The first struggle will be with that stupid hospital gown.
Try as I might, I won’t be able to fasten it properly.
I’ll be the one with the rear section flapping merrily in the breeze. My pimply white bum on show for all to see.
In the scheme of things, it’s not my greatest problem. I have prostate cancer. And the time has almost arrived to go under the knife.
Some of you already know. Others may be surprised. And a few will be wondering why I’m telling you about it.
I’ve pondered that too. Keep it a secret, or put it out there?
If there’s one thing I’ve discovered since embarking on these scribblings, it’s that sharing usually helps. So be it. I’m enlisting you all to be part of the fight.
They found the first tumour late last year, during a routine procedure. A tiny one. Time was on my side.
Back then, it didn’t quite sink in. This was a disease for old blokes.
Everyone had an opinion. Get it out tomorrow. Do nothing. Wait a few years.
Those who mean the most to me became upset. A few offered comfort, by explaining that if you had to get any form of cancer, this was the one. They meant well. And it’s probably true. But somehow, when you have the tumour, it doesn’t help.
My surgeon is the most amazing of men. A gem. So when he decided on one more scan, just to make sure, I had no hesitation.
In the meantime, I got on with things. Did my best to push those dark, nasty thoughts aside. Did I tell you this was a disease for old blokes?
The second lot of results came back. I knew straight away, things were crook. Doc wasn’t smiling. I’m guessing he’s no poker player.
They’d found a second, more sinister blob. Hiding underneath. It’s unusual, apparently. He’d consulted other specialists that morning. All agreed this changed our game plan. The prostate needed to come out. Sooner rather than later.
For the first time, I actually felt like a cancer patient. No more waiting. At no stage had I entertained the idea that this thing might spread. Dark, nasty thoughts.
That’s when the fight began in earnest. I decided I needed to approach it as a battle. Physically and mentally, I had to prepare.
So began the fitness regime. Early morning walks. Gym work. I’m almost back to my playing weight. How ironic, that I feel healthier right now than I have in years.
I have loving, caring people around me. True friends. We’re a giant pool of positive. They’re refusing to accept anything but a successful outcome.
I’m off the grog. I’ll miss Stradbroke Day for the first time in years. And those wonderful racing lunches sprinkled around it. I’m sure the boys will avoid the temptation of ringing to tell me how much fun they’re having. For the first ten minutes, maybe.
If I get down, I think of friends who have done it much tougher. Just last week, a wonderful family I know lost a mother, and a wife. Another great man, who happens to be the father of a mate, is battling cancer for the second time. They’re operating on him the same day as me. It makes me realise I have nothing to complain about.
Alone, at night, I get scared. I wait for those positive forces to kick in. Mostly, they do. No time for negatives.
I hate this disease with every fibre of my being. I want it out. I refuse to accept that it will get the better of me.
There’s so much to do. The girls need me harping about the need to clean their bathroom. I must take more photos of them. And of the sunrise.
I have to pick a Melbourne Cup trifecta. I’m booked for a night picnic by the river. I’ve promised to visit the farm. So I can see someone’s special place. Holding hands.
I want you to get tested. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this. I want my mates to hear the snap of rubber gloves behind them. You simply can’t put it off.
Forgive me if you don’t see anything on this page for a week or so. I’ll be busy, trying to sort out that bloody hospital gown.
Prostate cancer isn’t just a disease for old blokes. It can strike any of us. My plan is to be talking about it as an old bloke. Wish me luck.
Hold All Tickets 
You go and proudly show off that white-ass to the world, Salmo! You can kick this thing! I just know you can!
Are they using the robot? Will you be at the Wesley (my second home)? If so, I’m there again Monday (there every fortnight) and on my ward, lots of post-prostate guys are doing their final voiding so I just might see your lilly-white!? Oh, was that too much info for such a public forum? Meh…we’re all just skin and hair when it comes down to it. I’m not precious.
