Each day, we likely take some very important things for granted. Like breathing, for instance. This morning during my self-guided yoga session I was spending a few moments just concentrating on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Repeat. Even with concentration, I realized that I was really taking each breath, and the next, for granted. But each breath is precious, vital, and tenuous.
Yesterday morning, at about two AM Mountain Time, my sister, Sarah Leane, stopped breathing. She had breathed her very last. She will be dearly missed. Sarah, at 86, was the eldest sibling and the last, save me, surviving. I had earlier lost my two brothers -- one at age 70 and one at 82. My parents, of course, have been gone for decades so as far as my immediate blood family goes I am now truly alone. I told a niece that I feel like an orphan.
In. Out. In. Out. Repeat.
Our oldest son, Vincent, a foster child yet one we love dearly, cannot take breathing for granted. He is suffering some sort of lung disorder whereby his lungs are only working at about 60% capacity. For months he's been unable to work, short of breath and quickly in cardiac distress with any normal exertion, and his family is having troubles due to the lack of income. Doctors have been ineffective. Through a broad battery of tests, including biopsies, they have not been able to definitively diagnose the disease. This week, he was admitted for an invasive process to open his chest and examine the lungs and get some additional tissue for tests. We are hoping for results by today, Friday, November 16, 2018. We were told it was a simple procedure and that he'd be out of hospital in a day or so. Not so. Three days in and he's coded twice and has now been moved to intensive care where they can use a positive pressure respirator to assist his breathing. Before this move (but after the procedure) he was unable to maintain sufficient oxygenation without supplemental O2. Then it got to where he wasn't getting enough oxygen even with supplemental under a C-PAP type oxygen mask. We are so praying for him and also hoping for a diagnosis that will allow the medics to help his body fix whatever is ailing him. Meanwhile, the VA has been essentially telling him that there is nothing wrong with him as if he were a malingerer. Nothing could be further from the truth.
In. Out. In. Out. Repeat.
Keep doing it, Vincent, we pray.
Our prayers received a, "Sorry, no." answer on December 4, 2018, when Vincent passed away. He left a wife, three young children, four adult children, and a granddaughter behind. Vincent passed while we were in Israel touring the Holy Land. Our last conversation with him was via Skype from our hotel in Jerusalem.
Showing posts with label biopsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label biopsy. Show all posts
Friday, November 16, 2018
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Positively EZ or easily positive?
October 20, 2015
My biopsy was collected on the afternoon of September 24, 2015, by Dr. Duffey in the urology clinic at the Brooke Army Medical Center (BAMC) within the San Antonio Military Medical Center (SAMMC). As I dressed afterward, Dr. Duffey said, "Make an appointment to come back in two weeks. I don't share results over the telephone -- good or bad, I do it face to face."
My appointment for receiving the results was made for the afternoon of October 8th. It was a convenient time, as I already had an appointment scheduled at the ophthalmology clinic on the morning of that same day. For at least 10 days prior to my appointment I found that I was unable to accomplish anything and could not concentrate for 10 minutes. I couldn't read, I couldn't write, I couldn't watch TV or a movie. I did not know why until I realized that at some level I was frightened. Upon that realization, I went and talked to a friend, really opening up. That helped.
I checked into the urology clinic after lunch on the 8th and was directed to the waiting area to see Dr. Duffey. As I sat on the slippery vinyl I tried to anticipate my appointment and receiving the feedback that the biopsy was negative. I mean, after all, I'm not sick, I have no pain, must be no problem, right? What, exactly, would I tell my family? Would I write about it in my blog? Would the doctor ask me to repeat the biopsy at some future date? With these thoughts in my head, I drifted into a light sleep.
"MR. MOYES!" Oh. My name. My appointment. Shaking my head to awaken, I stood and received my direction to Dr. Duffey's office, where I was greeted and seated.
Dr. Duffey did not mince words: "Your biopsy was positive."
There was more; a lot more, and I think I actually recall most of it, but I don't need to write about it here. The summary: of fourteen needle biopsy samples two were negative for cancer, four were questionable, and eight were positive. Of the eight positive samples, some had as much as 60% of the cells cancerous. This cancer, prostate cancer, is rated for risk using something called the Gleason Scale rated from 2 - 10. I recall that Dr. Duffey was professional, positive, and kind. He had earlier, before the biopsy, explained carefully that prostate cancer is not a death sentence -- it is generally not aggressive and most men of my advanced years that are diagnosed with prostate cancer die with the disease, not of the disease. And it is common: nearly half of the men who reach their mid-60s will have prostate cancer. With a Gleason score of 7, I am a patient of "Intermediate Risk." Dr. Duffey outlined my options: (1) Watchful waiting; (2) Prostatectomy by surgery; (3) External radiation therapy; (4) Implanted radiation "seeds." I, the patient, must decide which course to follow.
