Well been a while since I blogged, but I promised not to bore you with everyday mundanity! So, for an update on the last 3 weeks. My condition has continually improved to the extent that really I now have no condition at all! All the wounds are healed, and all there is to show for Leonardo’s endeavours are 3 bruises which are fading rapidly. I took it easy for 2 weeks after catheter removal. On week three I started walking the dog and indulged in some gentle jogging. This week I have been back up to my full blown run up in Wentwood. Dog thinks his nightmare is finally over! I am going a little slower than before, but that is more my cardiovascular fitness after 4 weeks of torpidity! The area of the operation feels fine. There is a slight ache occasionally, as if I have done too many sit-ups, but no discomfort or pain at all.

It is really difficult to describe how well I feel. It is almost as though I have not had any major surgery at all. All bodily functions continue to be business as usual. There are 2 items I never thought would have happened over the last few weeks……… Wales reaching the semi-finals, and me being in a condition to really enjoy the event!

Next Friday for the PSA test before final consultation with Ed in Bristol, and then back to the lovely people in Cardiff. Whilst this is not an experience I would recommend for recreation, it really has been a minor inconvenience given the magnitude of the condition I had, and the excellent prognosis the procedure promises to deliver.

Monday 30^th October

Went for the PSA test on Friday 21^st October. Phoned in for the results on Wednesday 26^th.  The lady on the end of the phone probably thought I was slightly unhinged as I whooped deliriously as she told me the level was less than 0.01! Collected some printed copies of the test to take to Ed for Friday’s consultation, then proceeded to phone first my wife, then my son, daughter in New Zealand, sister and cousin…….it was the exact reverse of the daunting task of contacting all my nearest and dearest when I found out I had the disease in the first place. Then I was spreading concern and worry, this time it was relief and joy.

Saw Ed on Friday at 10.30. Went on the monster motorbike to:

o   Show off how well I had recovered

o   Cut through the horrendous Bristol traffic

o   Remind myself what a fantastic privilege it is to be alive, fit and well to enjoy the thrill and ecstasy of such a machine in such a wonderful world.

Arrived 20 minutes early so read the Times. Ed called me in very punctually and we had a good chat. As the PSA is so low, I do not need any further treatment. However, in the first year I have a PSA test every 3 months, 2^nd year every 4 months etc pro rata until it’s just once a year. This is to just make sure there is no diseased tissue left, even though the histology showed no ingress of malignancy outside the envelope of the prostate. He checked the wounds, but to be honest there was hardly anything left for him to check- all the bruising has gone, no scars at all, and one little scab left above my navel. Took a copy of the histology of the removed prostate gland for the good people in Cardiff who I am seeing tomorrow- but essentially I am cured. However I ran it close the to edge- there were 4 nodes of malignancy, and although they were all Gleason 6, one of them was showing progression to Gleason 7. Something else will kill me in the fullness of time, but it is highly unlikely to be anything to do with my prostate. We then proceeded to have a good laugh about England’s off piste performance in the World Cup!

So my fellow bloggers, the morals to this tale are:

1.      If you are over 50 have regular PSA tests, or even earlier if there is a history of it in your family. It doesn’t hurt at all and it is the only way of picking up early prostate cancer, which generally has no symptoms until it had started to spread outside the prostate.

2.      If you have a high PSA level for crying out loud have the testicular fortitude to put up with the discomfort of the biopsy. It is not pleasant but it could save your life!

3.      If your urologist recommends further investigative work, then take his or her council. If you have followed this blog, you will have realised I was playing Russian roulette ignoring Professor Kynaston’s advice, and how close I came is revealed in the previous paragraph.

4.      If professional opinion allows, take time to weigh up the alternative treatments. Talk to other men to have had the treatments to help you decide. You will have gathered from the above I am a huge advocate of the treatment I had, especially as I have come through it with none of the possible after effects.

