Recently, I was diagnosed with bladder cancer. But, you know me, not just any ol' cancer, but a tumor that started to grow in an pre-existing diverticulum of my bladder. A cancer that is aggressive and not treatable with chemo or radiation. A cancer that can only be removed by removing the bladder itself. And the prostate. And the pelvic lymph nodes. Now, I should have had surgery many months ago, but that story is not what this article is about. That story is found here in this excellent article.
With these series of articles, I wish to express how I have felt during this time and will feel in the times to come. It won't often be pretty and my prose will not often be below an "intense R rating". Past and present and future tenses might be maligned somewhat, but so what. These articles will also not be in any particular chronological order. I'd like to begin with a story just before and after my oft-delayed surgery; what wound up being my first surgery.
"THE BIRDS"
When the surgery with my new urologist was finally set, May 20th (a month after my birthday), I was also awaiting my biopsy results. Two days before the surgery, the obvious (to some) was confirmed: the tumor was malignant. That didn't surprise me much, but I was more than a little fucking pissed off because when the tumor was first seen (in February) it was about 1cm in size in the diverticulum. Now it was well over 3cm. My urologist/surgeon was concerned he couldn't remove the entire tumor without perforating the bladder. The surgery was scheduled to be day surgery and it was also non-invasive. Think of a long tube-like instrument that goes you know where and then into the bladder.
It was partially successful. The doctor removed as much as he could but not the rest for fear of the perforation, which would have been bad, going from stage 2 to stage 4 cancer with all those cells now floating around my body. Also, the tumor had now grown to 5cm at least. So, I went home. On some pain killers and such. I sat in my room for awhile - in a daze. My mind wasn't quite remembering everything due to whatever it was they had knocked me out with. I recall labeling it "alien probe forget drug". I think after sitting awhile, I had a swig, then a smoke and fell into a strange semi-drugged induced and mostly exhausted sleep. The next morning, only in slight pain, I made some coffee and went outside whereupon I saw this:
During the last two days, when my mind was upon other things, two very industrious birds had built a nest on one of the support beams above the front porch. I became instantly fascinated by this post-op discovery of a new house being built. I knew that my next step with removing the cancer was going to be removal of my bladder, so maybe I was caught up in some sort of nostalgia or melancholia, or both. But, I decided to run with it. So, the next day I spied this:
With these series of articles, I wish to express how I have felt during this time and will feel in the times to come. It won't often be pretty and my prose will not often be below an "intense R rating". Past and present and future tenses might be maligned somewhat, but so what. These articles will also not be in any particular chronological order. I'd like to begin with a story just before and after my oft-delayed surgery; what wound up being my first surgery.
"THE BIRDS"
When the surgery with my new urologist was finally set, May 20th (a month after my birthday), I was also awaiting my biopsy results. Two days before the surgery, the obvious (to some) was confirmed: the tumor was malignant. That didn't surprise me much, but I was more than a little fucking pissed off because when the tumor was first seen (in February) it was about 1cm in size in the diverticulum. Now it was well over 3cm. My urologist/surgeon was concerned he couldn't remove the entire tumor without perforating the bladder. The surgery was scheduled to be day surgery and it was also non-invasive. Think of a long tube-like instrument that goes you know where and then into the bladder.
It was partially successful. The doctor removed as much as he could but not the rest for fear of the perforation, which would have been bad, going from stage 2 to stage 4 cancer with all those cells now floating around my body. Also, the tumor had now grown to 5cm at least. So, I went home. On some pain killers and such. I sat in my room for awhile - in a daze. My mind wasn't quite remembering everything due to whatever it was they had knocked me out with. I recall labeling it "alien probe forget drug". I think after sitting awhile, I had a swig, then a smoke and fell into a strange semi-drugged induced and mostly exhausted sleep. The next morning, only in slight pain, I made some coffee and went outside whereupon I saw this:
During the last two days, when my mind was upon other things, two very industrious birds had built a nest on one of the support beams above the front porch. I became instantly fascinated by this post-op discovery of a new house being built. I knew that my next step with removing the cancer was going to be removal of my bladder, so maybe I was caught up in some sort of nostalgia or melancholia, or both. But, I decided to run with it. So, the next day I spied this:
