Ron Cooper writes about the funny and serious sides of cancer. He is the author of “A Grateful Survivor” (Amazon) and blogs at RonCooperAuthor.com. Come along for the ride on his cancer journey!

Ron Cooper

Ron Cooper received a diagnosis of prostate cancer in 2014 and is currently in active surveillance. Catch up on all of

Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you. – John Irving

Ever felt like you finally kicked cancer’s butt, and you have put your worries in the rear-view mirror for good? And that cancer, once a monster of Jurassic Park proportions, would never bother you again?

That describes me. I’ve been in remission for most of my prostate cancer journey, and my PSA (prostate specific antigen) numbers have been way, way, way down low much of that time. Sure, I’m concerned that I might have to go back on hormone therapy, but mostly I have felt rather smug, cocky, complacent and even untouchable.

However, that all that changed one night last year when I was awakened suddenly from a frightening nightmare. My heart pounded uncontrollably; I felt weak-kneed and light-headed and convinced I was headed for the emergency room with a suspected heart attack. My heart rate was over 125 and my blood pressure had soared, but I had no telltale signs of a heart attack, such as unremitting pain, sweating, clammy skin or shortness of breath.

Still, I was ready to call 9-1-1, when I suddenly recalled my nightmare moments beforehand about getting diagnosed with a second cancer. What made it worse was the nurse in my dream appeared aloof and unsympathetic when she announced the news following a diagnostic work-up. Then, she abruptly left the room, abandoning me in my shock. I shook with fear, much like the feelings I incurred when I was diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer in 2014.

So, I thought, even in my subconscious state, I was not safe from cancer’s inescapable reach. My archenemy had caused me such dismay and stress that my body went into overdrive. It was as if cancer had its hand around my neck and was squeezing the life out of me. And to top it all off, I had felt totally alone!

Fortunately, my wife came to the rescue, with soothing reassurances that I was the victim of nothing more than a bad dream. She coaxed me back to sleep, encouraging me to try to put the whole incident behind me. It was just what I needed to hear. By then, my blood pressure and heart rate had returned to normal, I was steady on my feet, and the light-headedness had disappeared into thin air.

I am not unlike most cancer survivors, with a healthy respect for the disease we share in common, vigilant for its possible recurrence and fearful that a second cancer might enter the mix. But I had grown somewhat lazy, letting my guard down against the elephant in the room — the “big C.” Frankly, I had brushed off the fact that cancer has the potential to kill me–or at the very least to worry me to death.

For an entire week after my dream, I kept the blood pressure cuff handy at my bedside in case I was awakened again with a galloping heart rate. But when I had no more cancer-related dreams, I put the device back in the nightstand drawer.

Cancer, if you’re listening, yes, indeed, you wiped that smug look off my face. I should have realized that you would try to intimidate me, that you will never back down, and that I can expect you to pop up in my most vulnerable moments.

But know this: I still will fight you with every lasting breath. Now, go away while I turn over to get some restful sleep!

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Articles

Cancer survivors often experience a false sense of security after remission, believing they have conquered the disease. However, the psychological impact of cancer can manifest in unexpected ways, such as nightmares, which serve as a reminder of the disease's persistent threat. These experiences can trigger intense physical reactions, highlighting the ongoing fear of recurrence. Support from loved ones plays a crucial role in managing these fears. Despite the psychological challenges, survivors remain determined to fight cancer, acknowledging its potential to reemerge during vulnerable moments.

It took a nightmare about a second cancer to shake me out of my complacency, and I nearly called 9 1 1.

How a Cancer Diagnosis Wiped That Smug Look Off My Face 

Ron Cooper received a diagnosis of prostate cancer in 2014 and is currently in active surveillance. Catch up on all of 

Dear reader, I need your help. As a patient with prostate cancer, I’m trying to prioritize my time and energy, and it has not been easy. There’s just a whole lot going on, and I need some guidance, please. Look at the multiple-choice questionnaire below and tell me which should be my top priority:

Before selecting one, here’s a little bit of context for you. My prostate-specific antigen (PSA) blood test results have been on the rise for more than a year, and my doctors suspect that it may be metastatic. Thus, the order for a biopsy procedure.

The order was placed around the same time my wife and I were moving into a new apartment, an exhausting endeavor that claimed most of our waking hours.

Also, our car was rear-ended and totaled, with my wife behind the wheel. Fortunately, she was not hurt, but we had to rely upon a car rental for two weeks and arrange for a U-Haul truck to move our things to the new place. It was a month-long ordeal.

The same day as my wife’s accident, my son fell, cracking several ribs and experiencing a slight puncture to one of his lungs. He was hospitalized overnight and spent more than a week at home recuperating before returning to work. I tried to cheer him up during his convalescence.

In a word, life has been topsy-turvy lately, with plenty of sleepless nights mulling over my upcoming biopsy, and daytimes consumed with check-ins with my son, moving and trying to find a replacement car.

So, dear reader, did you select “C” for my cancer biopsy as the top priority? Metastatic cancer is a huge deal, a life-and-death issue, a quality-of-life issue, a treatment issue. So, “C” would not have been necessarily the wrong choice. Initially, it was my first choice.

But what I have learned from this very busy period in my life is that my cancer is not the center of the universe. People have accidents, get hospitalized and face a whole host of other very human ordeals. 

I am a patient with cancer, but I’m also a husband and father, among other roles. Many other lives intersect with mine, and I strive to be a caring, attentive family man.

It would be so easy for me to obsess about my health, especially when the stakes are so high. But I choose to make my life full of dedication and passion toward those who enrich and fulfill me while trying to keep one step ahead of cancer’s onslaught.

