As 2008 comes to a close, I mark another milestone on a journey I neither expected nor wanted to take. Today, I had my 17th radiation treatment out of a planned 35: close enough to 50% to celebrate!
I am doing very well. Fatigue continues to be the biggest side effect, but even that is manageable. I felt well enough last night to go to the Holiday Bowl here in San Diego with my brother-in-law Kimo.
I want to thank everyone who has traveled with me on this journey (some willingly, and others dragged into an odyssey of prostate cancer). Your prayers and support have seen me through some difficult days.
And I shared with my new-found friends and fellow cancer survivors in the doctor's waiting room this morning, "Happy New Year, and may we all be cancer free in 2009!"
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
40% and still doing well
Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, I will have my 14th radiation treatment out of 35 total. Then I will get a four day respite before resuming treatments next Monday. If my math is correct, that will mean I am 40% done. No big side effects so far. I am doing very well.
Thank you, everyone, for your prayers, concern and support.
Merry Christmas, and may you have a blessed holiday.
Thank you, everyone, for your prayers, concern and support.
Merry Christmas, and may you have a blessed holiday.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Want to see what IMRT is like?
I had my 4th of 35 IMRT treatments today. Would you like to see what it is like? Only difference is my doctor set me up so that I go in feet first because of my claustrophobia. So my feet are where this guy's head is, and visa versa. The machine never covers my head. And since my midsection is being irradiated, it makes no difference.
View the YouTube video of an IMRT session below.
Bless you.
View the YouTube video of an IMRT session below.
Bless you.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Minor Delay
I went in for my setup x-rays early this morning. Apparently I did not take a very good picture, because the doctor's office asked that I come back Friday to have the x-rays redone. Maybe I moved, or something like that.
Bottom line: My IMRT treatments will now start next Monday, December 8 instead of tomorrow. No big deal. It gives me a few more days to prepare.
Bless you, everyone.
Bottom line: My IMRT treatments will now start next Monday, December 8 instead of tomorrow. No big deal. It gives me a few more days to prepare.
Bless you, everyone.
Monday, December 1, 2008
IMRT Starts
Well, I'm back after another pause in my treatment. The relaxed schedule has been good for me, and I now know why they delayed the next phase start date. It has taken me three months plus to heal from surgery. That does not mean I am 100% healed, but the last month has been a good one for me getting back to a state of normalcy.
Tomorrow (Tuesday, Dec. 2) I go to radiology for setup work (x-rays and such, I guess). Then Wednesday, I start my treatments with the first of 35 weekday treatments of Intensity-Modulated Radiation Therapy (IMRT). IMRT permits the delivery of a high dose of radiation to the cancer while minimizing dose to other sensitive organs.
Hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We surely did, with so many things to be thankful for.
Hard to believe it is December, but time marches on. I am feeling very well, and ready for the next phase of my war on prostate cancer.
Bless you, everyone.
Tomorrow (Tuesday, Dec. 2) I go to radiology for setup work (x-rays and such, I guess). Then Wednesday, I start my treatments with the first of 35 weekday treatments of Intensity-Modulated Radiation Therapy (IMRT). IMRT permits the delivery of a high dose of radiation to the cancer while minimizing dose to other sensitive organs.
Hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We surely did, with so many things to be thankful for.
Hard to believe it is December, but time marches on. I am feeling very well, and ready for the next phase of my war on prostate cancer.
Bless you, everyone.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Every day, I go on
From The Daily Post
By Dave Nelson, 53, of Longview (WA)
Prostate cancer has no symptoms, and for the most part, its victims have no clue.
When I was diagnosed on Valentines Day, 2007, I was shocked to learn that an agent of death had been growing inside me for years.
The instant the urologist said my name and “cancer” in the same sentence, I took on a new, unwanted identity defined by “victim,” “survivor” “remission” and “recurrence.”
My head was suddenly filled with numbers and scores —- PSA (9.74), Gleason (9) and ‘T’ scores. And I was faced with several treatment options that two days earlier I had never heard of.
Now, within four weeks I had to choose between the radical slice and dice, brachial mini nuke, external macro nuke, freeze it or wait. Except for wait, they all have the same unacceptable side effects: incontinence and sexual dysfunction.
And so began a journey I did not choose but nonetheless must travel. Almost immediately I was surrounded by cards, and friends, and prayer and fear. In the U.S. every year, 200,000 guys are diagnosed with prostate cancer. I felt the need to convince my kids, my friends, anyone, not to blame God, but to let God help us through.
The diagnosis brought into focus how temporal my life was. I realized that if I remained my easy-going wait-and-see self, I would never live the life I wanted. I began to feel the need, even the urge, to make changes —- and that urge continues today.
