It’s been more than eight years since the radiation, and there are still no signs of cancer returning.  So why do I dread this afternoon’s checkup so much?

Prostate cancer, eight years and counting.

Almost forgot that Wednesday was the seventh anniversary of getting my prostate nuked.  One hundred fifty-three little seeds getting injected up there to kill cells that were trying to kill me.  While there wasn’t much to say on that day (yay ‘conscious sedation’) the posts immediately following are still up in the archives.  Going to assume the forgetfulness isn’t just a sign of aging but of moving on.  Seven years without a hint of life out of the evil little mutants is a good thing, and I have no need to dwell on the dead.

Spent the morning at BorgHealth getting scoped. I’d hoped to have some photos to share – some frontal organs to match the images from the rear in 2003.  Alas, it was not to be.

The procedure (a cystoscopy for you technical types) was not fun.  Flat on my back in a stylish little gown, fiber optics were run up the urethra (yes, inserted through that little hole there) and my amazing doctor took a little virtual tour of my urinary tract all the way up to the bladder.  While touring the bladder he grabbed a little souvenir – something to remember me by, and study and test and such.  Then in a flash, both in sense of time and the blazing pain, the fiber optics were removed and I was free to clean myself up and skedaddle.  Which I quickly did before they could change their minds and run that camera anywhere else.

I have no idea what, if anything, is wrong.  Due to the history of prostate cancer and the diverticulitis my great doctors are opting for that ‘abundance of caution’ thing, and I let them do their thing.  Failing lab tests is nothing new.  It’s the reason I was a liberal arts major.  BorgHealth takes it seriously though, and I like that they have a purpose.  I was just hoping to get some photos out of the procedure to use for this year’s holiday cards.  Now we’re going to have to go with ‘puppy on the beach’ and be like every other couple.

An otherwise great weekend is being marred by news of the death of J.G. Ballard and the imminent death of a friend’s beloved pet of 15 years.  I haven’t explored Ballard’s writings as much as I should, but was a huge fan of the film of his autobiography, Empire of the Sun.  Prostate cancer deaths always twist my emotions just a little bit harder; going to have to find some of his other books at the library this week.  As for the other, spending time with Diego now and planning for the consumption of alcohol is very near future.

The downside to having a good doctor on the cancer is that word got out, and now it’s nearly impossible to see him. The nom de blog Borghealth kept popping back into my mind while on hold this morning. Yes, you’ve been on the wait list for a month and a half. No, we don’t know when he’ll be available again. The drones used to tell you when new dates on the calendar would be released for scheduling, but now all they’ll say is to call back ‘periodically.’ I think my six-month checkup is going to be closer to a year this time around. At least I have a lab slip to get my bloodwork done – good results there should relieve some of the semi-annual stress.

It’s been more than five years since Howling Point proudly presented Ultrasounds Of A Prostate. Now we regret to show you, via excessive and overflowing linky love, Henry: Portrait of a Would-Be Chad Killer over at the Untitled Chad Darnell Project. Go wish Chad well.