Two weeks on from Brachytherapy - how am I doing?

It's been a bizarre couple of weeks. Gloria took the week after my operation working from home, with the expectation that I would be too feak and weeble to look after myself. As mentioned previously, I was a bit groggy from the anaesthetic and sore from the needles, but that was it.

The second week has found me hale and hearty, with a good appetite, keen to go on long walks, no fatigue. I had one night when I was up twice in the night - too much water the evening before, methinks! Waterworks are a little slower and I'm giving them time - seem to be spending a lot of time on Twitter, on the loo. That stratagem seems to work OK and I've not been caught short. Mind you, the beach side walks are peppered with public loos so there's unlikely to be a problem round here.

Brachytherapy. One week on.

It's exactly one week since I had my brachytherapy implants of Iodine-125 radioactive seeds and I have to say that I don't feel a lot different at the moment. This may of course be the lull before the storm and Gloria is watching my every move intently, analysing me for any possible sign of outcome.
"Have you found any seeds yet?"
"Nope."
"Not even when you wee?"
"No."
"Let's look at your bruises ..." There follows an embarrassing lying on the bed with legs in the air while Gloria peers at my scrotum area with intense interest. "I can't believe you heal so quickly."
"Me neither."
"What about your poos?"
"Gloria!"
"Well, I'm just being caring. You know ... like I'm supposed to."
"Yeah, well that's lovely. Thank you. I'm all fine. I'll tell you when I'm not."
"I'm sure you will!"

Night on the ward

My sleep may have started at 9:30pm, but it was soon disturbed by the goings-on on the ward. Considering there were only three others in the room, they all had their own particular way of ensuring my sleep was broken. It has to be said at this point, however, that I had my own way too as I snore like a moose when asleep (certainly not when I'm awake though).

It was the music that got to me first. The opening four notes of Magic Roundabout: da-da-da-da ... da would normally follow. What's that? Oh, it's some instrumentation saying that it needs checking. The guy next to me was constantly monitored with drains in his leg and he was the most musical of all. He also had Mungo Jerry's In the Summertime which I think was the blood pressure monitor because we all had that set of notes at various times in the night.

The day of the brachytherapy operation

The morning dawned bright and clear and I was up with the lark ... well, with the alarm, actually that Gloria had set for six-thirty. I needed to be up quickly because my last chance to eat was before seven-thirty and I didn't want to faint with hunger before going down for the op at either 1pm or 3pm.

Gloria brought me tea and toast in bed - what a treat! Then we were up and about, getting some cereal down us before getting showered and putting the last things into the overnight bag. Then, the best part - a micro enema. Gloria had asked if she could administer it - absolutely not! It was a little tube of stuff with a long spout that had to be inserted right up your bum and then squeezed - and keep squeezing as you pull it out. Did that and then sat on the loo and waited. It didn't take long ... about five minutes and all of a sudden my back passage was clear and sparkly. Then it was time for a shower.

The pre-op before brachytherapy

It was a very cold day as Gloria and I emerged from the car into the multi-storey car park and shivered. We'd taken three quarters of an hour to cross town to the hospital and now, nearly at the top of the parking building, we had to find our way to the radiology and oncology department which was in the basement.

Once there though - Gloria with her computer bag, of course - we settled down for a short wait before a briefing from an enthusiastic young nurse. She wanted to talk all about our sex life, how well I wee and poo and a raft of other conversation items that would never grace a refined dinner table. Totally unfazed, she confidently reassured us about how most problems can be solved and that the operation is all about success. Indeed, the negatives seemed mostly to be about weeing or ejaculating radioactive seeds and the appropriate responses thereto.

Filling the forms before brachytherapy

One thing you get very used to when you begin discussing anything to do with prostate cancer is the level of intimacy that you have to reveal. Nurses and doctors will listen, expressionless, as you discuss the workings of your erections, flow of urine, how well and often you defecate, the importance and extent of your sex life and any manner of other things.

I guess though, when you've had someone shove their finger up your bum or been probed about with MRI or with an ultrasound scanner, there's not much left to reveal about your physical self, other than what you actually do with your body when you're not sprawled on the examination table.

Testing urine flow and prepping your prostate

The thing about your prostate is that it wraps itself around the urethra down which your wee comes from the bladder, before exiting to the outside world via the penis. When all's well, then all is indeed well. However, as you get older, the prostate grows and, as it grows, it can compress the urethra, making you urination more difficult.

For this reason, you'll find that you dribble rather than gush, you may sometimes find it hard to finish a wee and you can also experience "urgency" where you actually find it hard to restrain a wee from coming (usually when you are in sight of a toilet, is my experience!).

Visiting the urology department specialist

The invitation to visit the Urology department at my local hospital was fast-tracked. When the NHS fast-track it usually means that someone phones and tells you to get your arse over there double-quick. This was no different, although it was a letter, actually. And the appointment was a couple of days later. Yeah, no need to fret. Prostate cancer is not a fast-growing one, but nonetheless, they still had their skates on.

I went and found the Urology department, taking along my trusty minder (who shall be named Gloria, to protect the innocent). The waiting room was jam-packed with blokes of a certain age - most, to be fair, older than me. Or they looked it. Gloria and I looked at each other and she said, "Get used to this, mate."