A brand new life

Poet Ric Masten is savoring the sweetness of living since being diagnosed with prostate cancer

Over the dining table this Christmas, local poet Ric Masten's family took turns revealing the best thing that had happened to them that year. When his turn came, Masten, an author of 14 books and resident of the scenic Palo Colorado canyon, said the best thing that happened to him was prostate cancer.

"In the past few months, I've done more living than I have in years," Masten said. "I've thrown the ball more to Zizi [his dog] here than I used to...I take walks with my wife before breakfast. I took time out to spend one of the most wonderful evenings of our lives at the Post Ranch. And when she tells me to see the sunset, I will take time out to come and look. Before, I used to say, 'You've seen one, you've seen them all.' But when you're diagnosed with incurable cancer, now you know you won't see them all."

But relearning to savor the sweetness of the present has cost the vigorous 70-year-old author dearly.

A terrifying discovery

Masten's prostate problems began last January, when he developed a puzzling pain in his groin.

"I had climbed a ladder to fix the chimney, and I thought it was just a muscle pull," Masten said. He prudently opted for rest, but the pain only got worse.

Masten's doctor delivered a preliminary diagnosis of kidney stones and referred him to Monterey urologist Dr. Donald G. Goldman.

"I was hurting so bad by this time that I was leaning on a cane," Masten said.

The specialist gave Masten a full workup, including a digital rectal exam of the prostate. He told Masten the exam revealed a disturbing stiffness in the gland.

"A sheet of fear came down between me and the doc. I couldn't hear him anymore. Luckily, my daughter was there and took notes," said Masten, a self-professed hypochondriac.

Goldman scheduled a blood test for PSA, or prostate specific antigen. The test is an early- detection system for prostate cancer.

Masten's initial PSA value came back fairly high. Follow-up tests showed it tripled in less than five weeks. At that point, Masten's doctor ordered an immediate biopsy that turned up positive for prostate cancer, marking Masten as one of an estimated 179,300 Americans men who were diagnosed with prostate cancer in 1999.

"The most frightening thing for me was going to find out whether or not I had cancer. Once you know you have it, from then on, it's not really as frightening," Masten said.

A bone scan revealed the cancer already had spread into Masten's hip bones, making removal of the prostate a moot point.

Most prostate tumors thrive on a diet of the male hormone testosterone, which in men is made primarily in the testicles. If the cancer has spread, most physicians leave the prostate alone and starve the cells by cutting off their supply of testosterone. The treatment consists of castration--removal of the testicles via surgery or shutting down the production of testosterone with drugs.

Because the anti-testosterone shots cost almost $500 a month, and Masten has no insurance, he opted for a surgical fix. "At the time, it was no big deal which I would choose," Masten said. "If I was 45, I might have cared more." But after having had the operation, Masten now says he would've chosen chemical castration if he'd had the money. "I am truly a different person than I was a year ago. Philosophically I am the same, biologically I am not. Sex for sex's sake is now totally untitillating."

Billie Barbara, Masten's wife, says Masten is more loving now. "He tires more easily, he's more sentimental and is more easily annoyed .... He used to be able to go from dawn to dusk; I'm not used to him not having that physical energy."

As for the relations in Masten's personal life, "they not only cut out my testicles: they cut out the want to. If my wife wants to, I'll want to, but she said 'I don't want you dying of a heart attack from Viagra.'"

The poet's license

Masten set down his experiences in a group of poems he calls his prostate cancer set, and published them on his personal Web site, www.ricmasten.com. Transforming his inner experiences for public consumption was a natural for him, Masten says. "This is the job of a poet."

What he wasn't prepared for was the response. "People called and wrote from all over the country," he said. "Four to five thousand people have gone to [the Web] and read that thing." He said there's a great need for prostate and other cancer survivors to talk publicly about their experiences.

To that end, Masten taught poetry-writing classes for cancer survivors at Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula and recovering drug addicts at Genesis House. "Arts are a healing force," Masten said. Both groups showcased their creations at First Night Monterey, but only the addicts came to introduce their poems in person.

"I later thought about [the difference]," Masten said. "Both groups need to talk, but somehow that was more socially acceptable for the addicts than the cancer survivors."

His own battle with cancer isn't over yet. Treatment can buy men a decade or more, but over time, the tumor cells usually learn to grow without testosterone.

Just this month, Masten's PSA levels began rising again. He has an appointment to see a cancer specialist in late January.

"Am I scared?" he said. "Yeah ... but all of a sudden I'm starting to do all of those things that are so important again."

--Kathleen M. Wong