Some cancer victims lose their hair and their weight. I gained a scar and the ability to wet my pants at inopportune times. Every time I sneeze, cough, or wake up, I am reminded that my life has been invaded by an unwelcomed guest. And every day I silently, though sometimes awkwardly, go on.
I am sure that to my family and friends, my life over the last 18 months has appeared erratic and selfish. But cancer tore away my identity and I am still trying to find a new one. The truth is, my cancer tore away their identity also, as everyone who knows me tries to make sense out of the senseless.
But what I, my family and friends share, is courage. Courage to face life’s uncertainty. The same courage shared by every cancer victim, and everyone who has known and loved a cancer victim, as we all try to make sense out of the senseless.
By Dave Nelson, 53, of Longview (WA)
Prostate cancer has no symptoms, and for the most part, its victims have no clue.
When I was diagnosed on Valentines Day, 2007, I was shocked to learn that an agent of death had been growing inside me for years.
The instant the urologist said my name and “cancer” in the same sentence, I took on a new, unwanted identity defined by “victim,” “survivor” “remission” and “recurrence.”
My head was suddenly filled with numbers and scores —- PSA (9.74), Gleason (9) and ‘T’ scores. And I was faced with several treatment options that two days earlier I had never heard of.
Now, within four weeks I had to choose between the radical slice and dice, brachial mini nuke, external macro nuke, freeze it or wait. Except for wait, they all have the same unacceptable side effects: incontinence and sexual dysfunction.
And so began a journey I did not choose but nonetheless must travel. Almost immediately I was surrounded by cards, and friends, and prayer and fear. In the U.S. every year, 200,000 guys are diagnosed with prostate cancer. I felt the need to convince my kids, my friends, anyone, not to blame God, but to let God help us through.
The diagnosis brought into focus how temporal my life was. I realized that if I remained my easy-going wait-and-see self, I would never live the life I wanted. I began to feel the need, even the urge, to make changes —- and that urge continues today.
Some cancer victims lose their hair and their weight. I gained a scar and the ability to wet my pants at inopportune times. Every time I sneeze, cough, or wake up, I am reminded that my life has been invaded by an unwelcomed guest. And every day I silently, though sometimes awkwardly, go on.
I am sure that to my family and friends, my life over the last 18 months has appeared erratic and selfish. But cancer tore away my identity and I am still trying to find a new one. The truth is, my cancer tore away their identity also, as everyone who knows me tries to make sense out of the senseless.
But what I, my family and friends share, is courage. Courage to face life’s uncertainty. The same courage shared by every cancer victim, and everyone who has known and loved a cancer victim, as we all try to make sense out of the senseless.
Monday, November 17, 2008
"The Night I was Almost Eaten by the Wasilla Bear"
Things have been quiet with my cancer treatment for the past month. This afternoon, they kick back into high gear as I go for my radiology "preparation visit". As I understand it, they will take a CT scan of the "prostatic bed" (where my prostate once lived) and place some tattoos on my abdomen for them to line up the radiation machine for my 35 treatments which begin two weeks from today.
I am allergic to CT and MRI machines, because I am CLAUSTROPHOBIC! But by the grace of God, and your prayers, my dear friends, I will get through it.
I'll just remind myself of the night I was almost eaten by a bear in Wasilla, Alaska. (I kid you not...you cannot make this stuff up!) Would you like to hear the story? Ok, if you insist. And yes, this is the same Wasilla, Alaska where Gov. Sarah Palin lives and served as mayor. (Now that the election is over, I feel free to tell the story.)
You ask, "What was a guy from Yazoo City, Mississippi doing in Wasilla, Alaska messing with bears in the first place?" Good question; I'm glad you asked.
It has long been the tradition in the Mississippi Conference of the United Methodist Church that clergy who are ordained go on a mission trip. In 1995, when I was ordained an elder, a group of about 25 of my fellow ordinands and I were assigned to go to Wasilla and Willow (about ten miles away) to help build the Willow United Methodist Church. When I say build, I mean build (Jimmy Carter style, hammer, nails and all).
We were there ten days, sleeping in tents in a screened in pavilion. I recall taking two showers during those ten days in a shower stall in which I had to jump around to try to get wet enough to wash the soap lather off my body. Thought I was back on Graball Hill back in Yazoo City: outdoor toilet and primitive plumbing.
To make a long story even longer, one night my fellow church carpenters decided to go salmon fishing, as it was salmon season, and the sun was up past midnight. Being the oldest person in the group (and the tiredest) I elected to go to sleep while they fished.
