I saw my urologist last p.m. He confirmed what I already suspected, that the cancer is localized to the prostate and it will have to come out.
Good news. Bad news. But news.
Now the ball is in my court. He was solicitous and concerned. He answered my questions truthfully. He assured me that he wouldn't feel "two-timed" if I snuck around and saw other doctors behind his back. In fact, he encouraged me to make appointments and to get other opinions.
I've been given names of doctors at New York Hospital-Presbyterian, Memorial Sloan-Kettering and Mount Sinai in New York and at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.
Some of them use the robot, others do not, preferring instead to do it the old fashioned way, through a 3" incision.
My guy at home in NJ has done 600 removals in his career. He does them at a non-teaching hospital in New Brunswick, NJ (St. Peters). His rationale is that the operation is so delicate he doesn't want to have surrender any portion of it to resident surgeons, i.e. "rank amateurs." I liked that.
There's a good 10-15% chance that post-removal I'll still have to have some sort of follow-up therapy, probably radiation. Hey! That leaves a good 85-90% chance that I WON'T.
I'll be incontinent for awhile. A month, maybe two. As for "male potency" (don't you love the euphemisms we come up with for "hard ons"?), well, it'll be about as good as it is now within 6 months. I can wait 6 months. It's already been years.
Ordinarily I'd be on the phone this morning, rounding up appointments, arranging for time off, coordinating everything. But the weather is crappy, and I need a good scary movie... "Ultimate Destination" would do.
I'll deal with cancer next week. Promise.
p.s. But be assured that I know this ... I am loved. A lot. And that is going to make all the difference in the world.