Andy Winnegar

After surviving prostate cancer, Andy Winnegar received a diagnosis of chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) in 2021. Catch up on 

As I approach my 76th birthday this November, I find myself reflecting on the many changes I’ve experienced over the years. My dad and I both share November birthdays, which makes this time of year especially significant to me. As I wake up each morning between 3 and 4 a.m. and go to bed early, around 7 p.m., I’ve come to appreciate the quiet moments before the world wakes up. It gives me time to reflect, think about my family, write and feel gratitude for all the blessings I’ve experienced, even as I face the inevitable challenges that come with aging.

Since turning 70, my body has become more fragile, and I’m learning to live with the aches and pains that are a natural part of growing older. I developed dry eye syndrome, which I manage with prescription Xiidra eye drops. I also have chronic lymphocytic leukemia, an uncommon type of leukemia that tends to affect older adults. Thankfully, it is well controlled with a medication called Brukinsa, which has mild side effects, though I haven’t experienced any. I’m also managing adult ADHD, which was recently diagnosed after years of struggling with anxiety, impatience and restlessness. My psychologist has helped me better understand how ADHD affects my daily life, and the medication I take occasionally has made a noticeable difference.

In my later years, I was an avid marathon runner. I ran for nearly a decade, from my late 50s to my late 60s. Running was more than just a form of exercise as it provided structure, goals and a sense of accomplishment. As I transitioned into my 70s, with the support of my therapist and wife, I moved from running to walking, hiking and weight training. I still run a little from time to time, but not regularly. I’ve come to appreciate the joy of moving my body in different ways, and I’m grateful for the flexibility I’ve found in adjusting my routine.

The other night, we had a wild thunderstorm with hail pounding against the house. It was so intense that you couldn’t sleep through it. At the same time, we welcomed the rain, as New Mexico, like much of the Southwest, is in the grip of a severe drought. As if to match the storm, I’ve been dealing with some soreness in my right rib cage, possibly from a light resistance exercise at the gym a week ago. I broke three ribs in a fall while running last October. I am trying to avoid any injuries this year. But I get sore muscles even with mild exercise.

Last December, my father passed away at the age of 100. It was a bittersweet moment for our family, as we had celebrated his 100th birthday just a month earlier. My wife and I had traveled to Lubbock to be with him, and our daughter and her family flew in from California. Dad lived only a few weeks after that celebration, passing away peacefully in his sleep. The memorial was attended by my son, my sister and many others from his extended family from his second marriage. It was a quiet moment in the family’s life. My dad had struggled with PTSD from his time as a torpedo bomber in World War II, and the effects of that trauma were felt throughout his life, especially during the holidays. His drinking, which often worsened during this time of year, made the holiday season difficult for us growing up. As the oldest child, I became the anchor, always trying to keep things calm. It wasn’t easy and I must have made my younger siblings anxious as well.

Despite these challenges, I’ve come to a place of understanding and peace. My dad’s final wish was to have his ashes thrown in the trash, though they remain in my sister’s closet, a reminder of the complexity of family relationships. My other sister stopped speaking to him after a political disagreement, a division that added another layer of sadness to an already strained relationship.

But the holidays have changed for me. While they still carry some weight from the past, I’ve learned to embrace them in new ways. My wife, who was raised Jewish, loves this time of year. She begins decorating for Christmas on Thanksgiving, and our daughter and son also enjoy the season. This year, my wife will visit our son and his family in Houston, and our daughter and her family will join us in Santa Fe after Christmas. Though I’m not traveling as much as I used to, I’m thankful for the opportunities to see family and for the way our children share photos and videos of our three grandchildren. My wife visits them every couple of months, and it’s always a joy to hear about her trips.

Our family is doing well, and I am incredibly thankful for their love and support. My mother, who is 97, will turn 98 on Jan. 1, 2026. She has mild dementia but is well cared for in a wonderful senior living facility. Her health is a constant reminder of the gift of time. As for me, while cancer is a part of my life, it no longer defines it. I am thankful that it’s under control, and I focus on my family, my health and the lessons I’ve learned from both.

