Entry for 13 March 2014:
It’s been a bit
more than 3½ years since my prostate cancer surgery (a radical prostatectomy). You’re supposed to have your PSA (prostate
serum antigen) checked once a year for at least 5 years post-surgery. However, the NHS doesn’t remind you; you have
to take responsibility for yourself, so it took me a while to organize myself
to get it done. I kept putting it off:
there was my passport to get renewed, then I needed to organize myself with a
dentist, EFT training in Belgium and the Netherlands, that sort of thing.
Last week, I
finally got around to getting a blood sample drawn for this. I think it was the hip pain I’d been
having. There is a hypochondriac part of
me that worries about worst case medical scenarios: What if the cancer has come back and gotten
in my bones, as it can do? Ironically, I
was busy ignoring the most likely explanation of the hip pain: an incipient
running injury from over-exercise (possibly exacerbated by old/flat shoes, hard
interval training, and hard running surfaces).
This week the running injury came to a head in the form of a painful
episode of what is most likely bursitis, and as a result I’m taking an enforced
holiday from running.
Finally,
yesterday, I was able to finally get the results from my GP. The first time I
phoned, the receptionist told me the results were “satisfactory”. I phoned back, and eventually the GP told me
the PSA level was “less than 0.01” ie, undetectable. This was the “satisfactory” result I was
hoping for: Any evidence of PSA after a
radical prostatectomy means that the cancer has come back.
After getting
this news, as I walked back to the train station from my office, I reflected on
the 3½ years since my surgery: Almost
half the time we’ve been in Scotland.
Since then, my mom has died at the end of the 2 months I spent in
California helping care for her; my old dear friend Margaret has died of
cancer; my youngest son Kenneth has moved from Ohio to Iowa; my grandson Yuki
has been born; and Diane and I have celebrated our 40th wedding
anniversary. The Counselling Unit has
moved from Jordanhill to the Glasgow city centre; I’ve published two dozen
articles or book chapters; and regular EFT training has started in Belgium and
the Netherlands. In the meantime, I’ve
tried to lead a less stressful life, continued regular adventures with Diane,
and watched my granddaughter Muziki grow.
I feel profoundly grateful for these and many more experiences and gifts. I feel more deeply connected to others and
more genuinely happy than ever in my work as a trainer and therapist.
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