Another Trip to Seidman Cancer Center

Seidman Cancer Center
University Circle
Cleveland, Ohio

As I posted here a couple of weeks ago (link to that post), I recently underwent some tests at the Seidman Cancer Center (University Hospitals) in University Circle. I had some bloodwork and a full-body nuclear bone scan.

Well, the numbers have come back, and I have met with my new oncologist (my former one has left the state), and it’s good news/bad news.

My metabolic panel was fine. But my PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen) has risen too much to make anyone very happy. My score on February 25 (my last test) was 1.58 (it had crept up from a low of 0.29 on July 10, 2019), and this time it was 5.12. That means one thing: the cancer is awake and active again.

Just a quick reminder: My prostate cancer has metastasized into my bones, and I really should have no PSA since a Cleveland Clinic surgeon removed my prostate gland in June 2005. But prostate cancer also secretes PSA—and that’s how we know it’s active again.

My bone scan also showed some activity—nothing too comprehensive right now. But still … spots on my spine. (In 2018 I underwent a series of radiation treatments on some other spots there.)

Yesterday morning (Tuesday) Joyce and I drove down to Seidman in University Circle, where we saw the many changes the facility has made due to COVID-19. Spacing of chairs—everyone masked—temperature taken at the door—etc.

I had to fill out endless paperwork (new oncologist and all), but I know that all that information is in the UH system: I’ve been a Seidman patient for quite a while now. Oh well: Although annoying, it kept my mind off ... darker things.

Anyway, Joyce and I were very pleased with the new oncologist—informed, patient, warm, concerned. Treated our questions with respect. Not in a hurry to get somewhere else. 

But, as I said to Joyce on the way home, it's clear now that my road is getting shorter.

He’s recommending a new drug regimen (Xtandi is the drug--link to info about it), one that could have some more unpleasant side-effects (including making worse my dizziness). And if that regimen doesn’t work—or when its benefits begin to wane (as they inevitably will)—next comes chemo. Not the most pleasant of treatments--as some of you know firsthand.

And depending on what happens in my spine (where the cancer now appears to be mildly active), I may have some more radiation, too.

I know—and have known for a long time—that all these treatments I've undergone are merely temporary. They merely delay the inevitable. My body, so far, has done a good job of battling this Thing, but the Thing will eventually win. Sooner? Later? No one’s really sure.

I have tried hard to give myself a chance. I don't smoke or drink. I eat healthful food (in moderate amounts). I exercise as much as I safely can. My dizziness has made my former, fairly rigorous, routines impossible. But I still walk about a mile each day, ride our exercise bike about three miles each day. All this has worked pretty well for fifteen years.

But now I'm about to enter a new phase. In all likelihood, as I said, I'm about to experience some side-effects that will be even more unpleasant than the ones I'm already dealing with. And, as I also said, I'm realizing that the road I'm on is not endless--long and winding though it's been.

But I do know I’m in the good hands of a fine physician who works in a very good place, so all I can do is follow his recommendations, endure what I must endure, hold fast to Joyce’s hand—and to the hands of my son and his family.

And keep doing what I love for as long as I can.