So that leaves options 2, surgery, or 3, external radiation. Dr. Duffey assures me that I don't need to make the decision right away but again stresses that I will have to make the decision. He explained that I (and my wife) would be enrolled in their comprehensive prostate cancer clinic whereby we would receive broad counseling from every medical and helping specialty known to man. I was introduced to Janet, who runs the comprehensive cancer clinic and she enrolled me (us) and gave me a verbal overview. In addition to the counseling, we will meet with survivors and current patients and have group sessions. Our first appointment for the comprehensive clinic is scheduled for the 28th of this month. Only after meeting with and being briefed by surgeons, radiation oncologists, nutritionists, psychologists, financial counselors, and the kitchen sink will I have to decide on a course of treatment. I left the clinic on the eighth of October with a bagful of reading assignments: books, leaflets, pamphlets, sheets, and a long list of internet links.
So, I have cancer. Cancer that is common and is not normally considered to be aggressive, not normally considered to be fatal. But my particular cancer is on the more aggressive side of the scale for prostate cancer, hence the Gleason score of 7. I have cancer. It does not have me.
I will have to make a treatment choice. Right now I'm leaning toward the surgery, but I won't make a final decision until after I speak to the range of counselors. Modern surgery is much less invasive than in recent past years. They use an orthoscopic technique with robotic assistance. The doctor says convalescence is normally comparatively short and most men are back to full function within about three months. Some men experience a loss of sexual function with the prostatectomy. Some don't. There will be other side effects with surgery and with radiation therapy. We will deal with those as needed. This is so new to me, because, you see, at age 65, I've never had any invasive surgery; never been hospitalized, and rarely ill beyond a head cold, so I've been blessed up until now. I did have a small skin cancer removed from my upper back a couple years ago, but that was outpatient, quick, and painless.
Now I'm reading the book, "What helped me get through" written by and about cancer survivors. I have shared the news with close friends and family. I don't see any reason for this to be a secret, but I don't think the world needs to know, either. But I need to clarify my thoughts, and writing is one way I do that, so I'm writing. I'm working. I'm scheduling and attending events with my family. I'm enjoying things that I want to enjoy. I've also told my three sons that they are at increased risk of prostate cancer (their uncle, my eldest brother, is a prostate cancer survivor, so the tendency is definitely in the family) and advised them to ensure they talk to their doctors and get their checkups.
Over the next weeks (months?) we will be busy with appointments and procedures. We will deal with it and do what needs to be done. I thank our Father in Heaven for the good years I have had and for the good days I am having now. My last two blog posts are about family and friends time. It seems sweeter now than ever before and I am thankful. Friends and I are working on an idea for founding a nonprofit organization that should do a lot of good. I am thankful for the opportunity to contribute in a small way. I think I'll take the initiative to do my home teaching, visiting the few families in our ward congregation that I've been called to minister to. I am thankful for that opportunity.
And with this, and for now, I wish you all well. Guys: Talk to your doctor. Have your exam!!
My biopsy was collected on the afternoon of September 24, 2015, by Dr. Duffey in the urology clinic at the Brooke Army Medical Center (BAMC) within the San Antonio Military Medical Center (SAMMC). As I dressed afterward, Dr. Duffey said, "Make an appointment to come back in two weeks. I don't share results over the telephone -- good or bad, I do it face to face."
My appointment for receiving the results was made for the afternoon of October 8th. It was a convenient time, as I already had an appointment scheduled at the ophthalmology clinic on the morning of that same day. For at least 10 days prior to my appointment I found that I was unable to accomplish anything and could not concentrate for 10 minutes. I couldn't read, I couldn't write, I couldn't watch TV or a movie. I did not know why until I realized that at some level I was frightened. Upon that realization, I went and talked to a friend, really opening up. That helped.
I checked into the urology clinic after lunch on the 8th and was directed to the waiting area to see Dr. Duffey. As I sat on the slippery vinyl I tried to anticipate my appointment and receiving the feedback that the biopsy was negative. I mean, after all, I'm not sick, I have no pain, must be no problem, right? What, exactly, would I tell my family? Would I write about it in my blog? Would the doctor ask me to repeat the biopsy at some future date? With these thoughts in my head, I drifted into a light sleep.