Getting older isn’t always easy. It comes with its own set of challenges — memory issues, lack of motivation at times, anxiety and impatience. But the holidays have become a time of year when I’m learning to embrace gratitude, even with the underlying anxiety I sometimes feel. The season will soon bring us together with family and friends, and while I have moments of stress and reflection, I am learning to enjoy the time spent with those I love. The holiday season doesn’t need to be perfect, it’s the connections, the moments of joy and the small victories that I choose to focus on. I’ll have to practice some Christmas songs on my guitar that I can share with the grandkids.

As I approach my 76th birthday and reflect on the year that’s passed, I am filled with thankfulness for my family, my health and the life I’ve lived. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been a life worth living. And for that, I am truly grateful.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective as a cancer survivor. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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Articles

Reflecting on the journey of aging, the author shares personal experiences and challenges faced as they approach their 76th birthday. Despite health issues like chronic lymphocytic leukemia and adult ADHD, they find solace in family, exercise, and gratitude. The passing of their father at 100 and the complexities of family relationships are acknowledged, yet the author embraces the holiday season with newfound joy. The narrative underscores the importance of family connections, adapting to life's changes, and focusing on gratitude and small victories amidst life's inevitable challenges.

A man nearing 76 reflects on aging, family, loss and living with cancer while finding gratitude in the holiday season.

A Season to be Grateful as a Cancer Survivor

The changing seasons offer a profound metaphor for the circle of life, an idea that resonates deeply with me. My father, who shared my name, battled prostate cancer and blood cancer, just as I now face my own diagnosis of chronic lymphocytic leukemia. I am also in remission of Prostate cancer. He passed away last December, just after celebrating his 100th birthday. When I look in the mirror, I see him, a reminder that both life and identity are cyclical. My mother, now 97, is still with us, and my sisters and I share a worldview shaped by her. In the same way, my children reflect traits and perspectives from both my wife and me. We witness the influence we've had on their lives, just as we are shaped by those who came before us.

Cancer certainly has an impact on everyone from those of us that have the disease to those around us. But who we are is not defined by our cancer diagnosis. I prefer to look at life as a natural process and cancer as just one of those things that happen in life.

Viewing identity through the lens of the seasons underscores the fluid, evolving nature of who we are. Just as the seasons flow from one to the next, life and identity unfold in stages, each one building on the last while offering new transformations.

: A time of renewal, filled with growth and potential.

: The peak of life, where experiences, relationships, and accomplishments define who we are.

: A time for reflection and letting go of what no longer serves us, preparing for inevitable change.

: A period of rest, renewal, and dormancy, where activity slows, but new growth is always present beneath the surface.

This cyclical pattern suggests that we are not defined by a single moment but by the ongoing process of becoming, evolving, and re-emerging, like nature's ever-changing cycles.

Many philosophical and spiritual traditions propose that we are more than our physical existence. The "self" may be part of a larger, eternal essence that existed before birth and continues after death. In this view, our identities are not merely shaped by our time on Earth but by an unchanging essence that transcends time. This idea mirrors the concept of eternal return—where life, death, and rebirth are cyclical rather than linear. Just as the seasons return year after year, the essence of our identity may remain constant, reappearing in different forms.

To me, the intersection of identity, consciousness, and existence is beautifully encapsulated in these seasonal metaphors. While we live, we form our identities through experiences, choices, and relationships. From this perspective, death is not an end but a transition—a step in the ongoing cycle of life.

Generational Seasons: The Legacy of Our Genetic Heritage

Our genetic inheritance is said to act as the "soil" in which our identity grows, with each season influenced by the generations before us. Just as each season builds upon the last, our identity is shaped by the lives, struggles, and adaptations of our ancestors.

: Birth marks the start of your journey, shaped by the genetic legacy of your parents and ancestors. The information you inherit carries their history, strengths, and vulnerabilities.

: As you mature, inherited traits come to the forefront, influenced by both genetics and environment. Your health, abilities, and personality reflect the foundation laid before you.

: With age, you reflect on how your ancestors' traits and choices have shaped you. The "leaves" of your family tree begin to shed as you face the inevitable changes of time.

