The doctor comes bounding into the room in his usual way and sits down. He then proceeds to tell me the blood work came back and everything looks great with the exception of my PSA. OK, heard it before Doc, just get to the, "We're going to monitor it every six months for the next year," part.
"Your PSA has climbed to 5.6, so I'm referring you for a prostate biopsy (gulp) and if it's cancer, we'll just send you to Columbus for robotic surgery and take care of it. Take this out to the girl at the desk and she'll schedule an appointment with the Urologist. Any questions?"
Ummmmm...yeah, about a thousand beginning with, "WHAT? What the hell happened to monitoring? Is this thing gonna hurt? What do you mean cancer? Is this thing gonna hurt? Can I still drink? And, is this thing gonna hurt" but what I say is, "Nope!"
I hand the paper to the lady at the desk, she calls the Urologist and schedules an appointment for me on August 24 with Dr. Peck (no jokes please). Then I get in my car, call Lucia and tell her I've been referred for a biopsy (horrible word, biopsy). Then I go back to work, but all I can think about is what might be in front of me (or in the case of the biopsy, as I understand it...behind me). The two weeks before the appointment are filled with all manner of thoughts, sleepless hours, and remaining falsely brave to the world.
I contact friends I know have been through the whole prostate cancer thing and they begin my education. I've got a lot to learn and absolutely no desire to do so. And now...Here's Dr. Peck!
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