Good luck – you will be talking this as an old bloke, swapping stories of hospital gowns and bad food for a long time to come…
Big Al 🙂 x
Salmo – thinking of you. My Dad, who of course is much older but still not really an old bloke (he’s 68) had the surgery in 2010 and it was pretty aggressive (9/10 on the scale). He’s doing really well now. PSA levels down to nothing and hopefully staying that way. You and Dad share a great attitude which is some of the best medicine…cheers…kathy
Hi Salmo – couldn’t believe my eyes when I read this. When you said the other week you had to have surgery, I was thinking knees or something of the like. You are positive and even though we are in another state we are here for you. Love you heaps Sam x x x x
You go in there and proudly show off that butt to the world, Salmo! You can kick this thing (in the nuts! Pun intended!). I just know you can!
Are they using the robot? Will you be at the Wesley (my second home)? If so, I’m there again Monday (there every fortnight) and on my ward, lots of post-prostate guys are doing their final voiding so I just might see your lilly-white!? Oh, was that too much info for such a public forum? Meh…we’re all just skin and hair when it comes down to it. I’m not precious.
Good luck – you will be talking this as an old bloke, swapping stories of hospital gowns and bad food for a long time to come…
Big Al 🙂 x
Good attitude mate. Give the rotten thing the old “heave go” Wayne.
Go get em salmo. Mate my last PSA test came back 2.4 and the doctor explainedthe stats to me. My follow test is back to normal. I Definitely stay on top of it and I’m much younger than you. Wishing you all the best, Hoges and family.
Greg Richardson
All the best mate, everything will go great, and as for your big white butt, for christ sake and everyone else in the hospital, please I’m begging you find a way to do that bloody gown up because no matter what surgery they are having, they will get over that, but your big white butt will scar them for life.
Cheers
Well pimply arse and all .. I wish you well .. Miss you at breakfast with the stars and Straddy Day .. I promise to get some pictures for you to enjoy.
Plus I will have a bacon and egg muffin or three for you!
Take care and I am sure you have a wonderful group of princesses to care for you when you get home.
Hi mate shocked to hear your news… But loved reading your blog.. What a great and positive attitude. Seems to me you are sitting just off the pace with a lap full of running and ready to give him his head. Best wishes on the journey ahead.
Strength to you Salmo. Keep kickin’.
Mate, always enjoy your blogging, particularly about racing. Loved the one about carrying on like a goose when one you own wins. Know the feeling.
The very best of wishes for what lies ahead – look forward to reading the blog after you pick the Melbourne Cup trifecta.
Mate, always enjoy your blogging, particularly about racing. Loved the one about carrying on like a goose when one you own wins. Know the feeling.
The very best of wishes for what lies ahead – look forward to reading the blog after you pick the Melbourne Cup trifecta.
Sorry to hear of your diagnosis, but glad you still have a sense of humour. Kick it to the kerb and get back to doing what you do best, which isn’t fiddling with hospital gowns and showing off your butt. Best of luck mate.
Wishing you all the luck in the world; and the blogosphere will be a poorer place in your absence. Looking forward to you being back on deck and making me laugh ASAP.
Well Davo, what a pickle! It’s as scary as *##! (I try not to swear..lol) wishing you all my best – seriously 🙂 hey look on the bright side ….at least it’s not pregnancy!! Trust me – no dignity – heh heh and this is a woman who has given birth x 5 times & mother to 7!!). Seriously attitude is 9/10ths of the battle – we know you & we are with you every step you take – take deep breaths then breath then another step….repeat…and when you hesitate..know we are ALL there with you – and remember if you need us in person – ood god it will ne a stampede!! (many of us are now local (lol) we can come a calling…sweaty, smelly with a smile on our faces & our attitude….must be that old Woy Woy thingy…we just don’t give up or in – especially with one of our own. David you will get through this trust me. All my best wishes Jenny (aka Holt) 🙂
PS: I’m in Brissy these days – can travel – have lots of magazines (well not really!!) but hey, you need a friendly face with coffee/tea….you get the idea – old school rules 😉 Take care. Jx:)
PS: seriously..your worried about a flapping hospital gown?!! and you an ol’ WWH old boy?!! Lol J:D
Good luck Salmo,we farewell Mum tomorrow and when we say a pray for her we will be thinking of ya mate.Lets all be role models for our kids generation and between us all the world will be a better place.Love ya mate,The Millses.