I have been thinking about writing this for some time. However, to do so requires me to become transparent and vulnerable.  However, when one has a desire to encourage others along life’s journey, transparency and vulnerability take a backseat to the main intent. Sometimes it is beneficial and encouraging when others openly share their experience, as the reader realizes they are not alone in their struggles on the road of life. So, I hope my words will serve as an encouragement to fellow struggling journeymen to keep pressing onward, and realize you don’t travel the road of life alone.

What I share will unfold in Three Parts. So, let’s unfold Part I.  

Life is truly a journey. It is a journey filled at times with smooth traveling roads that make the trip through life most enjoyable. However, the road of life is often filled with potholes, speedbumps, detours, and dead ends. I must say, I have been greatly blessed in my journey these seventy-three years. It has been filled with a mixture of smooth and broken roads, and the normal potholes and detours of life.  For the last twelve years, part of my journey has been on broken pavement that has required proper navigation for the journey to continue. It is a journey that involves prostate cancer.

In March of 2013, I went to my family doctor for my annual check-up.  I was 61 years old. As a person who had been an active runner since the age of thirteen, I assumed all would be well and life would continue on as usual. However, a couple of days after my examination, I received a disturbing call from my doctor that my PSA was significantly elevated from the previous year. I had no problems that indicated a high PSA. Anxiety seized my heart. I had always heard there are two types of men; those who have prostate cancer and those who are going to get it.

Making an appointment with an oncologist, all types of tests and medication were taken to see if the elevation could be reduced. However, nothing lowered my PSA. In June 2013 I had a prostate biopsy. That was without a doubt the most uncomfortable and intrusive procedure I have ever had done. There are not words to describe the experience. The nurse came in after it was over and asked if I was ok. My response was, “Well, I certainly don’t feel like going to the prom right now!!”  The doctor took twelve samples from my prostate to evaluate for possible cancer. I was told it would be a couple of days before I heard from the results. May I say, it was an anxious few days!

On the evening of June 13, 2013, as my wife and I sat down for supper, the phone rang. It was 6 o’clock. I knew intuitively who it was. Jumping up to answer the phone, after saying “Hello” I heard these words, “Mr. Merritt I wish I had good news for you, but you have prostate cancer. Of the 12 samples, nine of them were cancerous.”   I heard little else the doctor said. My heart dropped to my feet. I was stunned.  The doctor told me he would be in touch, and we would discuss treatment options. The news was devastating. Collecting my thoughts over the next few days, it was decided to take the bull by the horns and do what was necessary to lick this intrusion in my body.

If there was good news in the bad news, I was told the cancer was caught very early and treatable. I was given several treatment options, but it boiled down to two: to remove the prostate or have radiation. After consultation with the doctor, much thought, and prayer, I chose radiation. I was to have 43 radiation treatments. To say the least, I was filled with apprehension and uncertainty. I had three gold “radars” implanted in my prostate and was marked with tattoos in areas that no one else will ever see!

My radiation treatments began in September and my last one was on November 7, 2013. I requested for my treatments to be mid-morning so I could run early and then go get zapped. I had few side effects other than growing very tired by the end of the day. I must confess the treatments at first were most intimidating, as I went into a dimly lit room, lowered my pants in front of strange ladies, and lay on my back and stared at a red dot on the ceiling while this huge machine passed over me a couple of times. However, after a couple of weeks, it became part of my daily routine.  

A few weeks after my radiation treatments were over, the doctor took my PSA and it had been cut in half. Every six months I would have it rechecked and each time my PSA was lower than the time before. All was well for the next eight years, and life had seemingly returned to normal. I wish, though, that was the end of the story.  But it is not.

Stay tuned for Part II

Blessings,

Dr. Dan