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Six years ago my dad was diagnosed with bowel cancer.
It was... unexpected. He'd had constipation all week, went in to hospital for a laxative, and suddenly he was being prepped for theatre.
I remember the night because we had tickets to go see Concrete Blonde. My mum called me as I was getting ready to go out, and I said something like "Oh. We have a concert tonight. I'll come see Dad tomorrow."
It was only after I put the phone down that I realised how stupid that was. But like I said - unexpected. I called back, gave the tickets to some friends, and caught a lift with my sister to the hospital.
So Dad had surgery, followed by chemotherapy. He lost weight. His hair fell out. He was tired and miserable. All the usual things that happen to chemotherapy patients. Dad hated it. He's a stubborn old Dutchie, used to his independence and a weekly bushwalk. He hated being so weak, so helpless.
But the doctors got the cancer in time. Dad recovered. Last year, after five years of testing, he was given the official All Clear.
Then early this year a blood test revealed he had the early stages of prostate cancer.
The doctors were pretty nonchalant about it. Dad's in his mid seventies, they said. The PSA readings are pretty low. Provided we kept an eye on things, Dad would probably die of old age before it became an issue.
Perhaps remembering his last treatment, Dad was happy to accept that advice. It took a lot of gentle pressure from the family to persuade him that maybe treating it now would be easier and more effective than waiting until later when things got bad.
Eventually he agreed. I think the thing that convinced him was that there were two options for treatment. One was a short, intense program of radiotherapy, with the usual side-effects. The other spread the radiotherapy out over 39 low-dose sessions. It would take longer, but there would be minimal side effects.
Dad took the low-but-long course. Every week day for the next eight weeks he rocked up to the Box Hill Hospital and got zapped in the nethers. I think he even enjoyed it. He got to chat to the nurses, and he said getting changed into the hospital gown took longer than treatment itself.
There were some minor side effects - some tiredness, and an upset stomach. But nothing like what he went through last time.
The treatment finished about a month ago. Today he got the results of the tests to see if they got it.
Doctors test for prostate cancer by looking for PSA - Prostate Specific Antigen, followed by a rectal examination if levels are high. (There's a good website about it here.)
For a male of Dad's age, a PSA level of 5.5 is about normal (lower is better, higher is worse). Dad's tests at the start of year had him at 6.5 to 7.
His level after treatment?
0.08
He'll need to keep getting tested for the rest of his life. And I better start having them too.
But for the moment, we are stoked. :)
It was... unexpected. He'd had constipation all week, went in to hospital for a laxative, and suddenly he was being prepped for theatre.
I remember the night because we had tickets to go see Concrete Blonde. My mum called me as I was getting ready to go out, and I said something like "Oh. We have a concert tonight. I'll come see Dad tomorrow."
It was only after I put the phone down that I realised how stupid that was. But like I said - unexpected. I called back, gave the tickets to some friends, and caught a lift with my sister to the hospital.
So Dad had surgery, followed by chemotherapy. He lost weight. His hair fell out. He was tired and miserable. All the usual things that happen to chemotherapy patients. Dad hated it. He's a stubborn old Dutchie, used to his independence and a weekly bushwalk. He hated being so weak, so helpless.
But the doctors got the cancer in time. Dad recovered. Last year, after five years of testing, he was given the official All Clear.
Then early this year a blood test revealed he had the early stages of prostate cancer.
The doctors were pretty nonchalant about it. Dad's in his mid seventies, they said. The PSA readings are pretty low. Provided we kept an eye on things, Dad would probably die of old age before it became an issue.
Perhaps remembering his last treatment, Dad was happy to accept that advice. It took a lot of gentle pressure from the family to persuade him that maybe treating it now would be easier and more effective than waiting until later when things got bad.
Eventually he agreed. I think the thing that convinced him was that there were two options for treatment. One was a short, intense program of radiotherapy, with the usual side-effects. The other spread the radiotherapy out over 39 low-dose sessions. It would take longer, but there would be minimal side effects.
Dad took the low-but-long course. Every week day for the next eight weeks he rocked up to the Box Hill Hospital and got zapped in the nethers. I think he even enjoyed it. He got to chat to the nurses, and he said getting changed into the hospital gown took longer than treatment itself.
There were some minor side effects - some tiredness, and an upset stomach. But nothing like what he went through last time.
The treatment finished about a month ago. Today he got the results of the tests to see if they got it.
Doctors test for prostate cancer by looking for PSA - Prostate Specific Antigen, followed by a rectal examination if levels are high. (There's a good website about it here.)
For a male of Dad's age, a PSA level of 5.5 is about normal (lower is better, higher is worse). Dad's tests at the start of year had him at 6.5 to 7.
His level after treatment?
0.08
He'll need to keep getting tested for the rest of his life. And I better start having them too.
But for the moment, we are stoked. :)
