Sex and seniors: Good because she can’t get pregnant. Better because there’s lots of time and privacy in an empty nest.
Not important at all when you hear the words “prostate cancer.”
When that’s the diagnosis, a wife’s first concern is keeping her husband alive and healthy and by her side for years to come.
I know men fear it will ruin their sex life or change their “manhood” but trust me, living healthy is what really counts.
My husband had the prostate-specific antigen blood tests, commonly called PSA, for years as part of his annual physical exam. The number crept up slowly each year. As I recall, 5.5 was the alarm signal. A follow-up physical exam revealed what could be a tissue change.
Off we went to the urologist, confident that this was really nothing.
Denial is such an easy path.
Out of habit, I keep a small notebook in my purse as a reminder for stuff I definitely want to remember. When the urologist suggested I should come into the office with my husband for a little talk, I scrambled to find a pen and pulled out the notebook.
Once the doctor says cancer, you really don’t track what follows too clearly.
In my case, basic reporting instincts kicked in. I took notes. I asked questions. I made the doctor repeat statements I didn’t understand. Good thing, because when we got home with the brochures and papers explaining our options, the notes helped us put it all together.
Much later, my husband confessed that after he heard “cancer” that afternoon, his mind went blank for a time. He had, toward the end, asked questions, but I could see the stress in his eyes and hear fear lace his voice despite the doctor’s reassurance that we’d caught it early.
The first urologist suggested surgery. He told us we had other options, such as external radiation treatments or implants of radioactive seeds (brachytherapy) directly into the prostate. All of these procedures came with a significant chance his ability to obtain an erection during sex would end.
I didn’t care. I wanted him alive and healthy. That was his choice, too. We talked about it openly. He talked to men who’d had surgery or radiation or both. We researched the radioactive seed implant procedure and viewed an instructional video on this process.
After a series of tests and examinations by a radiologist and a urologist who worked as a team, he received seed implants.
Waiting and testing was much harder than the actual process. Doctors have busy schedules. Appointments were weeks apart. Time moved slower than a bull snake on gravel.
His physicians chose to give him a shot that would shrink his prostate to ensure the radiologist could reach all the cancer with the seed implants.
We waited another month.
The actual procedure was done as day surgery: in before 7 a.m. and out that afternoon.
Four years later he is still cancer free.
Other men we know have chosen radiation or surgery or a combination of treatments.
Drugs as an aide to resuming an active sex life have worked for some but not all. It can be a somewhat frustrating process that requires love and tenderness on both sides of the bed.
Women talk. We share, probably a lot more than our husbands want to know. We don’t love our men less because traditional sex is not a part of the marriage bed. We say prayers of thanks because they still are with us. We still have our best friend, our confidant, our lover.
The exquisite pleasure of being held in the arms of someone you love, night after night, is a miracle after you hear the word cancer. Thank God for miracles.
Linda Bryant Smith writes about life as a senior citizen and the issues that concern, annoy and often irritate the heck out of her now that she lives in a world where nothing is ever truly fixed but her income. E-mail her at ljbryant@yahoo.com.
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.