That’s why I chose “E” for “All of the above.”

The narrative highlights the complex challenges faced by a prostate cancer patient juggling multiple life stressors, including a rising PSA level suggesting possible metastasis, a wife's car accident, a son's hospitalization, and a move to a new apartment. Despite the potential severity of his cancer, the patient emphasizes the importance of balancing personal health concerns with family responsibilities. He ultimately prioritizes all aspects of his life equally, underscoring the interconnectedness of his roles as a patient, husband, and father, and the need for a holistic approach to life.

I once thought that prostate cancer should be the center of my universe, but with everything else going on, now I’m not so sure. 

Should Cancer Be My Top Priority? 

As a patient with prostate cancer, I’ve grown used to hearing my doctor say, “We’ll just have to watch and wait.”

I’ll gladly admit the overwhelming feeling of relief upon hearing those words. They mean that even as my PSA (prostate-specific antigen) might be on the rise, my cancer has stalled for the time being.

My doctor might as well be saying, “It’s time to take a break. We’ll need to revisit your status in a few months. But for now, you can put your worries on hold. Get on with your life.”

Of course, I’m grateful to learn that I can have some degree of normalcy in my life until my next consultation with the urologist. These “timeouts” have been part of my routine for 10 years. Fortunately, I have been in remission for most of that time, so that amounts to lots of watching and waiting.

So, during my breaks from active treatment, should I just stare at the wall until it caves in with a new diagnosis that the cancer has spread and aggressive treatment is warranted?

These breaks are a golden opportunity to restore calm and fill my days with meaningful activities surrounded by people that I care about. In short, I now have the luxury of time to care more about the things that really matter.

During this most recent hiatus from cancer’s onslaught, I have been writing to mentors who encouraged me during my 20-plus-year career as a newspaper reporter.

I have been putting pen to paper writing to former editors who shaped me into becoming a good journalist. In some cases, those editors have passed away, so I’m trying to track down family members to share memories of life in the newsroom and express gratitude for their loved one’s role in building my career.

This is just one of many ways I have decided to spend my watch-and-wait time.

I’ve also signed up for physical therapy where I’ll be working on how to address balance issues experienced from a long and troublesome bout with neuropathy and trying to build my upper body on the exercise bike or with light weights.

AndI’m trying to watch more movies and stand-up comedy shows instead of spending countless hours poring over newspaper coverage of current events.

Lastly, I’ve been attending many Zoom webinars for writers since I would like to learn more about how to write essays, memoirs and satire. That will be quite a switch from the more than two decades I spent as a newspaper reporter concentrating on “just the facts, ma’am.”

Typically, my doctor gives me three months of “downtime” before scheduling my next PSA. Because those 90 days go by exceedingly fast, I have learned that a positive mindset and productive activities help ensure my time watching and waiting is well spent.

During my "watch and wait" time for prostate cancer, I spend this time wisely on things like attending writing webinars. 

Making the Most of My 'Watching and Waiting' for Prostate Cancer 

With my prostate-specific antigen (PSA) and testosterone numbers rising, I was terribly worried that my prostate cancer was barreling back into my life. For years, I had nestled comfortably in my remission cocoon. Cancer’s comeback was possible, but I put it out of my mind.

But, I've learned that sometimes, we cancer patients must put our worries on hold and laugh at the silly predicaments in which we find ourselves. 

I used a big, black marker pen to circle on the calendar the scheduled three-month consultation with my urologist. Deep down I knew that I couldn’t shrug off the appointment. I needed to face the music.

But what happened in the moments leading up to my telehealth consultation threw me off guard, and provided some much-needed humor to counter the dark thoughts about cancer that I was harboring.

Thirty minutes before the session, I put a nice shirt on, combed my hair and trimmed my beard. I didn’t want my doctor to think I was slovenly, or that I wasn’t taking all of this seriously.

I then set up the camera and awaited the meeting link to arrive in my inbox.

I had been suffering from a terrible bout of seasonal allergies. I didn’t want to risk showing a dripping nose during this important meeting. So, 15 minutes before the session, I used a Kleenex to blow my nose extra hard. Big mistake! Out gushed a steady stream of blood.

“Oh no,” I exclaimed to my wife, who was standing by with pen and paper to jot down the highlights of this meet-up. “All I need is a blasted nosebleed!”

Five minutes before the meeting, I still had not managed to stanch the flow, even after using countless tissues and putting pressure on the bridge of my nose. So, improvising, I asked my wife to grab a cotton ball to wedge inside the bleeding nostril, deciding that it would have to do. I needed to hear the doctor’s take on my test results despite my appearance!

Two minutes to go, and yet another problem popped up thanks to my allergies: I lost my voice! Well, actually, I could talk, but nothing above a whisper. I teased my wife that she might have to stand in for me and I would be the one taking the notes.

With one minute remaining, I was grabbing a coughdrop when the phone rang. It was the doctor’s medical assistant.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cooper, but the doctor is running late and we will have to reschedule our session,” she said, causing me to breathe a sigh of relief.

That critical phone call saved me from the embarrassment of showing the doctor my stopped-up nose, and with me struggling to speak coherently.

Naturally, I was still anxious to learn if the doctor would order a new scan or treatment plan. But for the moment, I was taking a little mental health break.

After all, laughter — and a good nasal spray — is definitely the best medicine!

When I found out my PSA levels were rising, I was so overwhelmed moments leading up to my telehealth session with my urologist. 

Ron Cooper

How a Cancer Diagnosis Wiped That Smug Look Off My Face

Should Cancer Be My Top Priority?

Making the Most of My 'Watching and Waiting' for Prostate Cancer

How My Cancer Telehealth Session Went Off the Rails

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