John Washburn

@johnwash_

tweets are spur of the moment. Pink Floyd is the greatest band of all time. Jimi Hendrix was a prophet

Uruguay

Joined February 2016

229 Following

124 Followers

2.6K Posts

Pinned Tweet

John Washburn @johnwash_

over 7 years ago

I am a tap water connoisseur.

John Washburn @johnwash_

7 months ago

https://t.co/QeC7dX2mvl

John Washburn @johnwash_

about 1 year ago

If I become president I’m filling in the cape cod canal

johnwash_ retweeted

Rick Steves @RickSteves

over 1 year ago

Update on my Medical Travels: I’m Cancer Free! PSA 55 to PSA 0.09 to PSA <0.03…Yes! If you know prostate cancer, you know the happy story of those numbers — and the relief of hearing my surgeon say, “You can now consider yourself cancer-free.” Life has been a whirlwind lately, with a new grandson, a New York Times bestselling book, and a president essentially declaring, “L'État, c'est moi” (“The state, it’s me”… in the spirit of Louis XIV.) But I’ve been on a deeply personal journey since last July, when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I promised I’d keep my traveling family posted — and I’m happy to now report that I’ve weathered the storm. As a traveler, I’ve embraced my season of cancer as a journey: Setting off into a mysterious world not of my choosing with no prior experience or language skills. Engulfed in a furious storm, relying on the good ship SS Medical Industry and the steady guidance of Captain Lin (my surgeon), my sails were filled by the prayers and loving wishes of friends, family, and the caring public. (It’s amazing how prayers and good thoughts can become tangible when we need them to power us through the waves.) For now, I’ve broken through the storm, and it’s smooth sailing ahead. But more storms are inevitable, and I’d be wise to keep in touch with the captain and take care of the ship. (This would be a nice place to segue into the value of continued government investment in medical and scientific research — but I’m trying my best to keep politics out of this post.) I decided from the start to share my cancer story with my Facebook friends as a public service. But I never dreamed it would be so newsworthy… from CNN to People Magazine to The New York Times. People care. And when you go public, people come out of the woodwork to share their own experiences with cancer and to help and support you. The message is important: I learned the hard way (almost the very hard way) about the importance of men being tuned into their bodies — especially older men like me, with a history of cancer in the family. I didn’t notice any symptoms and assumed my frequent trips to the WC were simply a consequence of my healthy determination to “stay hydrated.” Only after my diagnosis did I learn that my uncle and his dad both had prostate cancer at my age. It was totally on me… and I was too busy simply living to get tested. Thankfully, I got a new primary care doctor who wanted to kick off our relationship with a blood test. And two days later, our shared mission shifted radically from wellness to survival. After carefully considering all the options, I decided to get a radical prostatectomy — which meant my entire prostate would be removed. Going into the surgery, the big concern was: Had it metastasized? If the cancer is contained in your prostate and they take your prostate out… you’re good to go. But if it turns out that it spread… your journey could be a very long one (or a very sad, short one). It’s all about the “margin” between the cancer and the edge of your prostate, which can only be measured once it’s out. I envisioned my prostate as a good-looking little apple with a dark and rotten core (a good margin) or a windblown old dandelion with missing tufts (no margin plus spread). My doctor’s report after the surgery: “Not as good a margin as we had hoped… we can be guardedly optimistic… but we’ll need to wait for your PSA score in later blood tests.” A PSA score is a number that measures how much “Prostate-Specific Antigen” is in your blood. A high score can indicate your body is battling invasive cancer cells — and my initial PSA of 55 was through the roof. Two months after my surgery, it was good news… down to 0.09. But as my doctor says, “A big flame or a tiny flame — either can start a destructive fire.” He’s greedy and wanted it all gone, so he would only say he liked the trajectory and “we’ll see how it looks down the road.” And finally, my latest blood test has brought home some very good news: A score of <0.03, which means less than the smallest number they can measure. As I approach my 70th birthday, I’m energized by my clean bill of health and busier than ever. (I’m writing this six days into an eight-cities-in-ten-days tour promoting my newest book — which is actually my oldest: A journal I wrote on the Hippie Trail from Istanbul to Kathmandu when I was 23 years old.) And my doctor is giving me an A+ for being proactive: colonoscopy (check!), a visit to the dermatologist for skin cancer tests (check!), physical therapy for post-surgery wellness (check!), massaging away scars from the robotic surgery, which left big dimples on my belly (check!), Kegels (check!), stretching regularly (check!), and lots of walking (check!). (I’m training for a week of hiking in Italy’s Dolomites this summer.) Post-surgery, I found fellowship in a subreddit for men dealing with prostate cancer, which one Redditor described as “the cancer of little indignities.” And that includes lots of pee problems. “Incontinence” is a word known by women of a certain age… and by men who’ve had prostate surgery. When everything’s working as it should, underappreciated little muscles (sphincters) keep urine from leaking out of your bladder until it’s time to take a pee. After having your prostate removed, you leak because you can no longer use your internal sphincter, and you need to bring out and train the reserves — an external sphincter, which is the only one women (who have no prostate) can ever access. And that takes a month or two (or maybe six…) of Kegel boot camp. It's a scary thing for anyone to leak. (You can read about a horrible disease called “fistula” that plagues poor women in Africa.) For many women in our society, leaking is an uncomfortable fact of life, especially after giving birth. And after men have prostate surgery, they gain an appreciation for what women go through. What do you do? Depends! Yes, men learn about pads (women smile knowingly). The incontinence stage seems to go on for an eternity. It’s made worse by knowing that 5 to 10 percent of men have long-term incontinence after prostate surgery, and many even need follow-up surgery to implant tools to help out. A key for anyone in this situation is patience. I was determined, but I almost felt hopeless. Dribble, dribble, deluge, dribble, dribble, pads, pads, pads. Then, after six weeks (and lots of Kegel exercises — which is like flexing the biceps between your legs), it was no more pads for me! (While I’m doing great, I now have much more empathy for the older people who, for decades on my bus tours, asked with terror in their eyes, “How long until the next potty stop?”) This may be TMI, but as I head into this stage, my understanding is that, after all that dribbling, your bladder gets too used to the feeling of frequently emptying itself, wimps out, and basically forgets how to hold a full load. This needs to be addressed by a gradual expansion of the liquid you retain before emptying. I’m enjoying the game of measuring each trip to the toilet (working from 100 ml to 250 ml and sometimes triumphing with 300 or, my personal record, nearly 350 ml). Still, whenever I cough, bend in a strange way, or LOL… I have an inkling for a tinkling. And what about the sexual dysfunction you always hear follows prostate removal? It varies from no problem to no more erections forever and ever, depending on how much unavoidable nerve damage your surgeon did while taking out everything that could have been cancerous. (How’s my ED situation? Let’s just say I’ll be no fun at an orgy for six to 12 months.) Going forward, I’ll get my PSA tested twice a year and then annually. Statistics and my surgeon tell me I should be just fine. There’s a lot that can be improved on in America’s healthcare industry — but as a citizen, I see the glass of our government as not half empty but as half full. (I believe efficient, affordable, and accessible medical care is a civil liberty — and in a country as rich as ours, it should be equally available to all.) I am so thankful for the care I was blessed to receive from Seattle’s Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, the army of smart and dedicated people at UW Medicine, and my surgeon, Dr. Daniel Lin. And I have lots more to be thankful for… including the support of friends and loved ones (including you!) and a strong faith that I’m in good hands. I’m looking forward to many more years of happy travels, exciting collaborations, and beautiful friendships. Thank you for your love and support as I weathered this storm. I’m so happy that, together, we get to keep on travelin’!