A laboratory number can change the atmosphere in a room remarkably quickly. I have seen PSA numbers that frightened me and numbers that made me check the decimal point. More than once.
In the book, I compare medical testing to the gauges in my old 1957 Chevy. A gauge can tell you that something needs attention. It cannot take the engine apart, explain every problem, and identify which repair deserves the credit. That became a useful distinction in my cancer journey.
My first diagnosis was in 1998. My prostate was swollen and my PSA elevated; a biopsy confirmed cancer. The elevated number was part of the investigation. It was not the whole diagnosis.
What the test can and cannot say
The National Cancer Institute explains that PSA is produced by normal as well as malignant prostate cells. Noncancerous conditions can raise it; even a bicycle ride may temporarily raise the reading. The test is also used in monitoring after a diagnosis or treatment. Interpreting a result requires context; there is no single number that answers every question for every man.
That is the medical background. What follows is my experience of living with the numbers, and the limits of what I can conclude from them.
I used blood testing to watch what was happening while I made changes. At different points I associated falling PSA with parts of my personal regimen, including chelation. Those associations influenced my decisions. They did not isolate a cause. Several things could be happening at once, and my belief about a change was not a controlled experiment.
The numbers in my 2026 story
The customer edition records a PSA of 369.5 ng/mL on February 27, 2026. The PET/CT that day described progression, including extensive skeletal involvement. I was facing more than an unpleasant number on a sheet of paper.
On March 10, I received Firmagon. On April 2, PSA was 21.68 ng/mL. On April 7, I received Lupron. On June 24, PSA was 0.44 ng/mL. By August 25, the recorded PSA was 0.12 ng/mL.
Those dates belong together. Publishing only the high number and the low number, with a list of my unconventional practices in between, would leave out an important part of what happened. I received hormone therapy, and I have no question that I responded well to it.
I had also put bentonite back into my regimen shortly before Firmagon and continued other practices. I believe the broader routine mattered to my recovery. The sequence cannot tell me how much credit any one part deserves. I cannot turn a timeline into percentages merely because I would like the answer.
One encouraging gauge did not settle everything
The April 2 laboratory panel also recorded alkaline phosphatase at 1,073 U/L. In August it was 93. The memoir includes those results because the rest of the dashboard mattered too. I am not offering an interpretation of another person's laboratory panel; I am explaining why I stopped treating one favorable number as the entire story.
Likewise, I chose not to receive further hormone-therapy injections after June 24. That does not establish that the August results were independent of Lupron. The formulation matters, effects can persist, and I did not have a contemporaneous testosterone result to settle how much androgen suppression remained.
I was thrilled by the improvement. Gratitude does not require pretending the uncertainties disappeared. A good result can be good news without becoming proof of my favorite explanation.
The questions I would ask now
What does this result mean in the context of my diagnosis and treatment? How does it compare with earlier tests? Are the measurements comparable? What other findings need attention? When is the next check, and what change should bring me back sooner?
Those are questions for the medical team, not for a stranger's social-media comment. The gauge analogy helps me remember to look. It does not make me qualified to interpret every reading.
My laboratory report cautioned that PSA alone was not absolute evidence of the presence or absence of disease. I would keep that caution beside the encouraging results rather than bury it under them.
The hopeful part of my story is real: I went from frightening illness to feeling better, gaining strength, and looking forward to projects again. The honest part is just as important: the numbers record what happened; they do not prove which of my choices caused it. My Cancer Journey keeps both parts on the page.