Roger Zee Memoirs

"Life and Times of a Pandemic Musician"

2018 Yeah I Got Cancer 02 02/24/21

The shit's hit the fan! It's May 2018 when they first diagnose me with high-grade, aggressive Prostate Cancer -- 9.5 out of 10 max on the Gleason scale! I always joke that if I pitch my life story as a novel to a publisher, they'll reject it as totally unbelievable. Guess I live too large, LOL! Welcome to another excerpt from my memoirs, "Life and Times of a Pandemic Musician." B-|

Here's the hard part. Do I go radiation/chemo or just straight up surgery? But first the doctors want to check for cancer spread. So they order up more blood work, an x-ray, and a full body scan. Funny enough, as I sit in the waiting room, my eye catches an old copy of the White Plains Hospital Magazine, "Health Matter" with my face staring up at me from the back cover! My how things change... The CT scan finds no remote cancer but does show worsened curvature of the spine. Really, have they ever run a test on me and come up with nothing, LOL? ;-)

Extreme pressure on me to pick a treatment plan ASAP. First, I call a musician friend who had Prostate Cancer and opted for surgery to remove his prostate. When they try this, if they go in and find disease in your lymph nodes, they immediately close and send you for radiation and/or chemo to shrink the tumors so they can operate again. If they find no spread, they detach the urethra first before they remove the prostate. At the end, they hook you up to a catheter and leave you peeing into a bladder bag for a month. By the way, operating to re-attach it doesn't always work! On the positive tip, this whole process usually leaves you with no sexual malfunction. My buddy came through just fine! :-)

My other alternative, radiation and hormone therapy (chemo), initially frightens me less than surgery. Number one, because I just came from an open heart operation. Two, the doctors neglect to warn me about all the collateral these procedures cause. Due to the particularly aggressive nature of my cancer, I would receive 45 days of radiation to my "private parts" to kill off the cancer cells. They decline to mention what else they will destroy. But before beginning radiation, they want to inject my butt with Trelstar. This shot will remove every bit of testosterone in my body. That's what Prostate Cancer eats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! They will shoot me up every three months for three years. :-O

In consultation with my urologist, potential surgeon and radiologist, I decide to go with radiation and chemo. I figure if they operate on me, I can't return to playing music for at least a month. And then they can always screw up reattaching my urethra so I will never pee normally again. Frankly, I just can't face going under the knife once more. This counts as one of the worst decisions I've ever made! :'-(

First up, the Trelstar shot to shut down all my testosterone. But testosterone does a lot of things for both men and women. It controls sexual desire, muscle tone, joint lubrication, hair and breast growth. So say hello to man boobs, belly pooch, hair loss, insomnia, arthritis, and no interest or ability to engage in sex! Oh, did I mention that Trelstar induces all the symptoms of menopause, complete with incessant hot flashes and crying jags? Can't sleep more than two hours in a row. I always know when it's time for another dose. At a week or two away, I go from comparing my breasts to other women's for size and shape, to actually wanting to caress theirs... ;-)

When I complain to female friends about my eternal menopause, I get no sympathy. Indeed they grow angry and indignant. "Now you know how we feel!" My reply, "I didn't sign up for this. I don't even get the pleasure of carrying and bringing life into this world." On the positive side, I will say this. I certainly understand the female perspective far better from my new vantage point as half man, half menopausal woman! ;D

Now on to the radiation. They set me up to go 45 weekdays with weekends and holidays off at the WestMed facility just down the road from Rye Playland, NY. I start at the beginning of June and go to almost the end of July. They slot me in daily at 10A and tell me to consume two pints of water before I arrive. Of course that won't work for me do to my extremely small bladder. If I drink before I leave home, I can't make the clinic without stopping along the road to pee. So I arrive 45 minutes early to drink the liquid. After I imbibe, it takes about a half hour for the water to blow up my bladder so it remains out of the radiation path. :P

They perform the radiation in three steps. First they put me on the table and do a run-through without radiation to make sure my bladder's out of the way. If it's not, they take me off the platform and send me back to drink more water and then wait another 20 minutes or so for it to take effect. It ends up that two pints just doesn't do it for me. I need four! It takes all of my self control to not pee myself while waiting to get back on the table! Forget about the drive home. I soon pick out two different safe places to park while I relieve myself. And sometimes that's not even enough and I need a third! Nothing worse than peeing your pants while running up the stairs to your apartment! =^_^=

To get the radiation, they slide me into the doughnut a few times. I must take a deep breath, hold it and keep perfectly still while they turn on the ray. The first time in, they aim for the prostate. Then they slide me out to check how it went. After, they slide me back in and do a little of the surrounding area. Wouldn't want to miss anything, LOL! I use the time to go over song lyrics in my head. Thankfully, none of the procedure hurts. =^_^=

Once a week after the radiation, usually Thursday, one of the team physicians gives me a checkup. She looks for radiation burns and other side effects. The main problem, which they never warned me about, comes when the nerves in that area get tangled up so that when I get the urge to go, I can't tell if I need to pee or poop till I actually sit on the toilet! This never resolves. My doctor tells me I can take two Aleve, twice a day to reduce the swelling, sensitivity, and urge to go. She explains that even though the over-the-counter bottle says only take one at a time, when originally a prescription drug, they allowed two pills at once. Unfortunately now I find myself constantly popping up and shooting off to the bathroom as I only get ten seconds between feeling the urge and then releasing. And after a few accidents in bed, I become super vigilant. It gets to the point where I always pack an extra pair of underpants in my bass gig bag "just in case." ;-)

For obvious reasons, I look on this as the worst summer of my life. But I can't take the time to wallow in self-pity. I decide to keep my condition a secret except for family and a few close friends. You see I don't want this to impact my ability to get calls for gigs and host my TV show. The secrecy takes a huge psychic toll... >=O

Feels wonderful yet terrifying to finally get this off my chest! I pray the "big reveal" will release the internal tension. So many people now call me a complete wuss for continuing to remain locked up in almost total isolation during the Pandemic. I hear a lot of "Live Free or Die," bullshit. But sixteen of my friends who follow that creed now live in the next life. I'm taking no chances. This coming Monday I go to Westchester County Center for vaccination numero uno. Can't effing wait! In the meantime, the sun's finally shining through my window as I strap on my bass, play along with the "Electric Ladyland" CD by Jimi Hendrix, dream of all the women who remain safe from my advances for the time being, and avoid like Hell taking the "Rainbow Bridge!" One <3

YouTube - Voodoo Child (Slight Return) - Jimi Hendrix