The resilience of a renaissance man

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There he was, Uncle Sam, bigger than life, pointing at me from his famous poster and saying, “I Want You.” That was 1943, and right out of high school and eager to save our country from the aggressive Axis powers, I joined the US Navy. After extensive training, I served as a bombardier with the Naval Air Force in the South Pacific.

Time marched on. After 42 years in business and having been married to my first wife for 37 years, raising a family, becoming a widower, and then remarrying, it was time to consider retirement. Life had offered me much sadness and diversity. Cancer was a constant intruder in my life experience; first, my mother with a 20-year history of breast cancer, a double mastectomy (at 10-year intervals), and death at age 60. My favorite sister (one of 3) died of breast cancer at age 62 after battling it for 25 years. Then my beautiful wife of 37 years, the mother of my children, suffered 7 years of leukemia and died at age 60.

On the plus side, after participating in a bereavement support group, I healed and got my life back on track. After 18 months of widowerhood, I remet a wonderful woman, who happened to be a second cousin I had not seen for 30 years. We dated and fell in love. Experiencing a happy and fruitful marriage in the past made the transition from widowerhood to a new relationship comfortable. My son and daughter supported my decision to remarry (which is not always the case), and that made me love my children all the more.

My new wife, an ARNP and professor of nursing with a PhD, recognized that the chronic spinal stenosis I suffered with called for retirement. When I was 64 and she was 55, we decided to retire and relocate from our Long Island, NY, home to the Florida home I had owned since 1972. After our new home was redecorated, I found I could not just sit around the clubhouse pool and shoot the breeze with the guys. Having a little ham in my blood, I enrolled in an acting and improvisation school in Miami, the Mental Floss Theater. Its logo had a figure of a man drawing dental floss through his head from one ear to the other. It was stimulating and barrels of fun. I hooked up with a couple of other students, and we did improv at a storefront theater on Miami Beach called the No Shame Theater. I wrote my own material. I also auditioned for theatrical agencies and started to get calls for extra work in movies being shot in the Miami area. I later appeared in many movies and found the experience exciting and stimulating.

A new chapter in our lives ensued after Hurricane Andrew destroyed our home and blew away all our possessions 9 months after we arrived in Florida. Fortunately, we had gotten replacement value insurance, so were able to relocate to Fort Lauderdale. My wife suggested that I try “The Art of Stone Sculpture” class offered at the local senior citizen center, and I took to it as a duck to water. I was fortunate to have an excellent teacher, and I began to work in alabaster stone in different colors from all over the world.

Since then, I have exhibited in many art shows and sold a commissioned piece for $2000. My home is my gallery, of which I am very proud. I also have in my home gallery many abstract paintings that I have produced. I would still be sculpting today, but osteoarthritis has rendered my hands unable to take the trauma of working with hammer and chisel. Perhaps I will take up abstract painting again, as well as stone or clay sculpture.

Just 18 months ago a routine physical examination and blood test revealed an elevated prostate-specific antigen (PSA) of 6, which called for a biopsy. Four clippings from different locations of my prostate revealed that all specimens were negative. Three weeks later, another PSA test revealed an elevation to 15, and another biopsy was ordered. Specimens clipped from another section of my prostate were negative again.

In the meantime, the frequency of urination during the night increased from 4 to 6 times. Finally, I was completely unable to urinate, which landed me in the emergency room of a local hospital late on a Sunday night. I was in excruciating pain. I was taken in promptly, and a very competent PA inserted a catheter and drained my bladder of 1100 mL of urine. I experienced instant relief and was sent home with a catheter and a bag strapped to my leg.

The next morning, I consulted my urologist/surgeon. He theorized that because of the extraordinary size of my prostate gland (4 times normal), the negative perimeter results of the biopsies were inconclusive. In the interim, the next PSA showed an increase to 41, which is extraordinary. A transurethral resection of the prostate was ordered to take place in the hospital the following week. For the ensuing week, I had the choice of wearing the bag (which I hated) to collect the urine or self-catheterization. The doctor recommended self-catheterization 3 to 4 times daily, explaining that inserting and extracting the tube a few times daily would help expand the urethra. My wife, a nurse, was greatly relieved that I was able to do it because she was concerned about causing me pain. So I undertook this masochistic procedure 3 to 4 times daily. It became routine after a couple of days; with deep breathing and concentration, I was able to tolerate the discomfort.

A week later, there I was in the hospital. “I am sorry to tell you, sir, the biopsy indicates that you have cancer of the prostate. It shows a stage 1 and a Gleason score of 7.”

First, the 2-by-4 to the back of my head was the revelation of cancer. That I understood! The stage and Gleason stuff was Greek to me. My emotions were in turmoil. This procedure was supposed to be an overnight hospital stay but turned into a week of confinement because of a bleeder. I was back in surgery on day 6 to cauterize the bleeder. I then was sent home with an indwelling catheter and a leg bag and was told to observe the color of my urine—“Grape juice bad, Hawaiian punch good.” After a couple of days, Hawaiian Punch prevailed, and the catheter was removed. I then had the pleasure of a cystoscopy to check the condition of my bladder. That turned out to be OK.

Now, to bring you up to date on the proposed interim treatment of my condition. My urologist ordered 3 injections of Lupron, a male hormone suppressor, at 28-day intervals to shrink the size of my prostate in preparation for direct beam radiation. I asked the doc about the side effects, and he explained that I would experience hot flashes and possible enlargement of my breasts. He asked how I felt about that. My answer was that there was nothing I could do about the hot flashes, but I could get a training bra to cope with the breast enlargement. He laughed and said I was taking it in a very cavalier manner.

My reply was, “What choice do I have except to be depressed, and that I will never let happen to me! Que sera, sera.”

My urologist then explained that he is participating in a study of aggressive treatment for prostate cancer and that my condition qualified me to be a candidate for Radon seed implants. Upon consultation, the radiation oncologist agreed with the following treatment: Lupron injections once a month for 2 years and 40 treatments of direct beam radiation (7000 RADS). That called for 5 treatments a week for 8 weeks. The side effects were tiredness and diarrhea. I was put on a lactose-free, low-residue diet with no dairy products.

I have earned the right to be a philosopher. I will not hold a grudge even if I am wronged. My dear wife has taught me to forgive even if I can't forget. My father, who lived to be 93 in relatively good health, taught me at a very young age to be tolerant of all human beings and abide by the Golden Rule. They say that old age will get me before this does!