PSA down? Really?

Well, yesterday's PSA test, exactly a month since my last one, is actually down from 60 to 56. It's not a significant change but it's better than another "three-month" doubling. That would have been pretty serious.
We have an appointment for next Tuesday and the big question of what happens then will be high on the agenda. We have a large list of issues we wish to discuss. But the gist is that we continue to be comfortable about resisting further intervention just for the sake of three months of extra life at the end... Whenever that might be.
We don't want to seem ungrateful to a benificent health system but the outrageous cost for those additional three months of life does not seem to be justified in someone of my age and relative health. If I felt a whole lot worse because of the disease I suppose I might feel differently about medicating to postpone the inevitable... But the reality is that for nearly fifteen years my quality of life has been affected only by the side effects of medication, never by any symptoms of the disease.
Abiraterone is maybe too much, too soon...

Singing at the local Hospice

My GP phoned this morning to tell me about my PSA. I was a bit ahead of him, having asked one of the nurse practitioners to look up my file and let me know. She was supposed to tell him that I knew but he rang anyway and we had a good chat about the situation. He'd like to feel that something was being done about it but we agreed that the routine three-monthly oncology interview in December would be soon enough.. I will have had another bone scan by then and we'll also have a more detailed record of the ups and ups of my PSA over recent months.
But his call has prompted a little more thought than usual and this morning I turned back to the draft of my submission to the Parliamentary Select Committee on Health. I'll support any change in the legislation that recognises that the right to life includes the right to be able to end life if it has become totally unbearable and meets some specific criteria.
This rush of fingers to the keyboard, and the wrong time on my computer clock, made us a little late for our Barbershop Chorus's departure to the local Hospice to sing to them. There were more of us in the chorus than there were of them but it was a good time and we did pretty well for a bunch of oldies with a rather wide range of ability and concentration.
With my rapidly rising PSA in mind, it was a little ominous for me to walk through the Hospice and meet staff and patients, carers and volunteers. Whatever the outcome of the debate about Physician Assisted Death, nobody can detract from the fantastic work that they do and will continue to do. If that is where I am going to finish my days in the not so distant future, I couldn't imagine a better place.
But I am aware that a recent fund-raising appeal for Hospice was based around the lack of government funding for some vital pain-relieving drugs. The argument that nobody needs to suffer while dying seems to be not yet true. If our government continues to refuse to debate the End of Life issue, it must revise its budgets around total pain management.

PAD and Progressive Christianity

At a birthday nibbles and drinks last night I got into conversation with yet another person nearer my age (we don't talk about "old people" around here!). She asked me, "How are you?" and, as usual, I answered.
Most people don't actually want to know. "Too much information," they say to themselves. But if you ask me that question I am likely to answer it. And last night we got quickly around to end of life and medical care issues. She is another advocate for what she calls "euthanasia". The topic is quite close to home around here. Yet you couldn't find a more active bunch of oldies doing stuff. A black and white formal dinner dance planned by the management for this Friday night has been cancelled for lack of registrations - but I hear that a bunch of us are organising an unofficial "bring a plate" BYO "knees-up" in the Village lounge instead and we'll probably enjoy it just as much as the official dine and dance. That's the spirit of our age...

Someone said we're living in "God's Waiting Room" around here. Well, that's not quite how I would put it but I know exactly that feeling. Nobody knows better than us that we do not know what the next day will bring. When you have a terminal illness you're so much more conscious of the impermance of life. But, heck, meanwhile there's a lot of living to be done. There's a sense of urgency about how you fit in all the things you'd like to do in a day. For the first time for years, I've been working on formatting no less than three books at once. I thought I'd given up publishing. I've got caught up in our Parish's review of its badly neglected giving programme and we're experiencing a very encouraging response that is pushing us to do even better things. And today some of us from the Village are squeezing in a trip to the movies half an hour away and then rushing back to Barbershop chorus practice just before dinner. Oh, it's all Go around here...

And at the end....  What I hope for is something like this definition of PAD that I received in an email today:

There is a type of Physician Assisted Death where, at the request of the patient, the physician prescribes the drug, and the patient takes it to end their life. This is often called ‘physician assisted suicide’.  This type of PAD is beneficial to the patient, prevents suffering, is a compassionate act from the doctor, can be regarded as an extension of treatment at End-of-Life, is respectful of the patient’s autonomy, and allows the relatives and friends to say goodbye before the ravages of disease and intense sedation make this impossible. It also allows some ceremony and spiritual and religious involvement.

Members of Parliament, hear me: 
I have terminal prostate cancer. I am likely to refuse further medication next Tuesday. I believe it is a human right for me choose to die a dignified, planned death when I feel the time is right. Make it legal!