In an earlier article I wrote about being diagnosed with prostate cancer and was considering all the options I’d been given for treatment, but at that point I hadn’t made a decision. I promised I’d post an update when I did.
My choice was to have a prostatectomy, and as I’m writing this I’ve gone through it and I’m currently sitting at home recovering from the surgery. This article is here to give anyone else facing this decision my personal experience so you can kind of know what to expect.
Prostate cancer is a serious health risk that affects numerous men worldwide. The treatments vary from radiation therapy, hormone therapy to surgical interventions, such as a prostatectomy. Each option comes with its unique challenges and potential side effects, but after careful consultation with my doctor, we decided that a prostatectomy was the best course of action for me.
Making the decision wasn’t easy. It involved numerous consultations, sleepless nights, and an emotional roller coaster ride. The thought of an invasive surgery and its implications was daunting, but after a full body scan that verified the cancer had not spread and was located only in the prostate, the prostatectomy seemed the most direct and absolute solution.
Here was the logic involved: If I’d chosen radiation treatment, that is what I would have been stuck with. Operating becomes very difficult after all the damage that radiation does to the internal organs. If I had been much older (I’m currently 62) radiation might have been a better choice, but being that I theoretically have 25 or so years left (maybe longer, I have multiple centenarians in my family) it’s best to go with surgery, get it over with, and still have radiation as a backup for cancer that may pop up in the future.
I met with the surgeon who explained exactly what would happen. He explained the risks involved. He also showed me the success rate. It was extremely high, and because there was a robot involved, very precise.
Treatment included a night in the hospital, recovery and monitoring the next day, and if all went well they would send me home. I would have a catheter for a while, and several interesting scars on my belly. And the cancer would be gone.
I gotta tell you, I didn’t want to do it. Part of me kept thinking, “Hey, is this really worth it? It will change the quality of my life from this point on.” Mainly I was dreading spending over a week with a catheter, and then months or years wearing adult diapers. I have an old friend who went through this years ago and he just yesterday told me it took him two years to get back control of his bladder.
I couldn’t let that sway me from the alternative: eventual death by cancer. That would be worse. Now, seriously, I had to convince myself of that, because I was feeling fine, I was not sick, nothing really seemed to be wrong except for these biopsy results that said I had cancer. It was not a tangible threat that I could see for myself — I had to take their word on it.
Ultimately I accepted the fact, and in preparation stocked up on about 4 months worth of Depends and “chuck pads.”
The Prostatectomy
This is how I remember it. I’m not sure how accurate this is, because anesthesia messes with your memory. Even now as I write this, my short-term memory is messed up and, as I was told, this is a normal side effect and will last about a week.
After checking in at the hospital, they escorted me to a surgery prep room where I met and talked with nurses, the surgeon, and my anesthesiologist. I disrobed, put on the dreaded hospital gown, and made myself comfortable on a bed as they took my vitals and installed an IV.
That took about two hours. I think. Not 100% sure because they’d already started giving me the drugs.
I remember being wheeled out and down hallways, into an elevator, down another hallway and into an operating room. It was very bright. Extremelybright. That’s when I got a good look at the robot, which unfortunately didn’t look anything like R2D2 or CP30. However, it did look extremely clean.
They physically lifted me off the wheeled gurney and onto the operating table, and the anesthesiologist gave me whatever it was that knocked me out, and it happened really fast. It only seemed a few minutes later that I was waking up in a … I don’t know where. I can’t remember where I woke up, but I do remember being wheeled on a hospital bed and into a room, and knew the procedure was over with — but I didn’t know much else. I think I drifted in an out of sleep for a while.
When I did start coming to my senses, that’s when I realized I had the catheter installed, and I was thirsty, and loved ones were asking how I was.
I was fine. I was surprised by how fine I was. Only hours later, they coaxed me out of the bed and had me walking around, but they had a belt on me to keep me from falling in case I lost my balance. A heavy duty leash, basically.
To my surprise, the catheter didn’t bother me at all. At least not while I was at the hospital. More on that later.
I had a late dinner of clear broth, etc., and the same thing the next morning. One of the pain killers they gave me caused my blood pressure to go low, but not dangerously so. It wasn’t a narcotic, or at least that was what they said, as I’d told them I didn’t want opioids if at all possible — they said it wasn’t, that it was more like an ultra-strong intravenous version of ibuprofen.
I was able to get up and walk around, being very careful with the catheter bag, and when they brought lunch, I ate it standing up. One of the weird things I noticed, though, is I had a mild sunburn on my forehead. It took me a while to figure that out: the bright lights in the operating room. They must have been ultraviolet.
After a quick discussion with the surgeon, he gave the okay, and I was discharged.
Recovering At Home
I’m still in this process, but so far so good.
I’d had a drain tube in me which they pulled out right before sending me home. It’s an open wound and kind of freaked me out for a while, but they gave me a good supply of sterile gauze and tape and showed me how to keep it clean and covered while it continues oozing bodily fluids. Eventually it will close on it’s own, and at the time of this writing it’s down to just a little cut.
Besides that, there are five incisions on my stomach which are stitched up with dissolving sutures, and glued shut. I’m to keep an eye on them, watching for redness at the edges that are larger than 1/2 inch.
I have a tube coming out of my poor abused penis leading to a bag, all of which has to be kept very clean so as to not give me a urinary tract infection. I’m to watch for clots. Also I’m supposed to get up and walk a lot, and stairs are okay, which is good because I live in a three story house. I have a list of things which, if they happen, I’m supposed to go straight to the emergency room at the hospital.
So far none of those things have happened.
The catheter is not quite as bad as I’d feared, but it really is annoying and kind of humiliating. That comes out in a few days and I’ve been warned by friends who’ve had them to bring towels and maybe even a change of clothes for when they remove it, as it may be a mega urine splat fest.
I am both dreading, and looking forward, to this event.
Because of the aforementioned short term memory problem, caused by the after affects of the anesthesia, I have to write down my medications as I take them, and when I took them, because I keep forgetting if I took them. They did give me opioid pain killers but so far just rotating ibuprofen and acetaminophen has kept the pain at bay. When I wake up in the morning and the pain meds have worn off, it just feels like really sore muscles.
Depends adult diapers are actually quite comfortable, though I haven’t actually needed them. Yet. I’m wearing them, and sleeping on chuck pads, just in case.
So far, so good.
The pelvic floor muscle control that I was in danger of losing, and having to relearn, seems to still be under my control. I’ll find out exactly how under control after the catheter is out.
Going by the literature, I can regain full control in as little as a month, or in as long as a year, or … as my old friend experienced … even longer.
I suspect in my case I’m not going to take that long. Or at least that’s what I’m hoping.
Do I regret doing it?
Nope. It’s over with. I’m already functioning again. The worst thing about the ordeal so far is the catheter, but in the scale of awful things, it’s not that big a deal. There are things far, far worse, and I’m just grateful that I’m only dealing with a catheter and not cancer.
For those who needed to hear this, I hope it helps you.