Courage

 

    

 In a couple of hours, I have to walk from my office down the street to the the cancer center to have a cystoscopy. I am not looking forward to it at all. I still remember the last time that I had one, back at the beginning of this adventure in 2015. That time, it was to make sure that my newly found prostate cancer had not spread into my bladder.
    This time is a little different. Since the beginning of the year, I have had several seemingly random incidents of blood in my urine. Some times, it was trace amounts - just a little pink. Other times it was full on blood and clots. One time a month or so ago, it looked like a CSI crime scene in the bathroom. I went to the emergency room with that one. They did a cat scan of my bladder but didn't see anything. Like all the other times before and since, it eventually cleared on it's own. There has been zero pain associated with it, save minor discomfort trying to pass the initial clot a couple of times.
    The common assumption shared with the ER docs as well as my oncologist and urologist is that it is radiation cystitis scarring from my salvage radiation in 2016. It makes sense to me. And as much as I am not looking forward to having a camera sent up my urethra, it makes sense to have a look see as well.
    The odd coincidence of it all - which brings me both concern and comfort, is that today is the 13th anniversary of my father's passing. He died on May 19th, 2008. From complications of bladder and prostate cancer. According to all the genetic testing I have had, my PC was more than likely not due to hereditary traits, so chalk it up to coincidence, I guess. I really don't anticipate finding anything more than scar tissue, but it is obviously in the back of my mind.
    What is also in my mind is a memory I have of my father. The day he had his surgery for his cystectomy and ileal conduit. He was scared to death, but when they brought the wheel chair to take him back to pre-op, he refused it, and instead got up and walked straight and tall all the way to pre-op, orderlies in-tow.
    I have often thought of the courage he displayed that day, especially since I started my own cancer journey. And with that thought of him, I will walk tall today.
I love you and think of you often, Dad.