Post 447: The meeting was an 8/10 but the PSA rose 494.
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Today’s meeting with my oncologist was great - an 8/10 for sure.
My bloods are OK, apart from my PSA of 1268 (up 494).
I’ll soon have a bone scan to set up a clean new baseline after seven months, looking at my metastatic lesions (no CT scan = no point), and compare the imaging with my last bone scan, with a view to possible radiotherapy if necessary after the reports, and if I have any pains to aim for (in my back).
I’ll also be having Zoledronic Acid systemic anti-cancer therapy (SACT) intravenous infusions to help with bone stabilisation after no treatment during this last year, 2026.
Otherwise, Active Surveillance will continue until symptoms say otherwise.
I don’t want treatment, and there is no need at the moment.
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But what does that mean anyway?
Well, depending on my attitude, there are a few ways I could explain how I feel, and the first would be the obvious and literal one.
(a) I’m doing well, therefore I will carry on doing what I’m doing…
I’ve no right to feel as good as this - as good as I do right now - and because of this high life I’m living, I can expect to be a more active and healthier me than I otherwise would have been.
(b) The forecast I gave myself at the start of this year (2026) was not great. After falling twice around the house, I was leaning on help from everybody and unable to climb the stairs without straining every muscle and joint.
The fact was that the illness was beating me in every direction, and the drugs couldn’t help much.
(c) The drugs that surround me now are on a normal progression towards the domination of pain relief and nerve control. This hasn’t stopped, nor will it.
I have to be careful that this purple period I’m in isn’t seen as being any more than it is on paper: “This patient is responding well to steroids recently.”
Also, the nerve-pill gamble is going well, and I’m currently standing on that soft platform.
So, looking at the report I stand upon right now, I’m after finishing the steroids, not celebrating MAGA with my buddies.
One year on from the chemo that petered out after the fifth infusion, it’s noted that there is no iron-clad treatment plan working on me right now.
Conclusion:
This lucky position I find myself in is resulting in slow cancer progression but comfortable living, centred around Active Surveillance, which awaits the next step-up should any new pains appear in the future.
So there is good reason to be cheered by the current situation, where a back pain in the middle of my spine is the only real worry. Of course, if we were in the midst of treatment there would be a need to check the PSA more carefully than we do today.
Therefore, we can ignore the big jump in PSA to 1268 (up 494), because we know there’s nothing we are currently doing to get it down.
So when the consultant asked me if I was happy to go ahead with the Zoledronic Acid infusions after a soon-to-be-arranged bone scan as a line in the sand, he knew immediately that I was on side and keen to accept the help if it kept me alive and well.
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Happily leaving the very busy glass-walled corridor, which had now become a hothouse thanks to the sun pouring in on the long line of waiting patients, we set the sat-nav to food and found a ‘cow shed’ to shelter inside for some well-earned grub.
The time we spent there was sensational. I was happy to order whatever I fancied and settled on a freshly baked Barton roll with sausage and bacon, served with salad and homemade coleslaw - wow! Just what I needed.
But aside from a long lunch, culminating with ice cream and a Flake, the relaxed mood was obvious.
This lunch, enjoyed amongst the cool tiles of the old milking parlour, made for a happy conclusion after today’s good news from the experts. Just what we needed.
Could the day continue in this vein? Yes, it could…
My Darling had found today hard, even though the meeting had been an 8/10 bonus, because every move she made was torture with her calf pain.
But when we got home, she was sliding around the downstairs wooden floors, worse foot forward, with surprising ease.
She was doing some essential washing, apparently, but the ring of the doorbell got her attention. She returned carrying a very heavy parcel addressed to me that I knew nothing about.
Interesting.
When I opened it and saw what it was, I almost shrieked with delight. Inside were two 12-tin packs of my newish favourite snack - sprats.
I found the gift label inside the box and discovered it was from my oldest mate and food guru.
How lucky am I?
One of the packs contained slightly smoked sprats, which I simply couldn’t resist, and even though it wasn’t long after the big lunch, a few chunky, gorgeous-tasting fishy snacks made the early evening a delight to match the rest of the day.
Thank you, my narrowboat pal, for the gift. It’s sensational and should last all month long if I can keep the little tins somewhere out of sight. But a strict dose of one tin a day seems fair.
Roll on tomorrow.
Sleep well and take care.
