I remember those few hours in the hospital room after surgery for prostate cancer July of my last: the thicket of plastic IV tubes, legs wrists huffing and chuffing to avoid blood clots, my nagging incision packed with gauze. But more importantly, I remember peering through the post-operative haze to see my wife, Deb, sitting, smiling at me.
These days, I embody the “disease” of the wedding vows that Deb and I took in 1981. Since last April, we learned that I have prostate cancer, I removed my prostate, discovered that the cancer was extremely aggressive, the subject of a session of 33 courses for graduation from the finish and I ‘m hormonal.Now, I’m not quite what you call “the catch”. I wear men intermittent incontinence pads, I am a bazaar scars, and have not had an erection in seven months. Most nights, I’m in bed by 10. The hormone Lupron shots, which suppress testosterone, which can fuel prostate cancer, have sent my libido is lower than the stock market, my shrunken testicles, and gives me hot flashes so hard that I sweat outside when it’s 20 degrees and snow.Although Deb has taught me that love is in the details. Humid professions of eternal love and tear stained sonnets are all very well, but they can not compete with the love of the countryside Deb help me change my catheter and drainage bags a day when I came to the hospital.