Well, Mel, you've hit another HR in this topic. It should be made sticky...
At 41 and with zero health issues my late blooming self had married, been in a public teaching job, and fathered two girls in an eight year period.
Met the wife in 2002, married her in 2005, traveled a couple years during our summers off from school, had our first daughter in 2007, the second in 2009, and were pregnant with our third child in 2011.
As an adopted kid, I followed my father's advice of getting a yearly physical, at any cost, because I didn't know my "biology," as he used to say. I took his advice. From 18 on, I've had yearly physicals. So in 2010, when my primary doc said my prostate felt a little odd and did my first PSA. It came back at like 2.5 and he said, let's watch it... Read a little, got a little scared, moved on... this can't be me... denial...
2011 - higher PSA, no infection, I kick into high gear internet fact finding stage. Everything I read pointed to having "it." As unlikely as it was at 41-2!!! Everything pointed to having it.
Had a consult with a heartless douche that lacked any modicum of bedside manner, who said, "...if I was a betting man, I have you at a 90% chance of aggressive prostate cancer based on your digital exam and your numbers." W-t-f does that mean?! But I knew what it meant...
With the third bun in the oven and my life expectancy seemingly taking a nose dive without feeling any the worse for wear, I went into SUPER internet research phase, which further confirmed to me that at 41-2, I freaking HAD prostate cancer. (The actual diagnosis occurred about
a week before my 42nd birthday...)
That night, before I had even had the biopsy that confirmed it about
a week later, I cried for my kids. I couldn't get the idea out of my head that my family was going to be the type where a parent dies at a critical developmental time in their lives that would see their seeds of demise being planted and their having to live a hard life without the love, guidance, and support of both parents. It was crushing and overwhelming and I cried... sobbed alone.
20 minutes later, as someone remarked on Kierkegaard... I realized that, "...there's no giving it back or exiting thru a backdoor," so I'd better toughen up and do what I can while I can.
I had already dumped Dr. Douche in favor of a Hopkins doctor. So I made up my mind that I would be informed, proactive, and would never get maudlin or morbid NO matter what might be thrown at me.
I got the diagnosis remarking, "...well, we already knew that was the case." I endeavored to fight, deal, and fight some more, as I'm sure everyone given the diagnosis has done.
I had surgery in early November, 2011 and in April, 2012 I was in the delivery room greeting a handsome 10 pound baby boy. Life had marched on. Life continues to march on at almost the 5 year point of that fateful time.
Life is largely back to "normal." Kids are 8, 6, and 4 and healthy and driving both their mother and I crazy in all the best... and worst ways.
I hope life marches on for a long time for everyone I read about
here. The stories and level of sharing are unlike anywhere else on the web.