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| Seidman Cancer Center |
Prostate
cancer—when it’s on the loose (as mine yearns to be)—likes to look for a new
home. Bladders are nice; bones are best. So every now and then I find myself
lying under a kind of Star Trek machine
getting a nuclear bone scan.
It was
almost exactly ten years ago when I learned via biopsy that I had the disease.
Subsequent surgery (removal of the gland) and a month-long course of radiation failed to do more than
delay the progress (what a dark meaning this word can have) of the cancer, so
since July 2013 I’ve been getting quarterly injections (in the derrière) of
Lupron, a drug that zaps my testosterone, the “fuel” of prostrate cancer. Since
that first injection I’ve found a new fondness for herbal teas and talking about
my feelings. (Not really—but certain other notable male feelings and capacities
have vanished like the dinosaurs--I’m hoping medical researchers soon produce
for me a personal version of Jurassic
Park.)
Before I
began the Lupron treatments, I’d had several nuclear bone scans at the
Cleveland Clinic. They all showed the damnedest thing—one rib was illuminated
its entire length. That’s the only abnormality they found. I had a pain in that
rib, too (one of the ones in the middle of my back, left side), a pain that
declared itself only when I leaned back into something hard--like the … rib … of a
chair. My Clinic oncologist wasn’t sure it was a sign of metastatic prostate cancer,
so he held off on treatment, and no subsequent scan showed any advancement or
retreat or any other change.
But then my
PSA began to rise again, and I decided to shift treatment to the Seidman Cancer
Center at University Hospitals. It was there that I first got my first Lupron needle-in-the-butt
to attempt to send my PSA back to zero. Which it did … for the nonce. And the
pain in that naughty rib disappeared, too. Hmmmmmm.
But my
wonderful UH oncologist—a bright and caring and careful man—thought it would be
prudent to have another scan. So that’s what I’ve been doing today. Actually, I’m
having two scans today. One is to
check bone density. Lupron diminishes/weakens bones, so I take a pretty
heavy-duty dose of calcium/vitamin D every day. I had that scan about an hour
ago as I type this (it’s a little before noon) in the Starbucks on Chagrin
Blvd. about a mile from Seidman.
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| scanner for bone density |
After that
scan, I got an injection of a radioactive agent (and, yes, I made a Spider-Man joke while the nurse was
looking for a vein; he smiled politely--I’m sure he’s heard Peter Parker allusions myriads of times).
I am waiting now in Starbucks for a couple of hours for the agent to pervade my
bones so that they will light up properly when I undergo the scan about 1:30. I
also have to chug a lot of water to accelerate the process (Ethos!)
I forgot to
bring the book I’m reviewing for Kirkus
Reviews, and since we’re not allowed to use electronic devices in the
waiting rooms, I’m unable to read on my tablet. But Joyce—who did bring her real books—has been able
to during her waiting time. But, bookless, I sat in the rooms and wrote (longhand) some doggerel with which to pollute Facebook later this week. Here in Starbucks,
though, I can read via the Kindle app on my iPad as well as work on this post. (Oh,
you Tech Genius, you!)
The nuclear
bone scan takes awhile—half-hour? I forget. But, nerd that I am, I know how to
make the time fly: I silently recite some of the poems I’ve memorized. I’ll bet
I’m the only nuclear bone-scan guy in the world
who’s mumbling “The Cremation of Sam McGee” and “My Last Duchess” while medical
technology and fate and fear fill the room with whir.
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| scanner for nuclear bone scans |
It did take about a half-hour, but I did the third of my poems, the set I do on W-W-F. The technician would not show me the scan (curse his ... bones!), so I'll wait. Like a Good Little Boy--a Good Little Boy who's learned already of wolves and who's heard something nearby, something very like howling.
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