Goodbye prostate my old friend!
Sorry it had to end this way...
I’ve got this! It was a Friday in May, and that morning Louise and I jumped in the car and drove the 45 minutes to Gloucester, UK to drop me off ready for my op.
The radical prostatectomy was planned to be performed by my new friend, Dr Akhtar and as we had arrived far too early for me to go into the hospital we sat in the car for a little while staring towards the front doors of the hospital like two people ready to do a bank job:
Louise: “You OK?”
My Brain: “Nope! I fucking hate needles, it is going to hurt and they are going to break my penis forever”
Me: “Yeah, fine. It will all be over by this afternoon. I will see you later, I am going to go and find the pre-op room. Love you, bye”
Kisses exchanged, a quick glance back to see if Louise was still sitting in the car watching me walk through those doors (she was) and I was in the hospital. Right then, which way? Now this was like 7:00am in the morning and no one was about apart from a few very tired looking medical staff and I am standing their with my appointment letter in hand and staring at the extremely complicated map trying to find out where the hell I had to be. I stared, and stared and stared. Nope, cant see it.
I decided the best thing was for me to start walking and I am sure that I will be able to ask someone the way. That someone never appeared, I was walking corridors that I don’t think that I should have been walking and at one point sure that I had walked through the staff canteen, I was starting to panic. I am going to be late! You know those dreams where you are trying to move towards something and no matter how much you try you never actually get anywhere, that was me that morning.
Suddenly I found it! Like the Star of Bethlehem, an arrow appeared in front of me pointing me to my destiny. Down some corridors, turn right, turn right again, then left, then back on yourself, up some stairs, down a slide, round a merry go round, up in a lift and voila, I arrived at the pre-op ward. Now that was a slight exaggeration, but you get the gist, Gloucester hospital has been added onto over the years, hence the maze of corridors and staircases. Anyway here now.
After I check myself in, I go find a seat with about ten other people in the waiting area. As this is still post covid times we are all sitting on our own little plastic chair, massively spaced out from one another and just silent trying not to look at each other in the eye. A) it was first thing in the morning B) None of us had coffee yet C) We were all there for ops of one sort or another and were probably quietly shitting ourselves.
“Mr Stevenson”…thats me, here we go. No turning back now. I follow the nurse through to a ward and get shown a bed in this curtained cubicle and get asked to strip off, “underwear as well please” (they must get so many people leave their pants on if they have to ask this), and put that darn tricky to tie up gown. I am lying there and I am listening to all of the conversations going on around me (this ward was collecting everyone that was having an op that day and their consultants and anaesthetists were coming round chatting to them about what was coming up) when I first heard Steve. Unbeknownst to me, Steve was going to be my new ward buddy for the next four days and I could hear him talking to Dr Akhtar.
Steve: “No, not drank or ate anything since last night. Nope not allergic. No family history etc etc etc”
Dr Akhtar: “Steve, you are first in today, I will see you on the other side”
As the curtain gets whipped back, in steps Dr Akhtar with his a big warm smile:
Dr Akhtar: “Morning Mark, how are you?”
My Brain: “Hello Dr Akhtar, glad to see a friendly face. I got lost in the hospital this morning and got scared and it took my ages to find the ward. How do you look so fucking good in green hospital scrubs at 7 something in the morning? Must be good genes!”
Mark: “I am good thank you”
Dr Akhtar: “No drink, food since last night? Allergic? Family history etc etc etc. You are in second after Steve. See you on the other side”
After a visit from a most lovely anaesthetist you will ever meet, about 5 foot 2 inches, Eastern European accent, mid 50’s and a smile that just put you immediately at ease, I heard Steve get wheeled away. I lay there and doom scrolled my phone while I waited for my turn. After what felt like an eternity, the curtain got pulled fully back and it was my turn to head down to surgery. Five star services for me as I got wheeled in my bed down the corridors into a room that had that Hannibal Lecter feel (white walls, needles, machines…you get it).
Face to face with the friendly anaesthetist again, oh good I like her:
Anaesthetist: “Mr Stevenson, we are going to put this needle in your back so please stay as still as possible or you might never be able to walk again”
My Brain: “What the fuck now! Look at the fucking size of that needle! You are so coming off my Christmas card list now, Ms Anaesthetist”
Mark: “OK, I will”
As on sat on the bed, legs dangling over the side, holding both hands of the lucky nurse that had been assigned to me that morning (a 46 year man child that hates needles with a passion, lucky nurse!), in went the needle. It was at this point I just wanted to get out of there. I cannot remember it hurting as such, it was the overall emotion of the whirlwind of the past 4 months and it peaked at that point. My eyes went soggy and I went eye to eye with the nurse, “You’ll be OK” she said. It was over, needle out and once again respect to all the ladies that have had an epidural and whilst in labour.
Needle inserted here, there and everywhere, and as I lie chatting away to the now not so lovely (I jest, she was amazing!) anaesthetist, I drift gentle to sleep…😴
Dr Akhtar: “Mark, we have managed to save your left nerve, surgery was good, you did amazing blah blah blah”
My Brain: “What the fuck, where am’I? Why is that guy in that bed staring and smiling at me, is that Steve? Left nerve, thank God, he did not break my penis”
Me: “Thank you so much, so so much. Thank you, thank you!”
As I started to come round I sat up and looked over at the guy (Steve I assumed) and he was already sitting upright with a cuppa tea in his hand. And this was the first conversation that Steve and I exchanged (remember, I have never even met the guy at this stage, just heard his voice through a curtain that morning), and somehow it felt really natural for this situation:
Steve: “They saved your left nerve mate, that is great news”
Me: “Yeah, great”
And with those words, a kinship was born!
I was not too long in that recovery ward and I was soon wheeled off to the normal ward with all if it’s noises, patients and subsequent smells. I basically went back to sleep as I was not missing this opportunity to grab some sleep whilst the good drugs were still in my system.
I am now a man without a prostate! A few hours of my life had passed that day and I had gone from a fully functioning human adult male that could so readily produce semen to carry my little swimmers to the outside world, to someone that no longer could. My fertility days were finished, no more over populating the world for me (just for the record, I have done my part with four amazing, talented, funny, loving kids…no more, no sir). How did I feel at this time? Tired and but more so relieved that the cancer was no longer inside of me.
Thank you to everyone that worked looking after me that day, from the cleaner that made sure the op room was sparkling clean right through to the dashing Dr Akhtar that cut that bad boy out of me so eloquently. 🙏🏻
Recovery was a journey in itself…head on over to my next post “Post surgery ward, it is no holiday camp!”
If you need more support then there are some great charities ready to help:
United Kingdom: https://prostatecanceruk.org
United States: https://www.pcf.org