"MR. MOYES!" Oh. My name. My appointment. Shaking my head to awaken, I stood and received my direction to Dr. Duffey's office, where I was greeted and seated.
Dr. Duffey did not mince words: "Your biopsy was positive."
There was more; a lot more, and I think I actually recall most of it, but I don't need to write about it here. The summary: of fourteen needle biopsy samples two were negative for cancer, four were questionable, and eight were positive. Of the eight positive samples, some had as much as 60% of the cells cancerous. This cancer, prostate cancer, is rated for risk using something called the Gleason Scale rated from 2 - 10. I recall that Dr. Duffey was professional, positive, and kind. He had earlier, before the biopsy, explained carefully that prostate cancer is not a death sentence -- it is generally not aggressive and most men of my advanced years that are diagnosed with prostate cancer die with the disease, not of the disease. And it is common: nearly half of the men who reach their mid-60s will have prostate cancer. With a Gleason score of 7, I am a patient of "Intermediate Risk." Dr. Duffey outlined my options: (1) Watchful waiting; (2) Prostatectomy by surgery; (3) External radiation therapy; (4) Implanted radiation "seeds." I, the patient, must decide which course to follow.
- Option 1, watchful waiting is not a good choice for a Gleason 7, Dr. Duffey says.
- Option 2, surgery is Dr. Duffey's choice, but he is a surgeon and admits to prejudice here.
- Option 3, external radiation is, he says, also a good choice and tells me I'll consult with a radiation oncologist before I make my decision.
- Option 4 is not done at BAMC.
So that leaves options 2, surgery, or 3, external radiation. Dr. Duffey assures me that I don't need to make the decision right away but again stresses that I will have to make the decision. He explained that I (and my wife) would be enrolled in their comprehensive prostate cancer clinic whereby we would receive broad counseling from every medical and helping specialty known to man. I was introduced to Janet, who runs the comprehensive cancer clinic and she enrolled me (us) and gave me a verbal overview. In addition to the counseling, we will meet with survivors and current patients and have group sessions. Our first appointment for the comprehensive clinic is scheduled for the 28th of this month. Only after meeting with and being briefed by surgeons, radiation oncologists, nutritionists, psychologists, financial counselors, and the kitchen sink will I have to decide on a course of treatment. I left the clinic on the eighth of October with a bagful of reading assignments: books, leaflets, pamphlets, sheets, and a long list of internet links.
So, I have cancer. Cancer that is common and is not normally considered to be aggressive, not normally considered to be fatal. But my particular cancer is on the more aggressive side of the scale for prostate cancer, hence the Gleason score of 7. I have cancer. It does not have me.
I will have to make a treatment choice. Right now I'm leaning toward the surgery, but I won't make a final decision until after I speak to the range of counselors. Modern surgery is much less invasive than in recent past years. They use an orthoscopic technique with robotic assistance. The doctor says convalescence is normally comparatively short and most men are back to full function within about three months. Some men experience a loss of sexual function with the prostatectomy. Some don't. There will be other side effects with surgery and with radiation therapy. We will deal with those as needed. This is so new to me, because, you see, at age 65, I've never had any invasive surgery; never been hospitalized, and rarely ill beyond a head cold, so I've been blessed up until now. I did have a small skin cancer removed from my upper back a couple years ago, but that was outpatient, quick, and painless.
Now I'm reading the book, "What helped me get through" written by and about cancer survivors. I have shared the news with close friends and family. I don't see any reason for this to be a secret, but I don't think the world needs to know, either. But I need to clarify my thoughts, and writing is one way I do that, so I'm writing. I'm working. I'm scheduling and attending events with my family. I'm enjoying things that I want to enjoy. I've also told my three sons that they are at increased risk of prostate cancer (their uncle, my eldest brother, is a prostate cancer survivor, so the tendency is definitely in the family) and advised them to ensure they talk to their doctors and get their checkups.
Over the next weeks (months?) we will be busy with appointments and procedures. We will deal with it and do what needs to be done. I thank our Father in Heaven for the good years I have had and for the good days I am having now. My last two blog posts are about family and friends time. It seems sweeter now than ever before and I am thankful. Friends and I are working on an idea for founding a nonprofit organization that should do a lot of good. I am thankful for the opportunity to contribute in a small way. I think I'll take the initiative to do my home teaching, visiting the few families in our ward congregation that I've been called to minister to. I am thankful for that opportunity.
And with this, and for now, I wish you all well. Guys: Talk to your doctor. Have your exam!!
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