When Sir Chris Hoy revealed last week that his prostate cancer diagnosis is terminal and he has only a limited time left, many people could not believe that such a supremely fit athlete could be struck down in this way. But whether you are a member of the royal family or a top Olympian, cancer does not discriminate. If only Sir Chris’s prostate cancer had been diagnosed earlier, the prognosis would likely now be better. I know, because this summer it happened to my husband, David.
Back in June, a loss of weight and general malaise sent him (after much nagging) off to the doctor who suggested a PSA (prostate-specific antigen) test. A higher level than normal meant a quick MRI scan at the local hospital, which suggested something was amiss. Off we went to the Royal Free for a more detailed biopsy. It was not the most dignified of procedures – legs akimbo and various doctors doing heaven knows what to his nether regions – but having giving birth twice and undergone regular smear tests, I was not as sympathetic as perhaps I should have been.
A phone call a week later confirmed the worst: locally advanced prostate cancer had been detected. (Funny, incidentally, how they give you that news over the phone. After the word “cancer” has been mentioned, a person will only take in about 18 per cent of the rest of the conversation, I have read.) We cancelled a much-needed holiday and I started to read everything I could about the disease.
Then came one of the hardest parts of the process: whether to opt for radiotherapy (ghastly side effects) or surgery (different ghastly side effects). Apparently, both can have equally successful outcomes, so the choice was ours. Chai Cancer Care became a fantastic source of support, providing a space for David to talk and offload all his worries as I was too close (and emotional) to be of any real assistance. For a man who had spent a lifetime raising money for numerous worthy causes, being in need of help from a charity came as a huge shock.
After many sleepless nights and talking to people who had gone through the whole nightmare, David opted for surgery. This is where it all gets a bit Star Trek: the operation took place with the surgeon sitting at a console while a series of robotic arms (think Dr Octopus in Spider-Man) carried out the delicate manoeuvres necessary to remove the cancerous tumour. Two days later, my brave husband was on his way home, still hooked up to a catheter (which, thankfully, was removed less than a week later).
Early check-up: Joy and her husband, David
Once home it quickly became apparent that although the Yom Tovim were looming, this year we would mark them in a very different way. We welcomed the new year with the traditional apple dipped in honey, praying for sweet months ahead, but trips to shul were out of the question as David was still in the early stages of recovery. The chairman of our shul kindly turned up on both days of Rosh Hashanah to blow the shofar in our lounge. I welled up as I heard those blasts. Fasting on Yom Kippur was forbidden as David had to drink plenty to keep all his internal plumbing working. His beloved tea and Coca-Cola were (and still are) off the menu as caffeine is forbidden – it can irritate the bladder, as can alcohol – so caffeine-free teabags are now on our shopping list.
Our friends and neighbours were angels: one couple turned up laden with food for an entire weekend; others brought cakes, chocolates and other goodies. (David may have lost weight but this crisis has seen me gain a few pounds.) There were numerous offers to take him for a walk, as the surgeon had advised him to walk a mile a day shortly after the surgery (easier said than done with a catheter in place).
Then came the kegels and their importance. When I first mentioned them, David assumed I was going to ply him with potato pudding, but I was talking about pelvic-floor exercises, rather than kugels. Women should do them after childbirth but they are necessary after prostate surgery too, to get the pelvic floor muscles back in shape so you have more control over your wee (no, I never would thought I would become an expert in such matters). “Have you done your kegels yet?” has become my daily refrain. There is even a phone app to assist you do the regular muscle squeezes for the right length of time.
On my birthday the surgeon called to say lab results showed all the cancer had been removed: the best present I could have ever wished for. I know David is not out of the woods yet, as regular blood tests will be necessary for years ahead, but I look forward with hope.
It appears that he got tested in time and this early intervention, though unpleasant, may have saved his life. So get tested, please. It may just save yours.
THE FACTS
Prostate cancer is the most common cancer in men
*More than 52,000 men in the UK are diagnosed with the cancer every year, the equivalent of 143 men a day
*One in eight men will get prostate cancer
*Every 45 minutes a man dies from prostate cancer: more than 12,000 men every year
*The earlier you find prostate cancer, the easier it is to treat
*Men are at higher risk if they are over 50, black or have a father or brother with the disease
*To help men check their risk in 30 seconds, Prostate Cancer UK has an online risk checker: prostatecanceruk.org/risk-checker
*Your risk of getting prostate cancer is higher if your mother or sister has had breast or ovarian cancer
*For people with at least one Jewish grandparent, the occurrence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene mutations is six times higher than in the general population. In men, the BRCA2 gene fault raises the risk of prostate cancer by up to 27 per cent (it is 12.5 per cent in the wider population).
*NHS England is offering free BRCA gene testing for anyone living in England who is aged 18 or over and who one or more Jewish grandparents
jewishbrca.org or nhsjewishbrcaprogramme.org.uk.
prostatecanceruk.org
chaicancercare.org
