Cancer in Winter, Optimism in Spring

The grass in the backyard has come in dark and deep. The flowering trees in my neighborhood — magnolia and crab apple, dogwood and weeping cherry — are all billow and burst. Meanwhile, the robins hold sunrise conclaves on the front lawn, and the night birds gab and gossip past midnight.

I think I know how those birds feel.

After a very long winter of radiation and hormone treatment for my prostate cancer — a winter that sometimes felt as if it might never end — I, too, find myself giddy with the rush and optimism of spring.

I got the results late last month of my first post-treatment PSA blood test, and it measured less than 0.1. (PSA, for prostate specific antigen, is a way of determining whether prostate cancer is present in the body.) I know deep down that this is only the first of many tests to come — the next one is scheduled for three months from now — but “less than 0.1” is suddenly my new favorite number.

Besides that test result, there are other signs of personal renewal. The hair between my navel and my knees, defoliated by radiation, is growing back, and my radiation “tan” has just about faded.

I’ve stopped using any kind of man-pad for incontinence — I’d forgotten that wearing underwear can actually feel airy — and the random clandestine trickle is a fair trade for the sense of freedom. I still exercise my bladder muscles, though, and when I have to go, I have to go.

When I met with my oncologist the other day, my vital signs were more a reflection of the old me, before cancer. My blood pressure was 110/70 and my pulse 61, but I weighed 219.4 pounds — about 20 pounds more than I’m used to.

Lupron, the hormone used in my treatment to suppress testosterone (the fuel for prostate cancer), led to a weight gain of 25 pounds or so. But the dual gambits of having a buzz cut and wearing my shirts outside my jeans lead people to act shocked when I say that I need to lose 20 pounds. Of course, they could be faking it for my sake.

I had my last Lupron shot two-and-a-half months ago, and my testosterone level has crept back to 364; between 241 and 827 is the normal range. With that increase, my prodigal libido has finally skulked back home, like a muddy and randy mutt that’s run off for a couple days. I’ve even started running again.

Not that everything is perfect. My sex drive is back, but erectile function is still a work in progress. And even now, 10 months after the surgery to remove my prostate, I get stray twinges where I was cut.

And as good as I feel these days, my energy level is still erratic. When the sun goes down, I usually start sinking, too — into my armchair in the den. And on Friday nights, at the end of the workweek, I’m about as perky as an extra in a George Romero zombie movie.

In those moments, though, I remind myself that I’m still a patient — and will be for a long time. And that there are still plenty of lessons to be learned and talked about.

But as I run in the park near my house at dusk, huffing and scuffing through the pink and white petals — and trying to sweat off those 20 parasitic pounds —I don’t feel like a patient.

As lacrosse and soccer practices wind down, as old couples and young couples stroll, and as the dogs keenly sniff at each other, I simply feel like myself. And I haven’t felt that way in a long time.