It's been several months since my last
post. I was shaken from my lethargy by a visit with a friend who's
husband was diagnosed with PC today sporting a Gleason of 9. She is,
understandably, upset and fearful, but she said they had spoken of me
on the way home as a poster-child for survival (not sure that's
warranted, but I'm happy to fill any role that helps during, what I
remember as, a very difficult time).
What I recall best is the feeling of
isolation and complete confusion as to what the best course of action
to choose. No one, at least no doctor, will tell you what you should
do and you're left alone to make what may well be the biggest
decision of your life. As I've mentioned elsewhere in this blog, one
of the most confusing factors in the decision process is the apparent
equality of outcomes for each type of treatment.
The role of the spouse at this time
(although it's critical throughout the ordeal) cannot be over
emphasized. While just as frightened as the husband (maybe more),
the spouse can only look on and be supportive while her mate
struggles with the diagnosis and the decision. The male doesn't know
what the outcome will be, and what will be left of his “maleness”
following treatment. He is, therefore, likely to occasionally be an
asshole and difficult to be around. Been there, done that. Men are
still stuck in early adolescence...and the thought we may have to
wear a diaper, or not be able to “perform” signals an end to our
masculinity...in our mind.
All of this just makes the decision
process that much more difficult. The next few weeks of further
testing and decisions will be difficult for my friends, but we will
be there with them whenever possible (and invited). And I'm glad I
can add some perspective from a rearview mirror much as Norbert
Peiker and Ken Jones provided me.
