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| The Fateful Call Came at 2 in the Afternoon |
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Our badges mean we're members of a unique club: we are prostate cancer survivors. My grandfather wasn’t so lucky -- he died from it before I was born. So did tough cop Kojak – the actor Telly Savalas – and the rocker Frank Zappa. Remember gritty detective Jerry Orbach from TV's "Law and Order?" Prostate cancer felled him, too. For me, the nightmare of cancer came when I was 48. Because of early detection techniques, prostate cancer is no longer “an old man’s disease.” A friend of mine was diagnosed with it when he was 41. He, too, is still living. Catch it in time! I hope the words I write here will help you, if you’re a man or if you’re a woman who has a man in her life who is struggling with prostate cancer. Did you know that doctors will diagnose nearly 220,000 cases of prostate cancer this year – and 27,000 of the men will die? That's 12% of the cases. But another way of looking at the numbers is 88% of the men will live at least five years, probably much longer. Did you also know that prostate cancer is one of the easiest cancers to cure – if you catch it in time. And by “in time,” I mean confined to the prostate, which sits just underneath the bladder amid nerves that control sexual and urinary function, and lymph nodes that can carry the monster throughout your body if it escapes its cage. Luckily, mine was confined to the gland – and my cure rate is 90% throughout my lifetime. However, the tumor was hugging the wall of the prostate and likely would have burst through had I put off my annual physical any longer. It all began with a phone call For me, the words “annual physical” is a misnomer. Prior to my diagnosis, my last annual physical was five years before. But my primary care physician – a fan of preventive medicine – culled from his records the telephone numbers of all patients who were lazy in getting in for their annual exams. I was one of them, but I told my doctor's nurse I was as healthy a horse and didn’t need a physical. I hung up, only to have her call back three months later. Again, she urged me to come in for a physical, reminding me five years had passed since I last endured one. “You’re at that age when . . .” she said, but I cut her off, because I knew what she was about to say: Things happen to men my age. And so I made an appointment for my annual physical. I am as healthy as a horse, except for . . . See? I was right. I am as healthy as a horse -- except for my rising PSA, the doctor said, after looking at the results of my blood test. PSA stands for "prostate specific antigen," and too much of it in your blood means something is kooky with your prostate, and the doctor needs to do more testing to find out what. My prostate felt fine to my doctor’s prying middle finger during the digital rectal exam, which is akin to a woman having her . . . well . . . you know . . . examined. But that rising PSA troubled him so much that he referred me to a urologist. On my first visit to the urologist, he took one look at my rising PSA and wanted to perform a prostate biopsy, the only way to confirm whether I had prostate cancer. Prostate cancer? A biopsy of that walnut-sized organ? Sounds ominous. But then a ton of bricks fell on me again when he said I had a one-in-four chance of having prostate cancer. Five more tons of bricks crushed me when I told him my grandfather had died of prostate cancer, and the doctor replied, “You're at high risk. It runs in your family.” I was paralyzed. Thirty-five years before, my mother survived uterine cancer, but I never thought cancer would strike me. At 48? In the prime of my life? When everything was copasetic? When I had the world by the tail? Good job, sexy girlfriend, plenty of friends? The Call Oh, yes. More than a year-and-a-half and 34 prostate biopsy samples later, The Call came from the urologist, announcing I was a new member of the club. Of course, he didn't say it in those words. Four months later, in a cold, sterile operating room, he plucked my prostate from my body, and I put on The Badge, which I wear proudly to this day, nearly five cancer-free years later. My PSA blood tests, which I take every six months to ensure the cancer hasn't returned, have been a big, fat zero - and that's fabulous, unlike the zero on my SAT. But with this badge comes a moral and ethical responsibility to help comfort those men just diagnosed with prostate cancer - and the women who love them. Nearly five years ago, I was just like them: the boom lowered, not knowing my future, asking "Why me?" and hearing, "Why not you?" Cursing God and fate, but hearing some voice say, "Hey, at least it's not brain cancer or lung cancer. You're not losing your sight. How would you like to be like your friend, whose only 42 and has crippling Parkinson's disease?" Sometimes, at prostate cancer support groups, I sit with him, the man just diagnosed. Sometimes, I put my arm around his shoulder and say, "If a wuss like me can handle it, you can handle it." Other times, I just listen. I want him to know he's not alone, and that in this day of medical advances, a diagnosis of cancer isn't necessarily a death sentence. Check back in this spot regularly for my comments, observations, and news about prostate cancer. As in the words of Kris Kristofferson, we're in this gig together. In the meantime, keep in mind: millions and millions of people have been cured of cancer. Millions and millions of people have been cured of cancer. Say it again and again until you believe it, for it is true. Look at the prostate cancer survivors club: one member ran for President, another is seeking the Presidency this year. A club member managed the New York Yankees in the World Series, while the statesman among us served as Secretary of State and the general commanded the nation's troops. And then there is this one club member who writes a blog. Next time: You may not have symptoms. In fact, you may not even know you have it.
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I wear the badge, and so do John Kerry, Colin Powell, Rudy Gulliani, New York Yankees manager Joe Torre, Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, Nelson Mandela, Arnold Palmer, Robert DeNiro, U.S. Ret. Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf, and millions of other famous and not-so-famous men. 
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