Another Long Day at Seidman Cancer Center

Seidman Cancer Center
Orange Place
Beachwood, Ohio

Yesterday was a miserable day.

Our appointment was at 12:40, so we spent almost all of the afternoon there—most of it: waiting.

I first met with my oncologist, who still remains encouraged by my numbers from the blood tests I had taken earlier in the week. Me, too. I hadn’t been feeling too well and was surprised that my PSA (prostate specific antigen—a sure sign of the cancer’s return) remains undetectable—this the effect of a powerful new drug I’ve been on about a year (Xtandi), a drug that also helps make me dizzy and unstable most of the day.

The other tests were positive, too (in a good way).

But I’d been feeling crappy most of the day: unusually dizzy (Joyce had to push me in a wheelchair through the building) and—I don’t know—on the “edge” of something. Nausea, I guess. I was fairly laconic as the doctor spoke with me.

He’s not sure what to do next, once the numbers start to rise again (as they will). Everything else (e.g., chemo) is even more odious than what I’m on now—and offers no more hope for a cure.

I don’t want to go through chemo—don’t want to deal with the cancer consuming my bones.

Anyway, after the visit with him (a specialist I like a lot!), it was down to wait some more for the two quarterly injections I get there: (1) Xgeva for bone strength, (2) Trelstar to retard the PSA growth; the first is in a quadricep; the latter, in my, uh, derrière. Both hurt despite a very skilled and compassionate nurse.

Then Joyce drove me home, where I pretty much disintegrated. I saw no way I was going to be able to get up this morning (it’s the bi-weekly day for the young women who clean house for us; they arrive a little after 8).

But I did it. I felt better. And Joyce, as is her wont on these days, drove us to the Stow-Kent Starbucks, where we got “our” soft seats; I ate a scone, drank some coffee, caught up on the New York Times (digital edition), my e-mail, Facebook.

Then we drove home where I took a LONG nap.

In the Times this morning, by the way, was the news that Sue Thompson (age 96), died this week. I remember her song “Norman” so well, released in late 1961, my senior year at Hiram High School. It was popular at the sock hops.

I didn’t really need a reminder of mortality today—I’d had a long day of them yesterday. But that song had once made me happy as I danced (sort of) on that old Hiram gym floor. So I listened to it again—and recovered a little joy.

Link to “Norman.”