I do not intend to turn this column into a dreary log of my medical condition, but I can’t resist sharing what an amazing time these past four weeks have been.

May’s lab report was a real mind-bender. It confirmed the worst. It wasn’t the worst, of course. It was prostate cancer, for most a treatable disease.

But it felt like the worst. Before that moment in the doctor’s office, I’d thought of myself as healthy. Now I was anything but.

I felt panic. Maudlin scenarios flooded my mind. They all had a common theme. I saw myself saying my good-byes before slipping into eternity.

The heartbreak of it all was too much, but I didn’t want to funk out everyone around me. I acted brave and didn’t talk about needing to see an attorney about a will although that is exactly what I thought I should be doing.

When a CT scan indicated the cancer wasn’t as neatly packaged as the biopsy had suggested, emotions ratcheted even higher. Is this really happening? Can I wake up now?

One of the great things about the American medical system is that you don’t see one doctor or take one test for something like this. You see many doctors and take many tests.

You can get so caught up in scheduling appointments and tests that you forget you’re a cancer patient. You slip into a more familiar role. You’re a prudent consumer doing his homework. It feels more like Camry versus Accord, not surgery versus radiation.

My Napa doctor arranged for a consultation at UCSF Medical Center, Mount Zion campus, where they have a whole department devoted to the likes of me.

Cheryl accompanied me into the city for moral support. During the doctor’s exam, she took copious notes lest a critical bit of information escape us.

The upshot of the visit: the radiation oncologist told us to come back in a week for another test.

Instead of feeling disappointed, we were exultant. A big city medical center doc was going to help us sort things out. We felt a burden lifted.

We drove to Fort Mason Center and bought a takeout lunch from Greens, the gourmet vegetarian restaurant. Then we hiked up the hill and sat on the grass in the park, overlooking San Francisco Bay framed by the Golden Gate Bridge.

The day was wonderfully breezy and sunny. Cyclists and sightseers were everywhere. I had never felt more alive.

We hugged. Imagine, here we were, enjoying a wonderful lunch amid great beauty ... on a work day, no less. This cancer diagnosis certainly had its positives.

A week later I got good news. My cancer had spread beyond my prostate, but the situation seemed manageable. Best of all, I now had a course of treatment.

After three weeks of tumultuous living, I began settling back into my old groove. City council meetings regained their allure (joke). I could go hours without a panicky thought.

This, in itself, was disturbing. Was I becoming too blasé? Was I in denial of my true situation?

Thanks to Cheryl, I came crashing back to earth. On an otherwise lovely weekend, she got on the Internet and read about prostate cancer for two hours straight.

I didn’t ask her to do it. I wouldn’t have done it myself. All I wanted to do was bide my time until treatment started.

When she clicked off the computer, Cheryl was in a state of high anxiety. Not all the details of my diagnosis added up, she said. I could have a faster-growing cancer than any of the doctors have let on. 

I don’t want to hear about it, I said. I’m sure these doctors are on top of things. I don’t think a patient needs to get an Internet medical degree before submitting to treatment.

What about this? she said. What about that?

I’m sure the doctors have an explanation for everything, I said. Meanwhile, I felt myself descending into that bad place where waves of fear and doubt threatened to drown me.

I called my Napa doc Monday morning and ran by him some of my (our) concerns.

He had warned me earlier to be cautious about wallowing in the stories of others and treating the Internet as my Bible. Coping with cancer is hard enough without also applying every random fact and story to your own situation.

The doctor was reassuring. He talked me through my concerns. When we hung up, I felt lots better.

I e-mailed Cheryl. It’s OK, I said. We’re on the right course. What we need right now is patience. The road ahead is a long one.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register,  P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com