5.      Involve your family as much as you can- they are a great support as you go through the treatment

6.      Keep your emotions in balance- you will go through various spectrums of despair to ecstasy, but there is every possibility of a great outcome. But if you let anxiety consume you, your own mind will become a worse enemy than your condition.

7.      BE POSITIVE THROUGHOUT! The technology and the expertise is there to rid you of this scourge so long as you don’t fall into the pitfalls of 6.

8.      If you go for the operation don’t worry too much about the catheter- it’s a mild inconvenience, and can be a source of great hilarity.

9.      If you have an overenthusiastic sloppy big mutt for a pet, watch out for his attempts to improve your convalescence.

So, I will conclude this dispatch at this juncture. I hope it has amused and entertained as well as being informative of what it is like, from a patient’s perspective, to undergo radical surgery.

All the very best and good luck to you all.

Dai John

Bit of a red letter day really. The day the catheter comes out, and you find out if you are incontinent, and if so, how badly. I also had the added anxiety of never experienced the removal of a catheter. This tube goes from the outside world, through your penis, up the urethra into the bladder. A small balloon inflated with sterile water holds it in position. I had no idea whether it would hurt, but I knew it was a procedure without aesthetic.

Anyway, Sal duly drove over the old Severn Bridge again back to Southmead hospital. We found it no problem and arrived half an hour early for the appointment, which was at 10.30am. 11.00 am arrived and still no sign of anybody. Now, I am not the best at waiting anyway, but with the worry of the unknown I was becoming a little flustered! Anyway, turns out that the specialist practitioner had been there since 10.30, but somehow my arrival at the clinic had not been registered. Tiny hiccup, on the scale of things.

Christine was excellent. She calmed me down instantly, explaining exactly what she had to do. Up on the couch again, deep breath in, and then there was this funny tingling sensation, as though someone was extracting the chimney brush out of the chimney, except it was my urethra that was being cleaned out. Fortunately it was not followed by a pile of soot! It didn’t hurt at all. Now for the moment of truth- that followed an instant of mild hilarity. Christine gave me a pad to adorn my nether regions, in case I leaked. Now I have never encountered an incontinence pad before, and it had a sticky strip all across the back of one side. Christine had discretely left me to get on with it, but could I get this pad to stick to my skin? Eventually she asked if I was OK and I explained the stickiness didn’t seem to be working. She popped in to assist. She was extremely professional, but I knew she was nearly exploding with mirth inside! She kindly explained that the sticky strip is attached to the underwear, not the body! What a plonker!!

Instructions now were to go and have a drink and not leave until I either passed urine naturally or started leaking. It is really difficult to describe the strange emotions of the next half hour. Sal and I went up to the canteen, Sal had tea, and I indulged in 500ml of diet coke, already having consumed a cup of water. We waited and tried to chat, but it was superficial stuff as my mind was firmly fixed inside my underpants. Time seemed to drag by like a knackered old steam engine, with insufficient coal. Twenty minutes gone, still no desire to wee, but I didn’t feel wet either. Walked back to the Urology clinic and swallowed another cup of water, so had now consumed at least a litre as I had finished off Sal’s tea too. Christine came to check on me, but explained no joy yet. I deliberately hadn’t drunk much before the removal of the catheter in case……. Then it came! A desire to pee, similar to how the German dams felt after being hit by the Wallace bouncing bomb! Fortunately the loo was only 10 yards away and was free. But I peed like a racehorse, and the pad was dry! I fear I may have shouted “Yes” as there were several odd looks as I sheepishly emerged from the W.C. to the enthralled audience of restrained waiting fellow patients. I wanted to bellow to the world that I could control my bladder…..but just managed to constrain myself. Sal could tell because I had the original Cheshire cat grin affixed to my chops like an all consuming crescent moon.