I crawled in my sleeping bag in my tent inside the screened-in pavilion. As I was just about to fall asleep, I heard the screen door to the pavilion open and slap shut. "Wow, they are back early" I thought. As I listened for voices, I heard none. What I did hear were grunts, sniffing, and finally the roar of a GREAT WASILLA ALASKAN BLACK BEAR! Let's call him LUCIFER, The Wasilla Bear, because he scared the DEVIL out of me! Now he was trapped inside the pavilion WITH ME; unable to open the inside-swinging screen door by himself...and I surely wasn't going to escort him out. I was too busy trying to make myself INVISIBLE, no make that NON-EXISTENT, as I hid inside my tent.
I had zipped my small tent shut, but could tell when the bear got next to my tent, walking all the way around sniffing. I wondered if I smelled (well, of course I smelled...only two showers in ten days) like his next meal. I recalled the verses of scripture where the apostles were fed to the wild beasts, and wondered if that was to be my sacrifice and lasting legacy. I could see the Yazoo Herald headlines: "Yazoo Native Pastor Eaten by Alaskan Bear". Probably would sell a few more Heralds: You don't see a headline like that every week.
Finally my colleagues returned from their great Alaskan salmon adventure to play a heroic role in my great Alaskan Bear adventure, and chased the bear out the back screen door. I took my first real breath in almost TWO HOURS and finally felt free to let my heart start beating again.
So this afternoon, as I try to get through the CT Scan, I will remind myself that it is not quite as bad as almost being eaten by Lucifer, the Wasilla bear.
What a life. What a ministry.
I am allergic to CT and MRI machines, because I am CLAUSTROPHOBIC! But by the grace of God, and your prayers, my dear friends, I will get through it.
I'll just remind myself of the night I was almost eaten by a bear in Wasilla, Alaska. (I kid you not...you cannot make this stuff up!) Would you like to hear the story? Ok, if you insist. And yes, this is the same Wasilla, Alaska where Gov. Sarah Palin lives and served as mayor. (Now that the election is over, I feel free to tell the story.)
You ask, "What was a guy from Yazoo City, Mississippi doing in Wasilla, Alaska messing with bears in the first place?" Good question; I'm glad you asked.
It has long been the tradition in the Mississippi Conference of the United Methodist Church that clergy who are ordained go on a mission trip. In 1995, when I was ordained an elder, a group of about 25 of my fellow ordinands and I were assigned to go to Wasilla and Willow (about ten miles away) to help build the Willow United Methodist Church. When I say build, I mean build (Jimmy Carter style, hammer, nails and all).
We were there ten days, sleeping in tents in a screened in pavilion. I recall taking two showers during those ten days in a shower stall in which I had to jump around to try to get wet enough to wash the soap lather off my body. Thought I was back on Graball Hill back in Yazoo City: outdoor toilet and primitive plumbing.
To make a long story even longer, one night my fellow church carpenters decided to go salmon fishing, as it was salmon season, and the sun was up past midnight. Being the oldest person in the group (and the tiredest) I elected to go to sleep while they fished.
I crawled in my sleeping bag in my tent inside the screened-in pavilion. As I was just about to fall asleep, I heard the screen door to the pavilion open and slap shut. "Wow, they are back early" I thought. As I listened for voices, I heard none. What I did hear were grunts, sniffing, and finally the roar of a GREAT WASILLA ALASKAN BLACK BEAR! Let's call him LUCIFER, The Wasilla Bear, because he scared the DEVIL out of me! Now he was trapped inside the pavilion WITH ME; unable to open the inside-swinging screen door by himself...and I surely wasn't going to escort him out. I was too busy trying to make myself INVISIBLE, no make that NON-EXISTENT, as I hid inside my tent.
I had zipped my small tent shut, but could tell when the bear got next to my tent, walking all the way around sniffing. I wondered if I smelled (well, of course I smelled...only two showers in ten days) like his next meal. I recalled the verses of scripture where the apostles were fed to the wild beasts, and wondered if that was to be my sacrifice and lasting legacy. I could see the Yazoo Herald headlines: "Yazoo Native Pastor Eaten by Alaskan Bear". Probably would sell a few more Heralds: You don't see a headline like that every week.
Finally my colleagues returned from their great Alaskan salmon adventure to play a heroic role in my great Alaskan Bear adventure, and chased the bear out the back screen door. I took my first real breath in almost TWO HOURS and finally felt free to let my heart start beating again.
So this afternoon, as I try to get through the CT Scan, I will remind myself that it is not quite as bad as almost being eaten by Lucifer, the Wasilla bear.
What a life. What a ministry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
