health, she’ll be right, don’t worry about it, I’ll be okay…
We’re not okay. Most men Bill talked to barely knew what the prostate gland was and what it does. Most men didn’t know what a PSA test is, and when they’re finally made aware of it, it’s often too late. Most men don’t care enough about their health.
Going to the doctor isn’t something other people do. Doctors get paid a lot of money to diagnose illness. Who cares how much they earn. They’re paid to help us. Men should use them more often.
Bill’s email also gave a backhander to various charities that raise money for prostate cancer research, particularly Movember and the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia. The backhander, though, was also another slap in the belly for men who put up with pain in the lower abdomen, blood in their urine or a slow and unsteady stream.
Charities like Movember and the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia raise a lot of money and generate good publicity. Men are happy to donate to their mates, laugh at their crap moustaches and move on. A week after Movember is over, no one remembers the warnings. Prostate glands aren’t sexy, and a key test to diagnose the cancer is a doctor’s finger inside your ass.
Most men aren’t interested in that. Besides, women and their boobs command a lot of attention. Men are happy to let them have it, because a good set of boobs is sexy. We’re happy to donate money during the cricket or during Breast cancer awareness week. We’re happy to look at boobs and rail against the injustice of breast cancer.
As long as it doesn’t involve men, we’re happy.
This is why men like Ted Whitten die from prostate cancer at 62 years of age. This is why most men will watch a mate, a father or brother die from prostate cancer.
The tragedy of prostate cancer is premature death. The bigger tragedy is that most of those deaths could’ve been delayed by years. When Bill was first diagnosed, he was advised that if he ignored the cancer he’d live for another five years. To have it removed meant he’d die from something else.
I’ve already had a PSA test. It was more symbolic than necessary and mainly done to placate Bill, but the negligible result was a relief.
If you’re a man and you’re over 40 and you haven’t had a PSA test, don’t fuck around. The doctor isn’t going to stick his finger in your arse. It’s a simple blood test, so do it. It might prolong your life.
Bill Watson has never suffered fools. On occasion, he could be blunt and dismissive. As a father he was authoritarian when required, which, with four kids is to be expected. The messages Bill and Patsy delivered through our formative years were consistent; treat all people with respect, stand up for yourself, choose your friends wisely and look after your family.
My parents were strict but fair. There were no grey areas. They have always encouraged us to talk to them no matter what it is, that they’d rather find something out from us than someone else.
No surprises seemed to be the mantra.
Before Bill’s surgery and during his recovery he spoke candidly about his cancer. He never dodged a question or refused to talk about it. With four kids, he must’ve gotten sick of the phone calls and inquiries, how are you feeling, when is your next visit, are you getting stronger, is your appetite back.
We were always at him, asking about his pain, blood tests and recovery. We wanted to know everything.
Discussing prostate cancer with Juliette, Nick and Samantha wasn’t easy. We all had more questions than we could answer, and the information coming from Bill and Patsy was regurgitated. There was a real fear, before the surgery, that his life was in jeopardy, not five years from now but right now.
Each time Bill went for a routine blood test the phone would ring for days, all four of us wanting results. The PSA tests were good following the operation, 0.03 ng/ml. As Dr Yaxley said, have it removed and something else will kill you.
We are mortal, if nothing else.
Both parents talked openly about the results, but Patsy, without trying, frightened the hell out of us. I called Elimbah to say hi and Bill wasn’t there. He was seeing the doctor.
‘You can talk to your father about it,’ she said.
Holy hell…
Blood tests are vital for all cancer sufferers. Those numbers are good, bad or indifferent. Patsy didn’t want to talk about Bill’s visit. I assumed a blood test had been bad. In no time the sisters knew, so I told Nick.
‘Bill is seeing a doctor and Patsy won’t talk about it.’
Nick drew a deep breath. ‘Righto,’ he said.
Hours later, it was an irate father who answered the phone.
‘What the hell is going on,’ I said.
Bill drew a deep breath and sounded just like Nick. He didn’t want to talk about it either. My heart hammered as I demanded to know.
Bill got all matter-of-fact. ‘When they cut the prostate out they damage all the nerves,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m pissing myself. And I can’t get it up. I went to see the doctor and he gave me three pills to try. I have to take them and tell him which one works.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That’s good news then.’
‘Well it isn’t bad news,’ Bill said.
I repeated the fear, that he’d received a bad blood test or was pissing blood.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But when I tell you not to worry about a doctor’s appointment you’ve got to listen.’
It has now been nineteen months since Bill had his prostate removed. Every three months he presents for a blood test. For the past six months his PSA levels have been rising, from 0.03 ng/ml to 0.05 ng/ml. Dr Yaxley said the levels would rise then plateau out. That seems to be what is happening with Bill.
He is fit and strong again, though a busted hernia is bothering him. Those tradesmen-like qualities have returned. A month ago he moved the ovens in the kitchen then rebuilt the wall around them. He works all day as he once did. He’s painting, sculpting and being creative.
He has reclaimed his life back following cancer.
But as every person with cancer does, he lives in three month blocks, blood test to blood test. Bill hopes Dr John Yaxley was right, that it won’t be prostate cancer that kills him.
‘We all have to die,’ Patsy said. ‘It’s a privilege to grow old because not everybody does.’
True, but too many men ignore their health and die too early.
We will all die, and that’s easier to accept when you get older, so get old. Get your prostate checked. Take a PSA test. Donate money to Movember or the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia. Donate money to the McGrath Foundation or the Leukaemia Foundation.
Let the intellectuals do the research so they can cure us if we get sick.
We’ve all got built in obsolescence. That’s a given. Its how we die that makes the difference.
Don’t die in ignorance, not when a simple blood test could save your life. And don’t be fooled into thinking prostate cancer is an old man’s disease.
It isn’t. Men as young as 40 have been diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Cancer doesn’t discriminate. It’s about time men discriminated against cancer…
