Battle at Prostate Ridge

By Hobey Vance

Battle at Prostate Ridge is the story of one man's battle with prostate cancer and the complications associated with prostate surgery. Prostate cancer affects over 250,000 men every year yet there is no first hand account describing the details of a prostatectomy, until now. The book is frank, to the point, humorous and deals directly with issues surrounding prostate cancer most men are afraid to ask or are unaware of. Incontinence and impotence are far and away the most relevent concerns of men facing prostate cancer and this book deals with these problems in a no-nonsense manner that men will relate to and appreciate.

Battle at Prostate Ridge is designed to give a personal perspective of prostate cancer and to help in the decision making process for those men facing high PSA levels or diagnosed with prostate cancer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hobey Vance
• Release date: Apr 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781370573592

Hobey Vance

University of Arizona 1967-1971United States Air Force 1972-1978 (F-4, OV-10)Delta Air Lines 1978-2004University of North Texas, Masters, Counseling

Book preview

Battle at Prostate Ridge

A Prostate Surgery Story

By

Hobey Vance

Copyright © 2012 by Hobey Vance

Smashwords Edition

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"Lieutenant Vance, you’re not totally worthless. We can always use you as the bad example."

––Pilot training, Laredo AFB, 1973

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

––Winston Churchill

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter One - It Is What It Is

Chapter Two - High Tech Versus Fat Fingers

Chapter Three - It’s Showtime!

Chapter Four - Bombs Bursting With Air

Chapter Five - Perfect Strangers, My First Gift

Chapter Six - My Kingdom for a Fart

Chapter Seven - Life Itself, My Second Gift

Chapter Eight - There’s No Crying in Apple Juice

Chapter Nine - It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over

Chapter Ten - That Bitch, Incontinence

Chapter Eleven - The Other Bitch, Impotence

Chapter Twelve - Band of Brothers

Chapter Thirteen - Battle at Prostate Ridge

Chapter Fourteen - Mr. T

Chapter Fifteen - I’m Sick and Tired of Being a Freak

Chapter Sixteen - Tale of Two More Surgeries

Chapter Seventeen - The Best for Last, My Third Gift

Chapter Eighteen - Shallow Thoughts from a Bottomless Mind

PREFACE

I was determined to make lemonade out of the medical lemon that was dumped into my lap.

It had been four and a half years since I retired as an airline captain. I was 60-years old and being wheeled into the operating room to have a prostatectomy performed because, few months earlier, a biopsy had shown a moderately aggressive stage of cancer lurking within my prostate. Being technical in nature, as most pilots are, I evaluated the many treatment options available with three different urologists and hours on the computer searching for answers and options. Ultimately, I opted to have my prostate surgically removed utilizing a high-tech, robotic-assisted operation. The traditional open surgery, freezing, radioactive pellets or radiation were options that did not appeal to me for one reason or another.

I will admit that my primary concern with surgery was improving the post-operative chances of a full recovery of my sex life after the cancer was removed. A prostatectomy has a bad history of leaving a fellow with incontinence and impotence. The robotic-assisted surgery seemed to offer the best chance of favorable long-term results concerning these two side-effects. Yes, prostate cancer is deadly, but I wasn’t ready to sacrifice my sexual functioning if I could help it. The risk-reward equation required serious deliberation. With the surgery, I could live another 25 years, but with the possibility of my penis going into permanent remission and my having to wear adult diapers. Without the surgery, I could die in 10 to 15 years with my boots on and my manhood unmolested. It was not an easy decision.

I chose the urologist who had done many robotic-assisted surgeries and he assured me that my chances of fully recovering, with no lasting problems, were excellent considering my relatively young age. Operating time was normally two hours or less with one night in the hospital all that was needed for recovery. Within a month, I would be good as new. At least, that’s what the doctor and the brochure promised.

Unfortunately, it did not turn out as advertised.

The cliché, If I had known then what I know now, I would not have done it was composed with me in mind. My experiences with prostate cancer surgery left an indelible mark on my soul and changed my outlook on life. Remarkably, the pain, the suffering, the trauma, and the depression that followed the surgery presented me with three gifts that have changed my outlook on life forever. The three gifts are priceless, but I would not give a nickel to go through the process of receiving them again.

Although I felt that I was mentally and physically ready for the surgery, I only wish that I had been better prepared. Hopefully, my experiences, as recollected in this book, can provide a realistic insight into prostate cancer and how it affects men. I pull no punches.

The Battle at Prostate Ridge was a personal war I was forced to fight. I survived and I am stronger for it. Nonetheless, war is hell.

Battle at Prostate Ridge

Chapter One

It Is What It Is

(Prostatectomy Day, Minus 243 Days)

I had a PSA (Prostate-Specific Antigen) blood test done every year since turning 50 as part of my flight physicals. It had always been below the magic level of 4.0 but it did show a slow increase over the past four years. After I retired, I went back to my doctor to get my Class I flight physical renewed as there was an off-chance that I would fly again. The PSA came back at 4.5. Darn the luck. My doctor gave me a list of area urologists and told me it would be a good idea to get a closer look at my prostate. A 4.0 seemed to be the popular tipping point that warranted further investigation.

I left his office with a slight bit of concern. I decided to open my own Internet investigation of prostate cancer and the relevance of the 4.0 PSA number. There was no shortage of information from a myriad of websites, but predictably, much of it was contradictory, hearsay, or loaded with disclaimers. I found one site that indicated higher PSA levels were normal as men aged. For ages 60 to 65, a PSA of 4.0 to 5.0 was no cause for alarm. Being 58, that sounded imminently reasonable to me so I elected to take the most fitting course of action available: I elected to procrastinate. I would spend the summer in Wisconsin and deal with it later. The prospect of more blood tests, additional digital rectal exams and a biopsy played no small part in my decision.

As any married man will confirm, my intentions and desires are never made within my personal vacuum of accountability. My wife is always there in her role as the head of the Checks and Balances section of our relationship. At her urging (sounds better than nagging) and upon returning from Wisconsin, I found the list of urologists my flight doctor had given me and made an appointment with the guy three down from the top. His primary qualification was that his office was closest to my home.

I knew I was in trouble when he came into the examining room. The guy was built like he played linebacker in his college years. Personally, I have nothing against former football players, except for ones with big, fat fingers. The nurse took my blood pressure and asked if I had a history of high blood pressure. Have you seen his right index finger? Do you know where that fat finger is going to be in just a minute or two? I wanted to shout. I was stunned. She appeared clueless. I concluded that nurses of urologists take great delight in the discomfort of the patients as a form of retribution. Males were always the perpetual penetrators, finally being placed on the receiving end. It was sweet justice.

My exam should have put a smile on her face. The doctor mashed my prostate with great relish, making me squirm. It was very uncomfortable. He proudly announced that his finger had developed a great feel for prostates and concluded that I had a soft area near the top center of my prostate. That was a big problem, he suggested. Then he began to tell