Earlier in the month I had my latest appointment where I would get the latest PSA test. This was the first after my 0.17 reading had enabled me to dodge the radiotherapy bullet. I had been hard at work, eating like a monk and hitting the gym three times a week. That was until I got an injury. I injured my shoulder and got into a conversation with a trainer friend. She suggested that I needed to go and see an Osteopath, it could be serious. I thought it was trivial and only massage worthy. She gave me the details of one that she has either used or knows well.Read More »
So, you get de-prostrated and after the immediate side effects begin to subside, you are confident in the knowledge that you should no longer have a PSA reading. It’s undetectable. And for me, so it was for quite a while.
My eldest, as it turns out, did have half a good idea when she suggested carrying some stones for my fox nemesis. The crap part of the suggestion was suggesting that I go out and gather stones and aiming them at the floor to scare him off, as opposed to a direct shot. The current tools were all reasonably close quarter fox ‘re-education devices’, the stones meant I could keep further away. I changed the stones to large metal nuts that I gleefully picked out, mumbling vengeance under my breath, in the hardware store. I weighed, calculated and scored the various bags of nuts. Not enough in the packet, too heavy, too light, too expensive and as Goldie locks would say this one was just right. 
I had an appointment at Guys hospital to discuss my increasing PSA. The last count was 0.15 and at 0.20 I would need to start the dreaded radiotherapy and all the fun that entails. A few days before it was changed to a telephone appointment as those wonderful train drivers were going on strike again. This time around I got a surprise call from the elusive Mr Cathcart himself. It was short and sweet. My PSA was now 0.16 and unless I specifically wanted to pull the rip cord early, we would leave the radiotherapy until we reached that magical bonus number. I asked him what he thought, and he said it’s something we want to leave as long as possible. That was fine by me, nothing good ever came of pulling that ripcord early other that a swift gust of wind guiding you back up into the aeroplane’s propellers.
I Am The One In Three 