I told Christine my good news, and was allowed to leave…..but now the effect of the prodigious amounts of liquid I had consumed began to take their toll. As we got to the main entrance, the dam creaked again, so I found the nearest loo. Gaining confidence now I used a urinal for the first time in a fortnight- strange how simple things start to feel like a major achievement. Red Rum would have been proud of my output, and still a dry pad! Must be OK for the trip back to Wales now? Oh no. We got as far as the Gloucester Road in the traffic (about ten minutes) and my bladder was shouting again. Many thanks to the Air Balloon pub on the Gloucester Road-you saved my modesty! And finally, the Severn View service area by the old SevernBridge. So, four monster pees in forty minutes. I haven’t felt like that since the infamous 3 legged race Pub Crawl for Rag Week in Aberystwyth- but we best not go there!

However the upshot of all this is that I am totally continent from the advent of the removal of the catheter- even went all night without a mishap- well done Mr Ed Rowe, Leonardo and team! And the good news doesn’t finish there, although I shall have to be a little subtle about this one. Suffice to say that I woke up this morning with a swelling in my crutch that Rasputin would have been proud of! Just as well that didn’t happen when the catheter was coming out………

They say good things come in threes, so this is my third. Ed Rowe took the trouble to ‘phone me on Friday, letting me know the results of the histology on my now removed prostate. The malignancy was confined inside the gland, so as long as the PSA levels are negligible before my return on the 28^th, of October, the prognosis is excellent.

So avid followers, this tale is beginning to draw to a close. Like all good tales it is heading towards a very happy ending, but I’ll keep you updated as events of significance arise.

Ok, day for the clips out. Appointment made at the local surgery at11.50 am. Remember I was a little concerned with one of the wounds? It was the incision that the drain had come out of, and over the last couple of days a fair bit more fluid had built up behind the dressing. As the dressings are like cling film, it was bulging out slightly, like a big blister. It wasn’t hurting, and I don’t feel unwell at all- quite the contrary, I am still feeling great.

So a young man called me in and asked me to lie down on the……well not really a couch, but neither an operating table- sort of a cross between the two. All the dressings come off apart from the dodgy one. Then he said this may be a little uncomfortable. Why is it when a nurse says that you know its going to bloody hurt?

Anyway, it was a bit like plucking big splinters from out of your finger- except these were metal staples out of your guts! It hurt a bit, but I’m a big ninny when it comes to things like that. I am sure men made of sterner stuff would have said it tickled.

Then came the dodgy dressing- it came off without hurting, and it was cleaned and redressed with a conventional dressing. There was no smell of corruption, as C.S. Forester graphically describes in some of the more gory passages of the Hornblower books. I’ve been given a replacement to redress tomorrow, and to report back if it is leaking profusely. I was a little concerned about this so when arrived home I phoned the expert practice nurse at Bristol. She was very reassuring. Apparently the drain wound can leak a bit after- and it’s much better for the fluid to come out than stay in. So long as I am feeling OK, and the wound doesn’t get too red and hot, then it can wait till Monday for inspection when the catheter comes out.

So further great progress.  I have walked around the block again, and Sal drove me to Usk to visit the butcher. Now going to go with Sal to walk the irascible hound. (By the way, he dug up the canes holding the clematis again- nothing worse for the garden then a canine feeling left out!!)

Alfie on Sal’s knee! He really is this soppy!

This is Alfie as a pup, he is a lot bigger now!

Just a few nuances to update you with. Itching! To hold the 5, 2 inch incisions together to let Leonardo in, staples were used. They look like the genuine Rexel originals. Now I am healing up they itch like mad. Now this is not pain, but is very akin to the Chinese water torture, but replace the drip, drip , drip, with the itch , itch , itch. It can drive you demented if you don’t find something to take your mind off it. The cling film dressings prevent you getting to the wounds (just as well or I’d be scratching like Baloo against the tree when he had a backside full of wasps!), so you have to leave them alone to their itching devices.

