Post 16: My hormone therapy life.
I’m dedicating today’s blog to my own hormone therapy (HT) treatment, as I’ve noticed it’s been a hot topic on the forum lately.
I’m not here to tell you what you should do — this is just how I remember it going for me.
History: September 2022
Before the biopsy of my prostate concluded that I had cancer, my NHS pathway led me to an immediate prescription of Bicalutamide 50mg pills for HT from the urologist.
This first appointment was arranged after a hastily scheduled blood test at my local GP surgery, which itself followed an NHS111 online form I filled in about some slight worries I had about long-duration weeing.
The GP practice rang me to cancel a physical examination I had booked in a couple of days’ time with a GP and instead referred me to Urology at the hospital.
I was elated at the referral — it meant dodging the bullet of an anal examination — but only a week later, in the hands of the urologist, I was probed.
I should now say how understanding and compassionate My Darling was at this moment… but all I can really say is that I was sitting uncomfortably, and she was having a lot of trouble trying not to laugh too much.
You ladies are in a different, higher league to us blokes when it comes to enduring physical and verbal medical issues — especially those between the legs. Most blokes are very shy and panic at the thought of it, whereas you girls are usually calm after a lifetime of healthy experience from your very first period.
Whatever I went through, curled up fetally on the little bed in that room, the diagnosis was that the prostate was hard on one side and I’d be referred to Oncology. But first, there’d be tests.
So we were told about scans and a biopsy to get a clearer picture of what was happening inside — and also, to pick up the two weeks’ worth of HT pills on our way home and start them that day.
A few days later, I received an appointment for continuing HT in the form of a Zoladex belly injection — forever after.
We were too overwhelmed by this alien medical process to ask many questions about what the pill would do. I’m sure we were told the basics, but our minds were spinning too fast to take in much detail.
My Darling dropped me home and went into town to pick up the HT pills.
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Side effects: immediate and long term
The hot flushes were the biggest internal change.
At first, they were just awkward and annoying. They started around my belly button, surged quickly through my chest and neck, and disappeared within a minute.
The worst part was that I’d have three or four an hour — and I soon became skilled at getting jumpers off and back on again quickly.
I joked at work that it was a male menopause and it would come to them in time — lying through my teeth, obviously, and keeping my medicals to myself.
I soon ditched sweatshirts and jumpers for zip-up hoodies to speed up body temperature control. Logical and helpful.
But the sweats that came with the flushes were a real nightmare, especially at night.
Then, as now, I haven’t really got used to them — but I try to ignore them as much as I can.
My Darling calls these flushes “a balancing up,” and an insight into her own dreadful experience of a very long-winded menopause. I do feel her pain. It’s not something I could ever have helped her with, but I now have a much better understanding.
Experience has taught me to get through the days with layers of easily removed clothing, tissues to mop my brow, and a good deodorant.
Over time, the strength and duration of the flushes have increased, but their frequency has dropped.
I’m not sure which is better, to be honest — they’re both awkward in their own ways.
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Medicating & remedies
Initially, the advice given by nurses, leaflets, and online bumf was to pop a few sage or evening primrose tablets. So I did.
Primrose oil pills I stuck with for ages, but sage didn’t do a thing for me. I considered the oil beneficial, even if the flushes were unaffected.
Because I had a period early on of seven or eight flushes an hour, the hormone clinic cancer nurse sympathised and referred me for acupuncture.
This was outside the remit of the hospital, but the local hospice came up trumps and gave me sessions at their expense. I’m forever grateful for the six free sessions I had.
Although acupuncture only worked to a minor degree, the time I spent lying down, resting, and chilling out in such a pleasant, safe, clean room was fantastic.
For 20 minutes after the needles went in, it was a rare bit of me-time. Walking back to the car afterwards, I felt like I was floating — lighter and taller.
I’d recommend acupuncture for many reasons, though it didn’t help much with the flushes.
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Mental issues
️ Warning: this is my view alone. I’m not a professional, and the way I think — and the words I use — are not meant to offend.
Encountering the flushes is a physical thing, but from the outset of HT, my enquiring mind needed to be fed with data.
What’s happening? Can I do something to counteract the power or frequency of the flushes? Why me?
I was admittedly rather innocent and obedient to the advice given by all the specialists. Perhaps I still am.
I’d rather make decisions with My Darling than on my own — everything that affects me affects her.
And with that in mind, I started to dig into what the HT was actually doing to me, chemically — so I could understand and get my head around it.
The basic theory, in my warped mind, is that I’m being chemically castrated to reduce the overactive cancer cells.
This in itself caused me no issues, because as I said earlier, I’m someone who sticks by a good decision once I’ve made it.
The fact that HT is a way to keep me alive is enough.
Learning about the flip side of this treatment was troubling — but I accepted it.
If I’m being brutally honest, at my age (58 at the time), I’m not going to worry too much about my penetrative sex life ending.
I have too much love for My Darling on so many levels that losing one of them isn’t a crime.
Our relationship is unique. It works for us. I can only speak for myself.
And for us, the most important thing in life… is life.
Getting my head around zero testosterone is more about not being able to build muscle, and feeling tired.
The reduced libido isn’t such a worry.
I made the jump from “normal life” to “cancer journey” (I don’t like the word journey but it fits) with the mental decision to become a better husband, dad, and friend — a better person.
If my life is now shorter, I’d better do, rather than think.
Putting that into practice is tough, time-consuming, and doesn’t always help me.
But if it weren’t for the HT, I’d have less time, less fun, less love.
I’ve had huge mental low periods about the finality of my existence and missing out — but that’s a natural process.
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Result:
HT is not there to humiliate me, or stop me doing the things I’ve always taken for granted, or get between My Darling and me.
It’s a tool to help me slow the cancer.
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PS
Since starting HT, I’ve cooked more, cleaned the house more, laundered more, loved more.
Whether that’s because of or in spite of the HT, I can’t say.
But I’m still a man.
And I love My Darling and myself
PPS
The only other real evidence of HT on my body is a dotted line of insertion points across my belly.
It’s my HT Tattoo 
