Bye

I've finished the second set of radiotherapy sessions. This time, a different machine was used - a monlith tunnel, didn't split into rotating parts. Since this time the lower part of my abdomen was irradiated, my head protruded from the other end of the tunnel. The machine was almost noiseless but I saw that there were flashing lights on the wall behind me - obviously to warn everybody that the machine was operational and the room was not safe for human beings. Clearly, I do not count as one. There were no sirens but somehow I expected that at any moment, a calm, computer-generated female voice would announce "Core meltdown in 10 seconds".

The most unpleasant part of the procedures was that each one of them was scheduled at 08:00 in the morning, which meant that I had to wake up at 06:30, get ready, take the bus and then walk to the hospital, which is in the middle of nowhere. I'm not exactly a morning person - I need an alarm clock to wake up at 09:00 am. Otherwise, despite all the warnings, there were no side effects.

Meanwhile, because I read too much, I've figured out the solution of a small mystery. I've defininitely read somewhere that this procedure can cause bladder cancer. Yet the radiologist insisted that it is "impossible". Twice. Well, the explanation is simple. It is not impossible - it is just not a practical concern. A bladder cancer caused by this kind of radiotherapy, if it happens, will take 10-15 years to develop - and there is no fucking way I'm going to live that long.

After the first session, I was again sent to the 6^th floor for blood tests. This time the nurse insisted to take the blood sample from the base of my wrist, instead of from the elbow, which is the usual place. I don't know why - maybe she wanted to try something new. But, just like before, it resulted in a large violet spot under my skin. It still hasn't dissipated. It wasn't even a young nurse, so she didn't have the excuse of being an inexperienced novice. Maybe she just doesn't care about her patients. In any case, the nurse of my personal physician is much better at this kind of stuff.

After the last session, I was told to go to the radiologist's office for a final consultation and to get the documents describing the the procedure and its outcome. So, I went there. The door was wide open. Number of radiologists inside - zero. Thankfully, there were chairs outside. So, I sat down and waited. And waited. And waited... After a while, a female doctor appeared and asked me what I was waiting for and that, if it was just for the documents, she could print them out for me. I told her that I was waiting for my radiologist (who, incidentally, is male) and I needed not just the documents but also to discuss some things with him. She nodded, warned me that he will be "a bit late" and disappeared.

Eventually, just when I was about to fall asleep on the chair, my radiologist appeared. He did not bother apologizing for being late, smiled widely, and asked me how I am. "Like a man dying from cancer," I replied, because I like giving idiotic answers to stupid questions. That startled him a bit and all he managed to say was "You're not dead yet". Thank you, Captain Obvious, I guess. But I will be, I will be...

Then we discussed the procedure, its outcome, and the next steps. He asked me about any side effects. I told him that there were none, at least for now. He again warned me that there might be some later but they shouldn't last for more than a month. I asked him if they had managed to hit both tumors (the main one, in the prostate, and the scondary one, in the lymph node) with the beam. "Of course," was his reply. So, I guess, there will be no third set of radiotherapy sessions - at least for the time being.

The next step, as far as he was concerned, was a PET scan to check the results of the radiotherapy. It won't produce visible results for more than a month, but it takes at least 3 months to get through the waiting list for the scanner, so he said that he will file the request for it immediately and that they'll probably do the procedule in August. And with this, his job was done, as far as my case was concerned.

I should continue visiting my oncologist every month for the regular dose of pills and an injection every six months. The hormonal therapy (which is just a polite name for "chemical castration") will continue until morale improves, sorry, I mean until the cancer becomes resistant to it, which is probably going to happen in 1-3 years. In fact, my date for the next dose of pills is set for May 19. It has become routine by now and you're probably bored to death by the details, so I won't bother you with them again, unless something unusual happens.

I'll update this page if there are any important changes and I am still able to do so.