Also had some fun with the catheter bag today. It’s supposed to be replaced every 5 to 7 days. The one they gave me in the hospital only had a short induction tube, which was fine. But the replacements they gave me have a 6” extension. Now if I was 6 foot 6 inches tall they would have been ideal. However I am a short arsed 5 foot 8 inches, so now the catheter tube either loops in the trousers, inviting all sorts of lewd comments, (I should be so lucky!)or the end of the delivery tube flirts with my ankles! Phoned the local surgery and a district nurse is racing to my rescue as I blog!

What I haven’t mentioned in this erstwhile column so far is the impact of all this rigmarole on other members of the household. Sal, my long suffering better half was nursing on me hand and foot last week. I enjoyed it so much I may have indulged in some gilding of the Lilly as to my true condition. Then she read this blog, so that was the end of that! Seriously though, it’s really good to have someone to share the anxieties and new challenges that major surgery presents.

And then there is the long suffering hound. We are the proud owners of the softest, daftest 2 year old full kitted male golden retriever you can imagine. Before I went in for the operation, his party trick was to place his paws on my shoulders, look me in the eyes and have a man to dog discussion. He was my constant companion on the 3 mile runs around Wentwood every morning. We were quite worried on my return home, as we used to indulge in major rough and tumbles, so he had to learn:

1.    No jumping up on me under any circumstances

2.    No more jaunts around Wentwood off the lead- local walks with Sal, lead on, only.

3.    No more man to dog heart to hearts

4.    When I am lying on settee watching rugby, I do not want a huge rubber bone thrown onto my midriff as an encouragement to play

5.    No more horsing around in play wrestling matches

Now to most intelligent canines, one might have thought this was understandable. Oh no! My Dad used to say, when being depreciative about another’s sensitivities, when the brains were given out; he was in the back of the queue. In Alfie’s case he just didn’t turn up! We had wailing in the utility room, crying at the base of the stairs, and he even went in the back garden and dug up the prise climbing clematis. When I was lying on the settee he would look at me and then incline his head to a thirty degree angle and whine! So I explained I had had a major operation and wasn’t quite the man I was, but there was a good chance of returning to normal service if he was patient for a few weeks. I should have saved my breath! So prepare your household for this trauma- it can get more involved than you think!

All went well yesterday, my first real outing after the operation. The game was between Talywain youth and Croesyceiliog youth. Bit of a scrappy affair, but its good to see development at the roots of the game. Interesting new experience is judging the capacity of the catheter bag. Normally you feel you want to pee when your bladder fills up- no such clues with the bag strapped to your leg, so if you ever see a bloke furtively fondling his lower leg, odds on he’s got a catheter and he’s checking to see if he needs a pee! Was overcautious yesterday- went at half time to the clubhouse, a good 400 metre walk. A young man eyed me curiously, as I waited for the WC in-spite of the fact a urinal was free. When I got in it drained in about 8 seconds- a long walk for little delivery!

Gareth and Louise (my son and fiancee) came around for dinner, Sal trying out her new Tegine. Morrocan meatballs with soft eggs at the end- delicious. My appetite has returned to normal, although it was only slightly dimmed after the operation.

Need to change my dressings today. They are very new to me- sort of like clingfilm. Four of the five wounds seem to be healing up very well- bit of bruising around the outside but nothing of note. One of them is surrounded by red inflammation which seems to be spreading a bit. I’ll keep my eye on that one and alert the district nurse tomorrow if it continues to spread. Certainly no pain at all now, and haven’t taken pain killers for 24 hours. In terms of general mobility I am feeling near 100%. Walked a fair way yesterday at the game, together with the round the block jaunt. Tired when I got home though, and had forty winks on the settee before dinner- unheard of normally.

So still everything progressing famously. Next milestones are staples out (Thursday), and then catheter out (next Monday back at Bristol), so rather than bore you all with mundane routine I shall blog next when something of note, or amusement, occurs.