Met with the oncologist today. My PSA was up about 10% into the mid 30s. He told me that means the Lupron is slowly failing, which is good. He wants to keep me on Lupron (and Casodex) until the month to month jumps hit 20% or my PSA exceeds 50.
At that time we’ll add Zytiga to the regimen and drop the casodex. I thought that I’d be done with Lupron, but that’s not the case. I’ll still get Lupron every month.
I’m a little concerned about going off the casodex, since I feel it was a major factor in controlling the depression. He thinks I just got used to the Lupron. At any rate, if the depression returns, I’ll propose we add casodex back to the mix and see what happens.
I also asked about travel next year, specifically in about seven months. He said there shouldn’t be any problems making the trip, good news!
I’ve started to come to terms with my death likely in under two years. The panic attacks are largely gone and the anxiety is much ore manageable. Interestingly enough, the anxiety and panic is almost always the worst right before I go to sleep. I think I just don’t want the day to end and to officially one day closer to death, but who knows.
Yet Another Prostate Cancer Blog 
I hear good things about Zytiga. Hang in there.
Hi YAPCaB, good to hear some good news. Stay well. Cheers, Phil
Thinking of you Jim
It is wonderful that you are planning a trip in seven months’ time.
I hear what you are saying about the moments before sleep…I think that the letting go of sleep and the waking from it are when we are most vulnerable. Oddly, I have had some profound feelings of connection with my deceased parents during those moments, where I have recalled memories most vividely, or had the sense of their presence.
Glad to read your update today, you were on my mind.
I’ve tried for days to come up with something meaningful to say. I wanted to give you comfort or inspiration or whatever else I could think of that was positive. But poetry, mine and everyone else’s, seems contrived and empty when I think about what you’re facing every day. Sound byte phrases about living in the moment and staying strong, however profound, just don’t cut it. So I’ll just say that I’m still here, listening. Your struggles are still on my mind. I have no idea how to ease your pain, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I still hope you can find joy and hang on to it for as long as possible. I understand the prognosis isn’t good, but I will still be here, hoping illogically for that miraculous turn-around. Barring that, I hope you find whatever strange insight it takes to allow you peace of mind every day that you’re still here.
Just knowing you’re still there is s great comfort. Thank you for the kind words. I will get through this. I’m having a rough patch right now. The shrink opened up a can of worms. Even he admits he blew it. I’m taking Xanax pretty regularly now. I think I’m going to stop seeing him until I get this Xanax problem under control.
Rough patches suck! And if the Xanax is helping, I say go for it! At this point, I’d be giving myself carte blanche on comfort.
I haven’t been around any blogs lately……including mine. I’m so sorry to check in and read this. I feel like there is nothing I can say that either hasn’t been said or is a platitude. My heart aches for you and your wife, I don’t know how you don’t have rough patches dealing with this…… when you don’t have someone telling you your survival rate, it’s easy to not think about your mortality and be in complete denial. That denial helps you get up every morning without thinking about it but when you are dealing with a terminal illness that luxury is taken from you. That said, even through the depression, you seem like a strong person and I am glad your wife has your back. I send you good thoughts and prayers.
Thank you so much. I really appreciate your support. It is hard, but ultimately it is what it is. I am very lucky to have a super wife who is everything to me and for me.