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 

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.”

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Articles

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. 

How My Cancer Telehealth Session Went Off the Rails 

When I was a kid, my sisters and I would frighten one another with the claim there was a boogeyman under our beds. At night, on the verge of sleep, I found myself peeking under the bed to see if that were true. My sisters admitted they did the same thing.

And that wasn’t the only nail-biter during our childhood. By turns, each of us would hide in the TV room closet. At just the right moment, we would jump out screaming like a banshee, throwing the other siblings into a panic.

So, I was no stranger to fear, and with the help of an active imagination, experienced doom around every shadowy corner. And so, it goes for children who go through their make-believe phase.

But real fear caught up with me one day in 2014 when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Hearing that horrific word, I began to hyperventilate, feeling as if a dagger had been thrust into my heart. Surgery coupled with radiation and hormone therapy helped to calm me down and return me to something resembling normalcy.

In 2015, mere months after surgery, my PSA results surged, precipitating a second round of scans to determine if the cancer had spread. I was sure that now cancer had finally gotten the best of me, and the scan results would bear that out.

The second scariest moment of my cancer journey was about to take place.

I went to the hospital outpatient wing for a full body and bone scan. I lay down in a cramped position as the whirring machine slowly inched over me. I had to remain perfectly still, but inside I was a bundle of nerves.

The test had already run for about 25 minutes when the technologist came over the intercom and reassured me that I could relax soon, as the test would end in about five minutes. Shortly, though, she stuck her head into the small room, telling me the radiologist had asked for additional scanning. That caught me completely off guard and fear rose into my throat. Instantly, I felt doomed.

When the scan ended, I got dressed and headed out of the room but was surprised to find the technologist trailing behind me. As we walked down the hall, she placed her hand on my shoulder. I admitted that I was very nervous about this scan. Then she looked at me with a soft gaze and said gently, “Maybe this is a wake-up call.”

My mind raced, trying to determine what she meant without asking her directly. Could she possibly mean that there was no cause to worry because we had gotten out ahead of the cancer’s spread and that we would need to go into a watch-and-wait mode? Or maybe she was signaling that there was indeed some spread in my body, but not extensive?

I was mostly consumed with fear that the cancer had spread too fast too soon. I convinced myself that my life hung in the balance. But a tiny part of me held on to the slimmest hope that the scan would turn out OK. So, during the follow-up with my urologist a few days later, I was thrilled to hear him say, “The cancer has not spread, but it’s still in there and we will have to keep an active watch on it.”

Yes, cancer does get a strong hold on our emotions. It’s like the monster in the closet or the boogeyman under the bed. But hope, however small, can be a formidable ally during these times of jangled nerves. Keep hope alive!

Fear overtook my mind as I received rounds of scans for prostate cancer when my PSA results surged.

Ron Cooper

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

The Second Scariest Moment of My Cancer Journey

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