: This phase symbolizes a return to your genetic roots. As you pass on your inheritance to the next generation, you reflect on the traits you've carried forward and consider how your legacy might continue or evolve.

Our identities are not isolated; they are a part of a vast, ongoing narrative that spans generations. In this cyclical process, we live, reflect, and pass on the seeds of who we are to those who come after us.

The narrative explores the cyclical nature of life and identity, drawing parallels with the changing seasons. It reflects on the author's personal journey with cancer and familial legacy, emphasizing that identity is not defined by a single moment but by an ongoing process of transformation. The metaphor of seasons illustrates the stages of life, from renewal to reflection, and the eternal nature of identity, suggesting a continuity that transcends physical existence. The generational aspect highlights how genetic heritage shapes identity, creating a legacy that spans across time.

The changing seasons offer a profound metaphor for the circle of life, an idea that resonates deeply with me. 

The Seasons of Life: A Metaphor for Identity and Legacy

Standing up to cancer as a patient can feel overwhelming, but I’ve found a few things that help. Maybe they’ll help you, too. For context, I am a cancer survivor and have had both prostate cancer and chronic lymphocytic leukemia. I'm still standing.

You don’t need to be a scientist or a doctor to understand your condition or treatment. Patient-friendly versions of clinical trials, treatment guidelines, and scientific studies are available online. Dig into your family history to see if cancer has affected others; it may reveal patterns or genetic risks that can inform your care or benefit loved ones.

Cancer research has come a long way in detection, treatment, and prevention. If you don’t understand something, ask your doctor because, overall, this is your life. You have every single right to know whether a proposed treatment has strong clinical evidence behind it or if it is still considered experimental.

If working brings you purpose, keep working. If you’ve been planning a trip, take it. Don’t wait. Visit friends and family. Spend time doing the things that bring you joy.

And don’t be afraid to talk about your cancer. Sharing your story helps. Some of the best support I’ve found comes from others who are going through it, too. If you can’t find a local support group, look for one online. Ask your oncologist or care team to help connect you.

I’ve also found creative expression (whether it be through writing, painting, or music) to be incredibly healing. There are many ways to share what you’re feeling. Let it out. It helps.

Even with a tough prognosis, keep fighting—but on your terms. That doesn’t mean blindly continuing treatment if it’s no longer working or if the side effects are taking too much from your quality of life.

Talk openly with your doctor and your loved ones. Make your wishes known. Understanding your goals (whether it’s more time, better comfort, or leaving a legacy) will guide your decisions.

A healthy diet, regular exercise, and staying socially connected can make a big difference — not just in prevention, but in helping you stay strong during treatment. There is strong evidence that lifestyle choices impact disease outcomes and overall quality of life.

Start with the activities you enjoy most: yoga, stretching, walking, bike riding, resistance training, running, or hiking, to name a few. Focus on consistency and listening to your body. Keeping a schedule and log may keep you motivated.

Supporting cancer research is more important than ever, especially with declining federal funding. But before donating, take a few minutes to check where your money is going. Not all charities are created equal.

Here are some trusted resources to evaluate organizations:

Charity Navigator: Rates charities on financial health and transparency.

CharityWatch: Offers in-depth reports on how donations are used.

ProPublica and Candid: Provide access to nonprofit tax returns and detailed financials.

Candid’s Foundation Directory: Helps you identify major donors and grant makers.

BBB Wise Giving Alliance (give.org): Evaluates charities against 20 standards of accountability.

Fighting cancer takes strength, but it also takes community. Whether you’re in treatment, in remission, or supporting someone else, know that you’re not alone. These strategies have helped me, and I really hope they help you, too.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective as a breast cancer survivor. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

Cancer patients can benefit from understanding their condition, engaging in activities they love, and maintaining open communication with healthcare providers. Researching treatment options and family history can inform care decisions. Pursuing passions and sharing experiences with support groups can provide emotional relief. Patients should prioritize their quality of life and make informed decisions about treatment. A healthy lifestyle, including diet and exercise, can improve outcomes. Supporting cancer research through informed donations is crucial. Community support is vital for those in treatment, remission, or supporting others.

