On Friday July 13th -- yeah, I know, Friday the 13th -- the day of the 2-year prognosis, I was was given my first Lupron shot, which started the process of killing my body's ability to produce testosterone, the primary fuel in the growth of prostate cancer. I was also put on an oral prescription that did much the same.   Basically, I would be chemically emasculated.  I was willing to accept that trade-off because the implication was clear: without Lupron, I wouldn't last long; with it, I'd get two years.  My prostate had not been removed and the metastasized lymph nodes weren't touched because, I was told, "That won't cure you." 

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I've never had chemo or radiation -- though those options were discussed at length.

 

And now I'm here, able to write about it.  Having passed that improbable 2-year anniversary and having regained health, I am now intermittently on-and-off Lupron.  (My last Lupron shot was January of 2022!)  Along with my Urologist and PCP, we test regularly to be alerted should my prostate cancer again become dangerously active.  I have great confidence and reason to believe it won't. 

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That first day in the doctor's office, I thought that if I could stay healthy enough, the 2-year window would give me a chance to figure out a way to buy time -- and, I'm happy to write, I've been able to do that.  But rather than being saved by a medical breakthrough, I've found I could render my cancer nearly dormant through a daily discipline of simple and specific steps that maximize the effect of my medications.

 

The turning point came two days after that terminal prognosis when I got a call from the man who was then my PCP -- the person who pointed me toward saving my own life.  At his urging, I determined not to live in fear of cancer and embarked immediately upon changing my body chemistry through a plant-based diet, a regular meditation practice and a change in lifestyle.  All the while I looked at issues like my habit of ruminating and an absence of self love and then balanced those against all the wonderful reasons I wanted to continue to live.  Basically, I looked back  -- and without judgement -- took stock of myself in order to be able to look forward.

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It worked out the way I taught myself to imagine it.

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By the end of October 2018 -- just 3 months after the initial diagnosis -- a CT Scan revealed one metastasized lymph node was dramatically reduced and the big one near my prostate had shrunk in size by nearly half.  By December, my PSA’s were down to an untraceable level; basically, zero.

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The following spring, I was able to stop taking the oral medication and my Oncologist and I agreed to part ways.  

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Today, my doctors looks at me in a different light.  And while no one can tell me how long I'm going to live, I do know this:  It's been a lot longer than two years.