I share practical strategies for living well with cancer, from research and self-care to support, creativity, and wise giving.

How Can We Stand Up to Cancer as Patients? 

I’ve been part of a pilot study for a cancer survivors’ group called Create to Heal, which met at the regional cancer hospital in Santa Fe. We recently finished our final session together, and I’ve been reflecting on how much it has meant to me.

The Create to Heal program is designed to gently guide participants out of their critical minds and into their hearts — a place where the healing process can truly begin. We explored various creative practices — writing, drawing, painting, working with clay, and music — to access deeper emotional healing beyond traditional conversation.

Our Friday afternoon group included seven participants, all women except for me. One member also served as a program evaluator. As a prostate cancer survivor (now in remission) and someone currently undergoing treatment for chronic lymphocytic leukemia, I’ve had experience with cancer support groups, mostly online. This was my first in-person group, and the difference was profound.

From the start, it was an emotional experience. Several group members had endured, or were still facing, cancer and medical conditions much more serious than my own. I was deeply moved and humbled by their resilience. I made a point of telling them how much they inspired me.

By our third session, my emotions spilled over — I cried openly, something I rarely allow myself to do around others. That vulnerability was a turning point. I’ve been working with an existential psychologist for a couple of years, and she introduced me to the philosophy of “here and now” therapy, developed by Dr. Irvin D. Yalom, a Stanford psychiatrist and acclaimed author. His approach emphasizes the importance of authentic interpersonal connection and emotional expression within a group setting.

I’ve read many of Yalom’s works, which explore the human condition and the therapeutic potential of group dynamics. In our Create to Heal group, I began to see exactly what he meant. The atmosphere of shared stories, honest feedback, and creative expression created a safe space where emotional walls came down. It mirrored Yalom’s ideal group experience.

This group helped reduce my feelings of isolation and gave me a much-needed sense of belonging. We often worked through personal issues that had nothing to do with cancer, which was incredibly healing. Cancer may have brought us together, but our human experiences — grief, fear, resilience, hope — were what truly connected us. I felt seen, heard, and accepted.

The creative exercises allowed me to access a part of myself I often keep hidden. Through them, I found the emotional vulnerability and personal growth I didn’t even know I was seeking. I’ve come to recognize just how difficult it is for me to honestly express my emotions — and how relieving and freeing it can be when I do.

Yalom identifies several key principles in group therapy, which I experienced firsthand:

Catharsis: Expressing long-held emotions in a supportive environment can bring powerful emotional release.

Group cohesiveness: The trust and support within a group foster strong emotional bonds and a sense of shared experience.

Existential reflection: Facing illness together naturally leads to confronting deeper questions about life, death, and meaning. These reflections can open doors to greater self-awareness and a renewed sense of purpose.

Our Create to Heal group succeeded in creating exactly this type of space. Through creative expression, it offered us tools to reframe our experience — not just with cancer, but with life itself. It helped us find meaning in places we might not have looked and opened possibilities many of us never imagined.

As I wrap up this chapter, I carry with me the deep emotional insights, personal breakthroughs, and, most importantly, the heartfelt connections I made. Healing doesn’t always come in the form of medicine or treatment. Sometimes, it comes through a paintbrush, a lump of clay, a song — or simply a shared story.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, 

The Create to Heal program, a pilot study for cancer survivors, emphasizes emotional healing through creative practices like writing, drawing, and music. Participants, including the author, found profound emotional release and personal growth by engaging in these activities. The group fostered a sense of belonging and connection, transcending cancer-related issues to address broader human experiences. Inspired by Dr. Irvin D. Yalom's group therapy principles, the program facilitated catharsis, group cohesiveness, and existential reflection, helping participants find meaning and purpose beyond their illness.

After joining a creative survivors’ group, I discovered that emotional expression, art and connection offered a profound kind of healing beyond treatment.

Andy Winnegar

A Season to be Grateful as a Cancer Survivor

The Seasons of Life: A Metaphor for Identity and Legacy

How Can We Stand Up to Cancer as Patients?

Finding Healing Through Creativity and Human Connection

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